was some time ago,--they used to say that swallows lived in the mud
all winter, as the eels do. The books made no such stupid blunder;
only the ignorant people, such as never seem to use their eyes or
their reason. It was one of the popular errors of the time. Silly as
the notion seems, it has been held by a great many respectable
persons.
Possibly the error may have arisen from the fact that the moment the
swallows appear in any locality, in the spring of the year, they
immediately search out some muddy place, where they can get materials
for their nests. First they carry a mouthful of mud, then some threads
of dry hay or straw, then more mud, and so on. These frequent visits
to a marshy locality might readily lead an unobserving person to
imagine that the birds came from the muddy recesses in the banks. But,
of course, they are on a very different errand.
Having commenced their nests, the swallows rest during the warmest
part of the day, so that the sun may dry their work, and make it hard
and strong. Then more mud is plastered on--more threads of straw; and
so the industrious birds continue until the body of the nest is
completed. A nice, soft lining of fine grass or hair finishes the
whole, and makes a summer home for both birds and their young.
Unlike most other birds, swallows often repair old nests, if the
frosts and storms of winter have injured them, as they generally do;
and sometimes the birds come back to the same locality for several
years. They select some unexposed corner, under the eaves of a barn or
house, if possible pretty high from the ground, and in a very few days
the entire dwelling, lining and all, will be completed.
If unmolested, barn swallows will form quite a colony in the space of
a few years. But, if their nests are injured or torn down, or their
young ones are stolen away or disturbed, the birds forsake the
locality forever. Where a number of families live together, their
chattering, when, as the evening comes on, they are catching gnats and
flies for supper, or feeding their young ones, is very pleasant and
diverting. And there is music in their language, too--music which a
thoughtful person is ever glad to hear.
Last summer, when business was dull, I went on a vacation, away up
into the Granite State. While passing through the town of Unity (my
little niece insists upon calling it _Utiny_--but she will speak
plainer one of these years), my attention was called to a small
village church on the wayside. Around the entire building, under the
eaves, were brackets, some three inches in width, and perhaps as far
apart. In the spaces thus formed were hundreds upon hundreds of
swallows' nests. Hardly a single space was left unoccupied, while many
contained two, and sometimes three nests. Not content with the eaves,
the colony had commenced upon the belfry, and far up towards the spire
every possible nook and corner seemed to be spoken for.
I stopped to contemplate the very interesting spectacle. A villager
informed me that the colony came regularly every year, and, as near as
could be judged, the same birds; that for ten years the birds had been
petted by the inhabitants, and protected by all, old and young. He
said that the swallows had all disappeared in a body, about a week
previous to my visit, adding, "You don't know what a lovely spectacle
it is to witness the evolutions of these birds on a summer evening,
when they are teaching their young ones to fly. They swarm around the
building like bees, and their music is most delightful to hear."
I could readily imagine the beauty of the scene, from the great number
of nests, though I mean to see the colony at their devotions this
year. "Yea, the sparrow hath found a house, and the swallow a nest for
herself, where she may lay her young, _even thine altars_, O Lord of
hosts, my King and my God."
It would be interesting to know where these birds go as winter
approaches. It is very easy, and perhaps very true, to say that they
"go south." But to what part of the south? Do they keep in a body
there, as here? Do they have nests, and rear their young, there, as
with us? There is a fine field for inquiry, which it is hoped some of
our boys will go into by and by. For the present, if any of them are
passing through Unity, let them remember the church which has its
largest congregation on the outside.
W. WANDER.
[Decoration]
GRATITUDE OF A COW.
A gentleman passing through a field observed a cow showing many
symptoms of uneasiness, stamping with her feet and looking earnestly
at him. At first he feared to approach her, but afterward went toward
her, which seemed to please her much. She then guided him to a ditch
where her calf was lying helpless; and he was just in time to save it
from death, to the no small delight of the cow. Some days after, when
passing through the same field, the cow came up to him as if to thank
him for his kindness. As among the various animals with which the
earth abounds none is more necessary to the existence of man than the
cow, so likewise none appears to be more extensively propagated; in
every part of the world it is found, large or small, according to the
quantity and quality of its food. There is no part of Europe where it
grows to so large a size as in England, whose pastures are admirably
suited to its nature. The quantity of milk and butter varies according
to the difference of its pasture; some cows in favorable situations
yield twenty quarts of milk in a day.
