miles away from London, with its millions of people and houses and
hot, dusty streets and courts, where almost the only green leaves were
the cabbages on the costermongers' trucks, out into the pure, fresh,
breezy country, where houses were as scarce as trees in the city, and
the cornfields stretched away and away, till bounded in the far
distance by sloping heathery hills. And what a shout of pleasure arose
from the two hundred throats of our little travellers when at length
they stopped at a roadside station and exchanged the train for a shady
lane leading to a park, the kind owner of which had placed it at their
disposal for the day! Now ought not Bessie to have begun at last to
enjoy herself? No; foolish Bessie had seen a carriage at the station,
and envied the ladies who got into it: "_If_ I had a carriage and
horses, how much pleasanter it would be driving up this lane, instead
of walking as I am obliged to do now!" And so she went along at such a
slow, sulky pace that she was far behind when the lodge gates were
reached, and was almost shut out when the children and teachers were
admitted into the park. And as they had shouted for joy at sight of
the shady lanes, how much more did they shout when they saw the
beautiful spot in which for a whole long day they were to amuse
themselves! There were meadows covered with hay--not such hay as is
seen in stables, brown and hard and stiff, but soft, green and
grassy-looking, smelling sweetly, and just the thing to roll about in
and cover one another up with; then there was a nice level
cricket-ground, and all ready for the boys to begin a game; there were
shady trees under which to sit and listen to the birds' songs, and
woody dells and valleys full of ferns and wild flowers; ponds on which
swans swam about and came on swiftly and silently through the water in
hopes of food, and little streams trickling along with a murmuring
noise between the rushes and yellow flags which grew on their banks.
Certainly this was a delightful spot to be in; and when in the midst
of the beautiful park they saw the house and gardens--a house so large
that it seemed a palace in the eyes of the children, while the gardens
were filled with flowers of every color--they shouted again, all
except Bessie, who of course began again to envy: "Oh, what a splendid
house! _If_ I could only live there, I am sure I should never be
unhappy again; _if_ I could stay here and not go back to London;
_if_--"
But at this point her grumbling came to a sudden stop, for at a given
signal all the children, who had been racing over the grass, formed
into line and marched straight up to the house to make their bows and
curtseys to the kind lady and gentleman who lived there, and who had
come out into the porch with her own little girls and boys to welcome
the visitors. Of course Bessie found something fresh to be
discontented at: "_If_ I were one of that lady's little girls, I
should be dressed as nicely as she is, and then, _if_ I liked to play
about here all day long, I could do so."
And in this way she went on all the day. After going to the house and
listening to a few words from the owner, and in return singing one of
their prettiest songs, the children were sent off to play, and in a
few minutes they were scattered in all directions, amusing themselves
in different ways; and though Bessie joined in many games, yet that
one word "_if_" was in her mind the whole time, and she did not play
as merrily as usual. Dinner came, and the children, called together by
a bugle, sat down in a tent; but though the fare provided was better
than Bessie was accustomed to, even on a Sunday, yet this spirit of
discontent had so possessed her that it was only because she was very
hungry that she ate what was given her, all the time wondering what
the people who lived at the great house were eating for their dinner,
and thinking over and over again, "_If_ I had the chickens and other
good things which they are sure to have, I should like it much better
than this mutton and cherry pie."
Oh, Bessie, Bessie! when you are older and know more of the world, you
will discover that living in a grand house and having good things to
eat do not make people happier; they in their turn may be as
discontented as you are, and be always wishing they had something else
which does not belong to them, and that word "_if_" may be as
frequently in _their_ mouths as in _yours_.
But now the dinner is over, and the merry troop have dispersed
again--the boys eager to return to their game of cricket, and the
girls to haymaking and swinging under the trees or other modes of
spending the hours of this pleasant day; and judging by the laughter
and shouts of joy, all are as happy as it is possible to be--indeed,
it is a surprise to many when the bugle calls them once more together
for tea, and they find that even a summer's day must come to an end at
last, and that within two hours they will all be starting once more on
their homeward journey. Very quickly did most of the children drink up
the fragrant tea and the delicious milk, for they wanted to have a
last look at the places where they had spent the day and picked wild
flowers or made hay. Bessie was among the foremost of these; for now
that she was going away so soon from it, she grew yet more
discontented, and that little word "_if_" was used more than ever as
she went about, not, as the others did, just to say good-bye to the
fields and woods, but to look at them again and wish they were hers.
