"Earth, air, and seaAll know of me,And so will youIf you go through."
"Earth, air, and seaAll know of me,And so will youIf you go through."
"Why, it's quite easy to read!" exclaimed Lilla in surprise. "I wonder I never thought of it all this time."
"And it's just as I told you: four four's sixteen, four in each line and four lines. However you count it, you will find it all fours," said the Magpie.
"And it's about me," said Rollo, "for earth, air, and sea all know of me; and brought me here and gave me the Multiphobus. And it's about you also, for you have come through the board to come and see me. The Multiphobus was talking about it when we were flying through the air."
"Was he?" said Lilla; "and he wasn't angry?"
"Angry! No, he is very glad for me to have a playfellow, for I am rather lonely sometimes. And now we can play in the woods all day, and gather strawberries and cherries and plums; and there's a little stove in one of the caves, and I dare say you can make cakes?"
"Of course I can," answered Lilla, "and tea and coffee."
"Ah! that will be nice. And I will be king and you shall be queen, and we will have a merry time, and the Multiphobus will carry us wherever we want to go."
"I am afraid of him," returned Lilla.
"Oh, you need not be. I am quite sure you'll give a paw to Lilla; won't you, Multiphobus?"
"I will give two," said the Multiphobus, standing on his hind legs and stretching out his fore paws to Lilla.
She shook them, and felt at ease with him at once.
The Magpie fluttered about.
"I am not going home by myself," said he. "I shall stay here if Lilla does."
"That you shall," replied Rollo; "we will all live in this beautiful land together."
Illustration: "THE WIND HAD LULLED THEM TO SLEEP.""the wind had lulled them to sleep."
"the wind had lulled them to sleep."
Ah! what a beautiful land it was! The two children wandered through it hand in hand, and revelled in all its glories—now underneath the stately forest trees, or breaking through the tangled brushwood all radiant with green and gold, and crimson leaves and lovely flowers, or now sitting on the river-bank listening to the stories the river told them of the lands through which it had passed; whilst the Wind sang so many wonderful songs that Lilla begged to hear them over again.
And after the Wind had lulled them to sleep among the soft clover and wild thyme, the moon and stars peeped out and sent them beautiful dreams, whilst two nightingales sat among the roses and sang "Lullaby, lullaby" as sweetly as the southern wind.
So that whether waking or sleeping the children were happy.
Sometimes Lilla would say—
"Ah! if it had not been for the words on the board, I should still have been living with the cross old woman in the town with the long street and the cathedral. And she would have gone on scoldingme for ever and ever; and whatever should I have done, I wonder."
"You may thank me," said the Magpie, "for having brought you away; that's very certain."
"You may thank me also," said the Multiphobus, "and I am sure you ought to do so, for it was I who nailed up the board with the magic words upon the garden wall."
And of course, as I need not tell you, Lilla did thank them.
Julia Goddard.
Onceupon a time, many hundred years ago, when Rome was mistress of the world, and the Romans were braver and stronger than any one else, there lived a boy of thirteen whose name is still remembered. Lucius Valerius was fond of his lessons, but most of all did he love poetry; so, although he was only thirteen years old, he made up his mind that he would try to win the gold medal and ivory lyre which were given every five years to the boy who should write the best poem.
Lucius not only tried, but he succeeded, and one day, before all the school and a number of visitors, the prizes were presented to him. Now besides the medal and lyre which every one who gained them valued very much, there was something else which they thought far grander. A statue of the prize-winner was placed in the school and crowned with laurel.
You may imagine how the boy's heart beat with joy as he saw the judge step forward to crown his statue, but just at that moment Lucius caught sight of a young man who had also tried for the prize, and who looked most downcast and miserable.
Lucius sprang forward, seized the laurel crown, and put it on the head of the poor fellow who had been unsuccessful.
"You are more deserving of it than I am," he said; "I obtained it more on account of my youth than my merit, and rather as an encouragement than as a reward."
Then the people set up a great shout of joy, for they knew that a noble heart was worth more than all the poems in the world, and they gave a new name to Lucius Valerius in memory of that day.
So Lucius was always called Pudens, which means Modest, and you may be sure he valued his new title as much as he deserved it, for "Kind hearts are more than coronets."