To form a just idea of the value of this animal, we ought to consider
that there is scarcely any part of it without its utility to man. The
skin is manufactured into leather; the hair, mixed with lime, is used
in plastering walls and building houses; the bones serve as a
substitute for ivory; when calcined, they are used by the refiners of
silver to separate the baser metals; and when ground and spread over
the fields, they form a fertilizing manure. Combs, knife-handles and
many useful articles are made from the horns, which, when softened in
boiling water, become pliable, so as to be formed into lanterns--an
invention usually ascribed to King Alfred. We are furnished with
candles from the tallow, and the feet afford an oil adapted to a
variety of purposes. Glue is made from the cartilages, gristles and
parings of the hide boiled in water; calves' skins are manufactured
into vellum; saddlers and others use a fine thread prepared from the
sinews, which is much stronger than any other equally fine. The blood,
gall, etc., are used in many important manufactures.
[Illustration: THE COW AND HER CALF.]
MINUTES.
We are but minutes--little things!
Each one furnished with sixty wings,
With which we fly on our unseen track,
And not a minute ever comes back.
We are but minutes; use, use us well,
For how we are used we must one day tell.
Who uses minutes has hours to use;
Who loses minutes whole years must lose.
[Illustration: {Uncle Godfrey wades through snow, two horses and a
dingo nearby}]
GOING FOR THE LETTERS.
AN AUSTRALIAN STORY.
It was a bitter cold day in the end of the month of January. The
morning had been a very unpleasant one--neither frost nor snow, a sort
of compound of rain and sleet; but now the snow was falling fast, and
the clear crystals were fast hiding every shrub and plant that had a
place in the beautiful flower garden, in front of the drawing-room
windows of Arundel Manor, while inside a roaring fire, that made the
handsomely-furnished apartment look even more than usually snug and
comfortable, was surrounded by a family party consisting of Mrs. St.
Clair, the three children, and uncle Godfrey.
It was the "children's hour," and his niece was trying to coax a tale
out of "dear uncle," who did not seem much in the humor to comply with
her request, when mamma looked up and said, "My dear, do not trouble
your uncle so. I am sure, Godfrey, that Lydia must torment you; and if
she does, we must send her to the nursery."
Poor Lydia's face fell at once. "I am sure I did not mean to tease
uncle."
"Never mind, my pet; I know I promised to tell you a story to-night,
and was just thinking what it was to be, when my fit of musing sent
memory back many a long day, and revealed a scene distant many a
thousand miles. Now that I am fairly awake, I will show you the
picture of my waking dream. So up you jump;" and Lydia, catching hold
of his hand, was quickly seated on her uncle's knee, her usual place
at story time, and throwing her arms round his neck, exclaimed,--
"O, you dear old pet!"
"I heard," began uncle Godfrey, "some boys, who shall be nameless,
grumbling this morning at being kept inside, for fear of catching cold
on such a raw day, and my thoughts instantly turned to a day similar
to this, and how I then prayed to be under the shelter of some
friendly roof; and I also thought how thankful every one ought to be
who is able to sit at a warm fire, when it freezes hard, or when the
snow is covering the earth by inches every hour.
"I dare say you think it fine fun to run over to the lodge and bring
the letters from the post-boy; at least I did when as young as you
are; but going for letters is not always the pleasantest thing
imaginable, as I once nearly found out to my cost.
"If you are all so anxious to hear the contents of letters from your
uncle Wilfred, you may fancy how eagerly he and I used to watch for
the arrivals of the mails at Sydney, and be sure that one or both of
us were certain to be at the office in Kiandra on the day it reached
there, and with what delight we read and re-read the letter which
never failed to make its appearance monthly to one or other of us.
"Our winter fall of snow generally began about the 12th of May, and
from that date till the month of October it was a matter of no small
difficulty to get our letters at the place where we lived, a long nine
miles from Kiandra of a very mountainous track.
"186- was an extraordinary season. May passed, no snow--June the same,
only heavy, I may say, nearly constant showers of rain. 'A glorious
year,' the diggers called it. 'Never such a season for work since the
diggings broke out. Two months' work at a time when there is never any
water. O, what a wash-up there will be in November!'
"Such was the substance of the conversation when any two of the
residents met, varied, perhaps, by remarks as to whether old
So-and-so, who had been twenty years in the district, would be right
in saying there was to be nine feet of snow, or whether So-and-so was
a better judge in saying we were to have none at all?