I need not stop to tell you of the evening journey, for it was like
the morning one, excepting that now the hopes of a pleasant day had
been fulfilled, and the children talked of what they had done, instead
of what they intended to do. Bessie Green wondered, as she heard them
talking, how it was that they all seemed so much happier than she did,
and how it was that the longed-for holiday had not been altogether a
day of enjoyment. When she arrived at home, she had very little to say
about what she had done or seen; but as she has since then been more
contented, we must suppose that her wondering has had some effect, and
that she is beginning to see what made the day so different to her and
to her companions; in which case we may hope that the next time she
goes into the country she will not spoil her holiday by the too
frequent use of the word "_if_."
THE FORCED RABBIT.
A FUNNY FACT TOLD IN VERSE.
You have heard of forced potatoes, have you not, dear little folks?
Of melons forced, and cucumbers, and grapes in purple cloaks?
But I have seen, and handled, too--and oh, the sight was funny!--
A rabbit forced, a tiny one, a snow-white little Bunny.
Two little girls of ten and twelve--I love them very much--
Once thought a tenant they would like for their new rabbit-hutch,
So off to town they drove one day, and there a rabbit bought,
And home the furry tenant in their pony-carriage brought.
They petted, nursed and fondled it, and showed it every care,
And said before it went to bed its sheets of straw they'd air;
They also begged it very hard itself at home to make,
And hoped, although its bed was strange, it would not lie awake.
How happy was this Bunny white I really cannot tell,
But certainly it happy looked, and was extremely well;
Its eyes were bright, its nose was cool, its tongue a lovely pink.
And for its pulse--well, that was strong and regular, I think.
When summer came, the little girls were taken to the sea,
And left their rabbit with the groom--a youth of twenty-three.
They bathed and dug upon the shore, and played with Cousin Jack;
They heard the band upon the sand, and rode on donkey-back.
Then home they came, and went at once to see their Bunny dear,
To stroke his ribs, and pat his head, and feel each wiry ear;
But oh! alas! they found him not--the rabbit was not there!
His hutch, like Mrs. Hubbard's shelf, was very, very bare.
Now, where is he? They called the groom, the youth of twenty-three,
And said, "Oh, George, where's Bunny gone? Oh where, oh where is
he?"
"He's in the hot-house," George replied; "the gardener put him
there,
For he was growing thinner, miss, and losing all his hair."
They trotted to the garden then, and there the Bunny found,
And 'neath a vine beheld their pet reposing on the ground.
"Why, what is that?" they both exclaimed; "can that a rabbit be?
I never in my life before so strange a thing did see!"
[Illustration: THE RABBIT.]
They were surprised, and certainly the sight was strange to view,
For Bunny looked so very huge, and such a bundle too!
Such fat he had, and lots of hair, they longed a bit to pull;
He was exactly like a ball of living cotton-wool.
No tailor ever did produce a coat so superfine,
'Twas white as snow, and very thick on stomach, chest and spine--
As thick as heads of stupid boys with countenances glum;
And oh! the hair was very long--as long as any sum!
A host of friends and neighbors came the funny sight to see,
To one and all a rabbit forced was quite a novelty;
And everybody petted him, and loved him very much,
And brought him goody-goodies for the larder in his hutch.
* * * * *
One day--and now my pen and ink the deepest mourning wear--
They let him out upon the lawn for exercise and air;
They turned their backs, two dogs rushed up, and one, with swelling
chest,
Seized Bunny by his woolly throat, and--you must guess the rest.
UP AND DOING.
Boys, be up and doing,
For the day's begun;
Soon will come the noontide,
Then the set of sun;
At your tasks toil bravely
Till your work is done.