E. M. W.
TheFlower Garden will now be fast losing its beauty, and the cold winds and frosty nights will be everywhere heralding the coming of winter, when, more through force of circumstances than choice, our Gardening proclivities become considerably abated. Throughout the present month, however, the remaining floral vestiges of summer are often numerous, but especially so when the weather of early autumnal months happens to be of a mild and congenial nature. By this season the greater number of plants will have performed those functions, and have passed through the various stages, which each and every year exacts. In the case of plants known as annuals, an entire life is projected and perfected within the short space of a few months. Various trees and shrubs will now be assuming the rich autumnal tints, and the leaves rapidly drop at the approach of winter, and vital energy is being stored up until the following spring, when new leaves are produced.
* **
The month of October is, notwithstanding its lack of floral ornaments, one in which the amount of work to be done is by no means inconsiderable, and the pretty little girl, with her hoe and water-can, drawn on p. 241, evidently thinks as much. We must plant now in order to secure a spring display of flowers, and for this purpose nothing can be more satisfactory than bulbous subjects, such as hyacinths, tulips, crocuses, and narcissuses. The hyacinth thrives best in a compost of light loam, leaf-mould, and sand; plenty of the latter may beincluded in order to secure perfect drainage, which is a very important item in the culture of bulbous plants generally. Perhaps no other spring flowering bulb looks so well when grown in neat patches as the hyacinth; the bulbs should not be less than six inches apart, and at least two and a half inches beneath the surface. They should be purchased in the autumn, selecting firm heavy roots; and "first come, first served" must be borne in mind, as by buying early in the season the best may be secured, and finer spikes of bloom will follow as a natural consequence.
* **
Tulips have been for many years great favourites with gardeners, both amateur and professional. About two hundred years ago the mania for these plants amounted almost to a national calamity in Holland, and scores of acres are now entirely devoted to their culture. For our own part, we scarcely consider the tulip as in any way justifying the praise which is lavished upon it even in the present day, because its beauty is, to say the least, ephemeral, whilst its showiness is far from being either chaste or delicate. It will be, however desirable to have six or even a dozen bulbs, which only cost about a penny apiece. They can be planted any time during the present month, from two to three inches below the surface, in a compost of loam, leaf-mould, sand, and well-rotted manure. When purchasing, see that every bulb is perfectly solid, and select as many different sorts as possible, thereby securing a variety, which is very desirable in a garden of limited extent. In cold northern situations tulip-beds should always be covered over with a little straw or litter during very frosty weather.
* **
Few Spring flowers are more welcome or appear so very early in the year as crocuses. No matter how cold, foggy, or dirty the weather may chance to be in this most erratic climate, the regiments of yellow, golden, blue, flaked, white, and versi-coloured crocus flowers will never fail to put in an appearance. The common sorts thrive almost anywhere, and in almost any ordinary garden soil. They should be planted during the present month, about two inches under the surface. As the roots only cost about threepence per dozen hardly any spot ought to be bare of flowers from the middle of January to early in March. A universally-grown plant, even earlier than the crocus, is the well-known snowdrop. This also, like the crocus, can be grown almost anywhere, and may remain in one spot undisturbed for years; both are most effective when grown in clumps. The French name ofPerceneige, or Pierce-snow, is singularly applicable to the snowdrop. Place the tiny roots from one to two inches deep, and grow the single-flowered form only.
* **
The narcissus or daffodil is another of the many spring-flowering plants which are invariably greeted with enthusiasm. The varieties are endless, but the greater number are almost unexcelled for growing in such situations as the tops and sides of hedges, banks, &c. They can scarcely be grown too extensively. Of the various sorts, and exclusive of the ordinary double form, few are more beautiful or more desirable than that known as the Poet's Narcissus (N. poeticus). The pure white of the segments and the delicate bright scarlet centre are best when the plant is grown sheltered from strong winds. Another favourite narcissus of ours, and which we can confidently recommend to our readers, is that known as "Orange Phœnix;" it is a singularly beautiful plant, and produces large double and well-formed flowers; it thrives best in a light sandy soil. Several colours may be secured by purchasing a dozen roots of mixed sorts, costing from two to three shillings per dozen. They may be planted any time throughout October and up to the middle of November.