"I was then living by myself, Wilfred being away in Sydney, and was
looking out for him every day, and hoping he might be back before the
winter fairly set in, when it was scarcely possible to travel. As I
said before, June had passed, and we were getting well into July, when
I heard that our English mail would be in Kiandra on the following
Wednesday. It was now Friday.
"We had got a fine week for work, raining gently all the time, which
is what we diggers like, and no frost, which dries up the water, and
makes us all idle, when on Sunday the weather completely changed, and
very suddenly, too, as, indeed, it always did there. The wind, which
had been from north or east, without any warning chopped right round
to the south-west, and we had a strong frost. Next day was cloudy, but
at night frost was harder than ever, and everything with liquid in it,
even to the tea-pot in a room where there was a fire nearly all night,
was full of solid ice.
"The thermometer was down to 18 deg. below zero in the same place; and in
bed, in the next room, with four pairs of new blankets, I thought I
should have been fairly frozen. We were hard at work all that day,
which was a drizzly, snowy one, everything betokening a fall of snow;
so, when Wednesday dawned, though not so deep as I expected, I was
not surprised to find more than a foot of it all over.
"Down the country the floods had been dreadful; nearly all the bridges
had been washed away, and the roads turned into bogs, so that our
mails came in very irregularly, sometimes ten days behind time. You
may therefore imagine I was in a great worry to hear from Wilfred, my
last letter being a month old, as well as anxious for _home_ news. So
I donned my oil-skin over my blanket-coat, put on my thigh gum-boots,
tied my comforter round my neck and up over my ears, and pulling my
south-wester on, prepared to face the weather.
"I found the walk into town, though very heavy, not so bad as I
expected, and arrived safely, without any mishaps, but rather tired
and uncomfortably moist, it being a sort of drizzle all the way; but a
letter from Wilfred, saying he would not leave for some time, and so
would not be caught in this storm, and the perusal of a kind one from
'the old country' soon made me forget my discomfort, and I spent a
pleasant evening at a friend's.
"At bed-time it was a beautiful starry night; but I did not altogether
fancy it. There was a kind of half soft feel through the frost, that
sounded to me like a change, and the thought of the morrow's walk was
not a pleasant one; but there was no use forestalling what might never
be. So to bed and to sleep; but ere my eyes were well closed, the wind
began to whistle round the corner of the house, and--hallo--what's
that! Big drops of rain, and lumps of earth and gravel, were pelting
the panes of glass.
"A few minutes there was a lull--a dead silence--when flash!
crash!--the room was in a blaze of light, and at the same instant the
thunder made the very bed shake again, and also made my heart rise to
my mouth. Listening earnestly for some time, and no further
disturbances occurring, I began, after thanking a kind Providence for
his protection, to think over the matter, and came to the conclusion
that at last we were in for a downright fall, this being the third
time that, to my knowledge, such had been preceded by a single clap of
thunder.
"Next day the snow came down in earnest; and as it was drifting in
every direction, I took the advice of my friends, and quietly stopped
where I was. Large, feathery flakes fell unceasingly all the
afternoon, and by night there was fully two feet in the town; but as
it looked a little better on Friday afternoon, and my dog, cat, and
fowls could get nothing to eat until my return, I determined to make a
start, though against the opinions of most of the town's people.
"When I left Kiandra there was a dense fog, which shortly changed,
first to a light, and then to a heavy snow; and by the time I dragged
myself the mile to the top of the mountain, it was coming down, and no
mistake!
"It was impossible to see one yard in any direction, and my legs were
already beginning to _talk_; but it was too late to think of turning.
I had had only to fight through one extra deep drift as yet, and knew
the road hitherto well; but now I had to turn off from where the track
lay hid, and had not gone far when my difficulties fairly began, and I
was quickly ploughing my way through some five or six feet of snow.
"Half an hour's hard work found me clear of that, and for a couple of
miles everything went swimmingly. The snow was here firm enough to
bear my weight, although now and again, bump! down I went through the
crust, nearly jerking my joints out. The nearer home the deeper got
the snow, and, of course, so much the more tired I felt. The main
creek to be crossed was hidden entirely; and as its exact whereabouts
was not very easily guessed at, you may depend it was not a pleasant
sensation to plump down and find myself up to the neck. Luckily, the
water was no depth, and as my boots were tight and long, a hard
scramble pulled me out of my first trouble.
"A short rest, and I was again on my way; but it took me a good many
hours to get the next three or four miles, even though I met no more
serious difficulty than some very heavy drifts. I was getting very
tired, and hungry, too, and you may fancy it was no joke wading the
snow, never less than two feet, lucky if not going past the knees at
every step; but at last I was in a mess, and how to get out of it I
knew not. The look of the country, when a lull gave me the chance of
seeing, showed I was off my road; and when I felt I was lost, my
thoughts were anything but satisfactory.