Let your hands be busy
In some useful way;
Don't neglect your study,
Don't forget your play;
There is time enough for each
Every blessed day.
A DARING FEAT.
Remarkable for its spire, the loftiest of St. Petersburg, is the
church of St. Peter and St. Paul. An anecdote connected with this
church, and not known, I believe, out of Russia, is worth telling. The
spire, which rises
"Lofty, and light, and small,"
and is probably represented in an engraving as fading away almost into
a point in the sky, is, in reality, terminated by a globe of
considerable dimensions, on which an angel stands, supporting a large
cross. This angel was out of repair; and some suspicions were
entertained that he designed visiting, uninvoked, the surface of the
earth. The affair caused some uneasiness, and the government at length
became greatly perplexed. To raise a scaffolding to such a height
would cost a large sum of money; and in meditating fruitlessly on this
circumstance, without knowing how to act, some time was suffered to
elapse.
Among the crowd of gazers below, who daily turned their eyes and their
thoughts towards the angel, was a mujik called Telouchkine. This man
was a roofer of houses (a slater, as he would be called in countries
where slates were used); and his speculations by degrees assumed a
more practical character than the idle wonders and conjectures of the
rest of the crowd. The spire was entirely covered with sheets of
gilded copper, and presented to the eye a surface as smooth as if it
had been one mass of burnished gold. But Telouchkine knew that the
sheets of copper were not even uniformly closed upon each other, and,
above all, that there were large nails used to fasten them, which
projected from the side of the spire.
Having thought on these circumstances till his mind was made up,
Telouchkine went to the government and offered to repair the angel
without scaffolding, and without assistance, on condition of being
reasonably paid for the time expended in the labor. The offer was
accepted.
The day fixed for the adventure arrives. Telouchkine, provided with
nothing more than a coil of ropes, ascends the spire in the interior
to the last window. Here he looks down at the concourse of the people
below, and up at the glittering "needle," as it is called, tapering
far above his head. But his heart does not fail him; and stepping
gravely out upon the window, he sets about his task.
He cuts a portion of the cord in the form of two large stirrups, with
a loop at each end. The upper loops he fastens upon two of the
projecting nails above his head, and places his foot in the others.
Then digging the fingers of one hand into the interstices of the
sheets of copper, he raises one of the stirrups with the other hand,
so as to make it catch a nail higher up. The same operation he
performs on behalf of the other leg, and so on alternately. And thus
he climbs, nail by nail, step by step, and stirrup by stirrup, till
his starting-point is undistinguished from the golden surface, and the
spire dwindles in his embrace till he can clasp it all round.
So far, so well. But he now reaches the ball--a globe of between nine
and ten feet in circumference. The angel, the object of this visit, is
above this ball, and concealed from his view by its smooth, round, and
glittering expanse. Only fancy the wretch at this moment, turning up
his grave eyes, and graver beard, to an obstacle that seems to defy
the daring and intrepidity of man!
[Illustration: THE SEA.]
But Telouchkine is not dismayed. He is prepared for the difficulty;
and the means he used to surmount it exhibits the same remarkable
simplicity as the rest of the feat.
Suspending himself in his stirrups, he girds the "needle" with a cord,
the ends of which he fastens around his waist; and so supported, he
leans gradually back, till the soles of his feet are planted against
the spire. In this position, he throws, by a strong effort, a coil of
cord over the ball; and so coolly and accurately is the aim taken,
that at the first trial it falls in the required direction, and he
sees the end hang down on the opposite side.
To draw himself into his original position, to fasten the cord firmly
around the globe, and with the assistance of this auxiliary to climb
to the summit, is now an easy part of his task; and in a few minutes
more Telouchkine stands by the side of the angel, and listens to the
shout that bursts like sudden thunder from the concourse below, yet
comes to his ear only like a faint and hollow murmur.
The cord, which he had an opportunity of fastening properly, enabled
him to descend with comparative facility; and the next day he carried
up with him a ladder of ropes, by means of which he found it easy to
effect the necessary repairs.
THE WORLD.
Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world,
With the wonderful water around you curled,
And the wonderful grass on your breast--
World, you are beautifully dressed.