* **
The Kitchen Garden of our young folk will need but very little looking after during the present and next two months; but in stating this we must not be understood to imply that it should be wholly neglected. On the contrary, it must be kept quite free from weeds of all sorts; and everything should be in perfect order. To this end paths should be swept and weeded every week, when the state of the weather will admit of this being done. The Kitchen Garden is much too frequently seen in a disreputable state, even in pretentious places, and where flower-gardeningisdone very well. But well-executed work in one department by no means justifies slovenliness in another. Vacant spaces of ground will need digging, but this operation should, if possible, be left to a labourer, who, for the sake of a small remuneration, would probably be very glad to do it after his ordinary working hours. Even an enthusiast cannot but consider digging as the most laborious of all gardening work, and will take especial care to shirk it whenever possible. In fact, real garden drudgery of all kinds is better done by a labourer, no matter how simple and easy such work may superficially appear to our young folk. Good work, as we all know, can only be done by an accustomed hand.
Illustration: OFF TO HER GARDEN.off to her garden.(Seep.239.)
off to her garden.(Seep.239.)
Aboatcame back from a journey. It had been to a far-off land. All the sailors jumped ashore, only too glad to run about again, but they tied up the boat to a long arm of rock, and left it there while they were gone.
The tide was very low and the sky was dull; there was just enough water to lap against the sides of the boat, and make it rock up and down. The boat fretted like a petulant child, and pulled at the rope as a dog pulls against its chain, but it could not get away, for all that.
"How dull it is here!" cried the little white boat; "they have all gone on shore and are merry. They don't consider my feelings, left here for the day all alone. And oh, what an ugly place this is!" and it looked right and left.
The sky was grey, the tide was very low; the boat was lashed to a long piece of rock that ran out like an arm into the sea. At each side of the rock a mass of seaweed clung—limp and brown.
"Of all the ugly things I ever saw," exclaimed the boat, "that seaweed is the worst. Think of the places I have been anchored in before—of the lovely tropical flowers that grew at the water's edge."
"You do not know who we are," cried the seaweeds; "we are young fairy sisters, who dance every night. This beach is the floor of our ball-room, and we dance, and are decked with jewels. We dance and are gay in the evening; in the daytime we lie still and rest."
"I do not believe you," said the boat; "you are ugly, and brown, and old. And this place is the dullest I have seen all my life."
So the boat sulked, and was unhappy all day. But when the evening arrived the sailors came down to the shore, and undid the boat, and rowed away.
And the boat looked back, and it was sunset, and a change had passed over the place. The sky was pink and golden, the waves were bathed in light; the sea was as transparent as a sapphire, and you looked through the sapphire roof and saw a golden floor.
Sure enough that was the floor of the dancing-room, and the tide had crept up the sides of the rock, and all the little seaweeds looked yellow and golden, and danced up and down in the arms of the waves.
The boat looked over its shoulder, and saw them: it would willingly have gone back to the scene and danced up and down with the rest, but it never saw them again, for it was bound to a far-off land, never to return.
Lucie Cobbe.
Harry Pearsonwas rather a good sort of boy, but he had one very bad habit. He was the greatest stone-thrower in all Tolhurst Village.
It was Harry who had broken the draper's window and the glass of Squire Stopford's greenhouse. He had not been found out; but he knew well enough who had done the mischief, so when one afternoon, as he was running home from school, he saw a man putting up a great placard announcing that stone-throwers would be prosecuted, he felt very much frightened.
He was just slinking home when out came his father, the Squire's gardener.
Harry thought that his father had found out about the stone-throwing, and hung down his head.
But, instead of scolding him as, he had expected, his father said, as if he were pleased—
"Harry, Master Edgar is better to-day, and he wants you to come in now and wheel his chair for him."
Harry's face brightened at once; for there were few things he liked better than to be allowed to go into the Squire's beautiful garden when Master Edgar, the Squire's only son, was well enough to come out in his wheeled-chair.
Edgar Stopford was about the same age as Harry; but he had never been strong, and for more than a year he had been lame.
"All right, father!" exclaimed Harry gleefully. "Is he in the garden?"
And without waiting for an answer he ran in and found Edgar Stopford waiting for him.
"Harry," said Edgar, "I want you to take me in the chair round to the stable, for I want to see the young rabbits. How old are they now, Harry? I've been so ill that I can't quite remember."
"Seven weeks old to-day," said Harry. "I want to see them again very much, Master Edgar. They're such beauties; I can't help thinking of them every day."
"You haven't any rabbits, have you?" asked Edgar.
"No," said Harry. "Don't I wish I had!"
"Mine are prize rabbits, you know," said Edgar, "The old tortoise-shell one took the prize both this year and last year at the County show. Oh! And what do you think? A boy I know has been over here ever so many times trying to get that young lop-eared tortoise-shell doe! You remember which one, don't you?"
"Oh yes! oh yes! That was the one I liked best of all! It had such good broad ears!" cried Harry with enthusiasm. "You didn't let him have it though, did you, Master Edgar?"
"Oh no? He offered me a pair of his best Antwerp pigeons for her. And I wanted the pigeons; but I wouldn't let him have that young doe!" exclaimed Edgar, with a smile on his white face.
"You wouldn't? Oh, I'm so glad!" exclaimed Harry.
"I thought you would be," returned Edgar with another bright smile. "I told him I wanted her for somebody else. Push on, Harry. Let's get round to the stable."
Harry pushed with all his might, while his face flushed up to the roots of his hair; for he could not help thinking—
"I wonder if Master Edgar is going to give that doe to me! But no, that's all nonsense! I won't think of such a thing; of course he is saving it for one of his friends! Shouldn't I like her, though!"
It seemed to Harry quite a long way to the stable, so anxious was he to get there. At last he wheeled the chair into the yard.
"Fetch out the young ones, and let me have a good look at them," said Edgar. "Bring them out one by one; but bring the young doe last."
"All right!" said Harry. And leaving the chair, away he rushed, opened the door of the stable, where, to his delight, he saw the great prize buck in a hutch, and the doe and four young ones all hopping about among a quantity of fragrant hay.
Harry shouted with joy—
"Oh, Master Edgar! Oh, how they've grown! You won't know them! They're lovely!"
He caught up his favourite first of all, and examined her thoroughly with breathless delight.
She had grown into the most beautifully-marked rabbit that he could imagine.
Even to handle such a rabbit seemed to Harry a very great happiness. What could it be like really to be the owner of that young prize rabbit?
With something like a sigh Harry put her down, and caught one of the others.
"I've seen the young doe, and I've measured her ears!" he exclaimed, as he took the other rabbit to Edgar Stopford.
"Well! Hehasgrown!" cried Edgar. "Try if you can push the chair to the stable-door! I should so much like to see them all running about!"
Harry managed to do as Edgar wished, although it gave him a good deal of trouble; but he did not mind that a bit.
"Oh, Master Edgar! Did you ever see such a beauty as that young doe? Do look at her!" said Harry, eagerly, opening the stable-door, and making a dive after the lop-eared tortoise-shell.
The two boys played with the rabbits for a good half-hour. How much they found to say about them, any boy who is fond of animals can imagine. Poor Edgar had not been out for some weeks, and all that time Harry Pearson had not seen those rabbits. Harry was very happy, but still he could not help saying to himself now and then, as he looked at his favourite—
"I wonder who is going to have her?"
"You seem very fond of that tortoise-shell young one, Harry!" said Edgar presently with a smile.
"Ee—yes!" said Harry, his eyes brightening as he looked down tenderly at her.
"But how could you keep her?" asked Edgar.
"Oh, I'd keep her fast enough!" cried Harry, turning quite scarlet, while his heart gave half a dozen tremendous thumps. "I'd keep her! Why I'd make the neatest little hutch that ever was. And I'd give her the best of oats and pollard. Ah, as much as ever she'd eat!"
"Well, then, I shall give her to you," said Edgar. "I made up my mind when I was ill I'd give her to you, for I was sure you would take care of her. That's why I wouldn't let that other boy have her. He is rich, and can buy prize rabbits if he wants them. I'd rather give her to you."
Harry Pearson could not speak a word for a minute or two. He could only look down on the beautiful gift. To think that such a rabbit was his own was too much for him at first.
"Oh!" he gasped, presently. "Oh! Master Edgar. Oh! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Put her in that basket, and take her home," said Edgar.
Harry lost no time in obeying this delightful command. After which he wheeled Edgar, who was getting tired, back to the house, and then ran home with his rabbit, the proudest and happiest boy in Tolhurst.
All that evening there was an eager crowd of youngsters in front of the cottage where Harry lived.
It was a long while since there had been such an excitement in the village.
Nor did the boys' interest in that rabbit die out; boys were always dropping in to see how she was getting on; and Mr. Blades, the butcher, who was a great fancier, offered Harry three-and-sixpence for her.
Very often Harry went to wheel Edgar Stopford's chair, when the two boys would have long talks about the rabbit; and Edgar's pale face would quite glow with pleasure as he listened to Harry's praises of the wonderful animal.