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.
You friendly Earth, how far do you go,
With the wheat-fields that nod, and the rivers that flow,
With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah, you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all!
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say,
"You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot;
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
_Lilliput Lectures._
C--A--T.
FOR THE VERY LITTLE ONES.
Be quiet, good Tabby!
See how still you can be,
For I'm going to teach you
To spell C--A--T.
I'll show you the way
Mother reads it to me:
She looks very sober,
And says C--A--T.
Fred says you can't learn,
But we'll show him that we
Can learn, if we please,
To spell C--A--T.
To what little May said
Tabby did not agree,
And I doubt if she learned
To spell C--A--T.
[Illustration: C--A--T.]
THE GIRAFFE.
The creature which forms the subject of this paper is the giraffe, or
camelopard (_Camelopardalis Giraffa_) noted for its wonderful and
beautiful form and its remarkable habits.
At the first sight of a giraffe, the spectator is struck by its
enormously long neck, and will naturally ask himself how it is
supported, and how its mobility is preserved. Every one who has the
least acquaintance with anatomy is aware that a strong and very
elastic ligament passes down the back of the neck, and acts as a strap
by which the head is preserved from falling forward. In the giraffe
this ligament (popularly called the paxwax) is of great length and
thickness, and is divided into longitudinal halves, and proceeds, not
only down the entire neck, but along the back, nearly to the tail. So
powerful a band requires correspondingly large attachments; and
accordingly we find that the vertebrae of the shoulders send out
enormously long perpendicular processes, which give to the shoulder
that height which is so eminent a characteristic of the animal. To
these processes the ligament of the neck is fastened by accessory
bands, which add both to its strength and elasticity.
The natives of Southern Africa make great use of this ligament, which
is carefully removed and dried. When the native wishes to make a
kaross, or any other article of apparel, he soaks a piece of the
ligament in water, and then beats it with a stone. This treatment
causes it to split into filaments, which can be worked to almost any
degree of fineness, and with these the native sews his leathern dress.
I have now before me a piece of this Kaffir thread, as it is called.
In its dry state, it is shrivelled and contracted, and no one who was
not acquainted with it could guess the purpose to which it was
originally devoted.
Although the neck of the giraffe is so enormously long, it only
consists of seven vertebrae, as is indeed the rule throughout the
mammalia. It seems very remarkable that in the neck of the elephant
and of the giraffe there should be precisely the same number of
vertebrae. Such, however, is the case, and the difference in length is
caused by the great length of those bones in the giraffe, and their
shortness and flatness in the elephant.
The giraffe is a swift animal, and even upon level ground will put a
horse to its utmost mettle; but on rough and rocky ground, especially
if the chase be directed up hill, the horse has no chance against the
giraffe, which can hop over the stones with the agility of the goat,
and even leap ravines which no horse will dare to face. So energetic
is the animal when chased, and so violently is the tail switched from
side to side, that the long, stiff hairs hiss sharply as they pass
through the air.
Sometimes, but very rarely, the giraffe will miss its footing and fall
to the ground; but it recovers itself immediately, and is on its feet
before much advantage can be taken of the mishap. When it lies down
intentionally, it is obliged to pack up its legs in a manner which
seems extremely awkward, although the animal can lie or rise with
perfect ease; and, like the camel, it possesses callosities upon the
knees and breast, on which it rests while reposing.
The height of the giraffe is rather variable, but on an average is
from twelve to eighteen feet.
[Illustration: THE GIRAFFE.]
THE LION ON THE THRESHOLD.
At Rietriverspoort, South Africa, writes Lichtenstein, we came to the
dwelling of a farmer named Van Wyk. Whilst we were resting our tired
oxen, and enjoying the cool shade of the porch, Van Wyk told us the
following story:--
"It was something more than two years ago that here, in this spot
where we are standing, I had to make a daring shot. My wife was
sitting in the house near the door, the children were playing about,
and I was busy doing something to my wagon on the other side of the
house, when suddenly what should we see, on the doorstep, but the
shadow of a great lion darkening the bright daylight. My wife, quite
stunned with terror, and knowing also how dangerous it often is to try
and run away in such cases, remained in her place, while the children
took refuge upon her lap. Their cries made me aware of something
having happened; and my astonishment and consternation may be imagined
when I discovered what guest was blocking up my entrance to my own
house.