So things went on for some time until Edgar Stopford was taken away to the sea-side.
Harry missed him very much, but he still had his rabbit to amuse himself with; and so, although it was then the holidays, the days did not hang on his hands until very nearly the date of the re-opening of school.
One afternoon, however, the time did seem very long indeed. Most of the boys Harry liked had gone to a treat to which he had not been asked. He was cross and dull. He had spent the whole morning in cleaning out the rabbit-hutch; he wanted something else to do, when, happening to be loitering about in a meadow by the side of the Squire's house, he saw a squirrel in a tree.
In an instant Harry was cruelly stoning away as fast as he could pelt.
He had not done much stone-throwing since he had had the rabbit; now he forgot for the moment everything except the pleasure of aiming the stones.
Up went the stones one after another; a minute later, and—Crash! Crash! Smash went a lot of glass—then there was a yell of pain and rage—a side-door flying open—and Harry tearing, as if for his life, across the field, while after him rushed his own father and his father's master—the Squire!
They followed him—they drove him into a corner of the field; they secured him.
"Walk him off to the police-station this minute!" exclaimed the Squire in a voice of fury.
"Oh, sir! oh, please! please, sir! Oh! oh! Don't, sir! don't! I'll never do it no more!" sobbed the trembling boy.
"Take him to the station-house! Indict him for manslaughter. He might have killed me?" cried the enraged Squire.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Harry's father, touching his hat; "I've cautioned that boy times without number; but leave him to me this once more, sir."
Harry was marched home. His mother was told. She cried bitterly.
"How much money have you?" asked the father.
"Not a—a far—thing," sobbed Harry.
"Then how is the four shillings to be raised to pay for that broken glass?" continued Mr. Pearson.
"I don't—boo-hoo! kn—now!"
"But I do!" exclaimed Harry's father, in a tone of dreadful meaning. "That rabbit must be sold!"
"No! no!" shrieked Harry; "I'd rather be sold myself!"
"Take that rabbit to Mr. Blades, and bring back three-and-six," said Harry's father, in a stern voice.
He felt as if to part with that rabbit would kill him; but he knew it had to be done. I don't know how he managed to do it. What he suffered was terrible, yet he was sure there was no escape; so he put his pet rabbit into a basket and took it to Mr. Blades the butcher. There, in the picture, you can see him.
Illustration: "HE ... TOOK IT TO MR. BLADES.""he ... took it to mr. blades."
"he ... took it to mr. blades."
"You won't kill her, will you, Mr. Blades?" he faltered, for the sight of the knives in the shop was too much for him.
Harry has learned a hard lesson. Don't you hope Edgar will buy that rabbit for him again? I do.
L. A.
Music - Dignity and Impudence by Burnham W. Horner
"Dignity and Impudence."
Words from"Little Folks."
Music byBurnham W. Horner.
In moderate time.
1. Said a wee little bird, with a pert little look, To an adjutant stork by the river—"I suppose that you think you're as wise as a book, And in fact that you're wondrously clever! You're a picture of dignity, that I'll admit, But alas! that is all I'll allow, ... For indeed you're not quarter as wise as a tit, That hops to and fro on the bough."
2. Said the adjutant-stork to the wee little bird, With a dignified kind of a stare— "Little creatures like you should be seen and not heard, And your impudence well we can spare! You had better by far go back to your nest, And be pert where they'll heed what you do; For you see that in height I'm six feet and the rest, While you are just no feet two!"
3. So it is with us all as we pass through the day: For we each of us think we're most clever— Whether impudent bird that chatters away, Or "Dignity" stork by the river. On our size or our form or our talents we pose, And we hold ourselves up every hour: If the Queen of the Garden be known as the Rose, Then we are that wonderful flower!
The Editor's Pocket-Book Jottings and Pencillings Here, There and Everywhere
Some time since, a blind gentleman, well known in the north of England, went for a walk of several miles, accompanied by his dog. He knew the road so well, that he did not strap up the dog, but let it run loose. He had gone nearly five miles on his way, and was crossing some fields by a footpath, when his dog gave a peculiar whine in front of him. He was about to climb a stile, when another whine was heard. This startled him, so he crossed the stile as carefully as he could, feeling every step. Just as he got over the stile, the dog gave a louder whine of alarm, placed its fore feet upon his breast, and held him fast against the stile. He tried to push the dog aside, but it would not let him proceed. The strap was therefore put around its neck, and the wise creature at once led its master by a roundabout way quite out of the ordinary path. It appeared that part of the footpath which led past a stream had been entirely washed away by a flood, so that, had the gentleman continued upon the old path, he must have met with a most serious accident. What made the sagacity of the dog more conspicuous on this occasion was the fact that it had not been with its master for eighteen months—he having been laid up for the whole of that period, and the dog living with a friend during the illness.
This was the name bestowed upon a class of vagabonds who wandered over the country dressed in grotesque fashion, pretending to be mad and working upon the fears or the charity of people for alms. They were common in the time of Shakespeare, and were found even as late as the Restoration. The slang phrase "to sham Abraham," is a survival of the practice. There was a ward in Bethlehem (or Bedlam) Hospital, called the Abraham Ward, and hence probably arose the name of these beggars. Harmless lunatics who had been discharged were often to be seen roaming about the country and were allowed a great deal of licence in consequence of their weak-mindedness. Accordingly, the impostors above mentioned, who used generally to eke out the gifts of the charitable by stealing, when detected in their theft, would plead, as a rule, lunacy as an excuse of their crime.
When a sovereign abdicates the throne, he does so either of his own free will, or from compulsion. These acts have been sufficiently numerous as to form quite an interesting history. Take a few of them by way of example. Amadeus of Savoy abdicated in 1439, in order to become a priest. The collapse of his great schemes induced the Emperor Charles V. to give up his office in 1556. Wishing to retire into private life Christina of Sweden laid down the crown in 1654, though she still desired to exercise the rights of queen. Philip V. of Spain withdrew from the throne in 1724 in a fit of melancholy, but ascended it again on the death of his son. Victor Amadeus of Sardinia abdicated in 1730, and afterwards wanted to recall the act, but was not permitted to do so. Richard II. of England was compelled to abdicate in 1399, and in 1688, James II. was forced to yield to the wishes of his subjects. Other instances might be cited, but enough have been, quoted to stimulate the research of industrious readers.
An anecdote is told by a gentleman of a cat which will illustrate pussy's affection for those who treat her kindly. He had her from her birth, and brought her up as a friend and companion. After he had kept her for five years circumstances required him to leave home for twelve months, the cat of course having to remain behind. He returned one Christmas morning about four o'clock, admitting himself by a key that had been sent to him by post. He went upstairs to his old bed-room, and in the morning found puss asleep in her wonted place at the foot of the bed. She made a great fuss with him, and he ascertained that she had never been upstairs from the time he left, a year before. She must, he therefore concluded, have recollected his footstep, and at once have fallen into her old ways.
Prince Krapotkine—a Russian noble who has experienced many of the hardships of which he writes—in describing the life of exiles in Siberia, says that its cruelty is so horrible that every spring, when the snow has disappeared from the forests, and men may sleep in the woods of a night without being frozen to death, thousands of the convicts try to escape from the gold and salt mines. These poor folk prefer to run the risk of capture and the brutal punishment it involves, rather than remain longer in endless misery. Feeding on mushrooms and berries they plod their weary way back, amid perils of every kind, to their native homes, hundreds—it may be thousands—of miles distant. They avoid towns and highways, of course, but they freely enter the villages. The Siberian peasants, in silent pathetic fashion, show their sympathy and good wishes for these unhappy people by leaving on the windows of their houses bread and milk "for the poor runaways." Surely we too may hope that the efforts of every unjustly-exiled person to flee from the wretchedness and torture of the Siberian mines may be crowned with success.
A young lady in California who had, through illness, to spend several hours a day reclining on rugs spread on the garden-lawn, succeeded in taming two humming-birds. At first the birds watched her with some curiosity from a distance. To entice them to come nearer she fastened a fuchsia, filled with sweetened water, to a branch of a tree above her head. The tiny fellows soon thrust their bills into the flower. Thinking they might like honey better, a fresh flower was filled with it every day. This food was quite to their taste, and so eager were they to get it that they would hardly wait for their mistress to leave the flower before they began to rifle its sweets. They grew so familiar at length that when she held a flower in one hand and filled it with drops from a spoon, the birds caught the drops as they fell. Only two male birds monopolised the honey flower, and they would not permit any bee or wasp to come near it. Between themselves even squabbles continually arose about possession. Change of weather compelling the young lady to keep indoors, she tried to coax them to the parlour windows. For a time the birds could not understand the altered position of affairs, but at last one of them repeatedly went up to her and took honey from her hand.