"The lion had not as yet seen me: but how was I, unarmed as I was, to
defend my family? Involuntarily I moved along the side of the house
towards the window, which was open; and, most happily for me, I saw,
standing in a corner of the room near the window, a loaded gun. I was
able to reach it with my hand, though the window, as you see, is too
small for any one to get through. Still more providential was it that
the room door happened to be open, so that I could see the whole
terrible scene through the window. The lion had got into the house,
and was looking steadfastly at my wife and children. He made a
movement, and seemed about to spring upon them, when, feeling that
there was no longer any time to waste in deliberating what was to be
done, I uttered a few encouraging words to my wife, and with God's
help, shot right across the room into the passage, where I struck the
lion in the head, so that he could not move again. The ball had passed
close to the hair of my little boy."
[Illustration: THE LION.]
The same writer, Lichtenstein, says that the lion, like a cat, takes
its prey by springing upon it, and never attacks a man or animal which
does not attempt to run away from him without first placing himself at
a distance of ten or twelve paces off, and measuring his spring. This
habit of the lion has been turned to account by hunters, who make it
their practice never to fire at a lion until he has so placed himself:
long practice enabling them to know exactly where and when to hit it
with effect while the animal is preparing for his spring. If any one
is so unfortunate as to meet a lion unarmed, the only hope of escape
is presence of mind. To run away is certain destruction; if a man has
the coolness to remain standing where he is, the lion will not attack
him. He will not attempt the spring if the man stands motionless as a
statue, and looks quietly into his eyes. The erect figure of the human
species of itself alarms the lion, and when, in addition to this, he
sees his antagonist calm and unmoved, the feeling of awe is increased.
A sudden gesture, indicative of alarm, will of course disturb this
impression; but if the man continues to show self-possession, the lion
will at last be as afraid of the man as the man of the lion. After a
time he slowly raises himself, looks carefully round, retreats a few
steps, lies down again, makes a further retreat, and ends by taking
a rapid flight, as if his desire were to get as far out of the
presence of the human species as he possibly can. Indeed, we are told
by the settlers at the Cape, that it is not likely that the experiment
has been very often made. Formerly, when there were more lions to be
seen there than at present, and when, at the same time, the settlers
were inexperienced in lion-hunting, large numbers of hunters used to
go in chase of the lion, whom they would endeavor to entice into the
plain, and round whom they used to form a circle. They shot at him
first from one side and then from another, and if the poor animal
tried to break through the left side of the human wall, they would
attack him from the right. At present, however, experienced
lion-hunters generally prefer going alone after their dangerous prey,
and sometimes pursue him to his den. Such species of sport is always
dangerous, however, and is often attended with fatal results. We have
heard from a reliable source that in many sports among the mountains
near the Elephant River, lions are to be seen in such large numbers,
that on one occasion our informant saw as many as three and twenty
together. Most of them were young, and only eight quite full grown. He
had just loosened his oxen on an open place, and took the rather
cowardly than humane course of escaping to the tents of some
Hottentots, and leaving his oxen to the mercy of the lions, without
firing a shot.
THE SNOW-MAN.
Look! how the clouds are flying south!
The wind pipes loud and shrill!
And high above the white drifts stands
The snow-man on the hill.
Blow, wild wind from the icy north!
Here's one who will not fear
To feel thy coldest touch, or shrink
Thy loudest blast to hear!
Proud triumph of the school-boy's skill!
Far rather would I be
A winter giant, ruling o'er
A frosty realm, like thee,
And stand amidst the drifted snow,
Like thee, a thing apart,
Than be a man who walks with men,
But has a frozen heart!
MARIAN DOUGLAS.
[Illustration: THE SNOW-MAN.]
[Illustration: {A pair of barn swallows bring food to their nestling}]
BARN SWALLOWS.