Some time ago I had occasion to speak of a wise cat of Colonel Stuart Wortley's. Now I may mention the doings of two intelligent dogs of his. One of them was able to tell whether or not it might go out with the housekeeper, according as she wore a hat or bonnet. If she wore her hat it knew that it might accompany her, and barked with joy as soon as she appeared, but if she wore her bonnet it knew she was going to church or on a visit, and that it could not go with her. It became so familiar with these articles that if drawings of hat and bonnet were placed before it, it could indicate which was which. The other dog was a Skye terrier. When the Colonel went out it was enough to say "Yes" or "No" in an ordinary tone for the dog to know whether it might accompany him or not. The terrier was next taught to distinguish the words when printed on cards—Yes and No—and in a few weeks it never mistook them.
With a view to test the powers of the Lapps in the matter of long-distance skating, Baron Nordenskjöld, the celebrated Arctic explorer, offered prizes for a contest during his stay in that country. The highest prize was £14, and the distance was about 142 miles, starting from Quickjock and returning to the same spot. The distance was accomplished by the winner in 21 hours and 22 minutes, inclusive of rest on the way. But so keen was the struggle that the second was only half a minute later, while the third arrived 11 minutes later.
The sphinx was a strange creature that figured in different old-world mythologies. Its form varied, but the monster which propounded the famous riddle was supposed to have the body of a lion, the head of a woman, bird's wings, and a serpent's tail. Well, this sphinx appeared once upon a time, near Thebes, in ancient Greece, and asked a riddleof every passer-by, whom it promptly slew if the correct answer were not forthcoming. This scourge at length drove the poor Thebans to despair, and they offered their kingdom and the hand of their Queen to whomsoever would relieve them of the dreaded monster's presence. One Œdipus essayed this task. The sphinx asked him, "What being has four feet, two feet, and three feet; only one voice; but whose feet vary, and when it has most, is weakest" Œdipus answered, "Man," and there and then the sphinx threw itself into the sea. Man, you will notice, has four feet (hands and feet) and, when compelled to use a staff, three feet.
Not long since a wolf, in a milk factory in Cheshire, was stung to death by the bees of a hive that stood near its kennel. As the honey was being taken from one of the hives the wolf happened to come out of his den, and the bees swarmed upon him in large numbers. The poor brute at once retired into his house, but it was evident he was in much agony, for he rolled over and over, pulling the hair out of his coat in great quantities. Steps were accordingly taken to draw off the bees, the kennel being closed and smoked. These efforts, however, proved useless, and within three hours the unfortunate wolf was dead. A horse and two dogs were also seriously stung on the same occasion.
Nowadays, when we talk of pages, allusion is made as a rule to the "boy in buttons," but long ago they were rather important folk. It was the practice, hundreds of years since, to employ youths of noble birth to wait upon the sovereign, and the custom flourished in the Middle Ages. The young gentleman "served his time" at courts and castles as a page, previous to taking the further degrees of esquire and knight. The habit of educating the higher nobility as court pages declined after the fifteenth century, and they are now a mere survival, on a very small scale, of a once general practice. Four pages of honour still form part of the state of the British court.
Everybody has seen the banner of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. It is formed of a combination of the crosses of St. George (England), St. Andrew (Scotland), and St. Patrick (Ireland). The first Union Jack was introduced in 1606, three years after the union of Scotland and England, and showed, of course, only the first two crosses. A century later (July 28, 1707), this standard was made, by royal proclamation, the national flag of Great Britain. On the union with Ireland a new union banner was needed, and the present ensign was accordingly devised.
Illustration: GLENDOWER'S OAK.glendower's oak.
glendower's oak.
Owen Glendower was a noble Welshman, who led his countrymen in the long and stout resistance which they offered to King Henry IV. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, son of the Earl of Northumberland, made common cause with Glendower, and each at the head of a large force prepared to do battle against the king, who was intent on crushing the rebellion in Wales. Henry IV. reached Shrewsbury just before Percy, and it was of the utmost importance to him that he should engage the latter before his troops should be reinforced by Glendower's. The battle accordingly took place on the 21st of July, 1403, and after a protracted struggle, in which Hotspur lost his life, victory declared itself on the side of the king. Though Glendower did not take part in the contest, tradition points to an oak near Shrewsbury as the tree from whose boughs he watched the fight.
The Little Folks Humane Society
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