"I knew not which way to turn, so sat down to think it over, and was
looking around as well as the drifting snow would permit, when coming
along my tracks was a large yellow dog. My heart gave a bound of
delight, and jumping up, I let a 'cooey,'[A] to tell its master that
some one was in the same predicament, as I doubted not he was.
"Slowly a minute or two passed, but no reply to my communication.
Alas! all was silence, and I then saw, by its pointed ears and bushy
tail, that it was a dingo, or native dog, which was running my
footsteps. It was no use sitting where I was. So on I started in the
direction I fancied, every minute feeling more and more fagged, and
when at last darkness set in, was almost inclined to give up.
"My yellow friend followed me for some time at a respectful distance;
and though the dingo is a sneaking coward, still, had sleep
overpowered me, he might have been tempted to try how I tasted, as he
must have been hungry to come so close to me as he did. So, although I
never had any fear of such an event actually occurring, I was not at
all sorry when he trotted off, his tail, as usual, between his legs,
to join some of his companions, whose unearthly howls he heard at no
great distance; there must have been five or six.
"I felt really glad they came no nearer, as a mob of them are very
daring; and I have known them, when well starved for a week or two,
kill calves, and even colts, when the mothers were weak and could not
fight for them. But it was not very long before I found that they were
not after me, as I nearly stumbled against a mare and colt belonging
to myself, that were standing under a tree, and whinnied as I spoke.
We had sent all our horses away two months ago but this one, as she
could not be found, and we thought she was dead. The poor thing could
not have tasted food for days; but what could I do but pity the pair,
and feel that their end was to be food for the _warregals_ (native
dogs).
"As I had now been walking seven or eight hours, and hard at it all
the time, I could see nothing for it but to yield to necessity, as
sleep was fast overpowering me, when I distinctly heard the bark of a
dog, which I felt confident was my old watch, 'Jack.' My spirits rose
at once, and again I was alive, and pushed in the direction of the
welcome sound.
"At the same time I caught a glimpse of a cluster of trees, whose
peculiar shape I had often remarked, which told me where I was; and
this fact was also quickly proved by my plunging into an old
prospecting hole--the only one in the neighborhood. It was about six
feet deep, and full of snow and water. I thought I was lost, as the
frozen slush went down my back, and that I, who had been picked out of
the Canton River, in a dark night, when the tide ran six knots an
hour, was fated to be drowned in a filthy pot-hole.
"But, luckily, such was not my lot on the present occasion, as, after
many a failure, I managed to pull myself out, my boots full of water,
and my whole body nearly numb from the cold. Luckily, the house was
only half a mile off.
"I reached it in safety, and just in time, as my feet were all but
frost-bitten, when I should have been fortunate to lose only a few of
my toes, as I knew a man here who had _both_ legs cut off in
consequence of a severe frost-bite.
"As it was, I was a sorry figure; my clothes were like a board, my
socks were in a similar state, while icicles hung in festoons from my
hair and beard. But, when at last I managed to open the door, and get
a light, one or two rough towels, and some ten minutes' hard rubbing,
soon put a glow of heat over my whole body; and by the time I turned
into bed, after a cup of scalding hot coffee (I was too hungry to
eat), my misfortunes were forgotten, and all I felt was thankfulness
for having reached my house, which seems to me, even now, to have been
a very doubtful matter, had 'Jack' not barked when he did.
"See how many things turned out all for my good--the mare and the colt
in the snow, the dingo running after her through hunger, and my dog
barking at it, showed me where my house was, when I was fairly lost,
and thus saved my life, and enabled me to spin you this yarn, which I
must now finish by saying that since that time I am always glad to
have a warm house to shelter me in such weather as this, and cannot
help thinking that if any boys had ever been placed in my predicament,
they would only be too thankful to remain inside on such a day as
this, without requiring their mother to order them to do so."
"But what about the poor mare? Did she die? and did the wild dogs eat
the colt?"
"O, I almost forgot to tell you that, to my astonishment, in two or
three days, when the snow hardened a bit, the pair found their way
home, and I, after a deal of trouble, got them to the banks of the
Tumut River, which, although only a couple of miles away, was so many
hundred feet lower, that they could paw away the snow, and so got
grass enough to live till spring when they soon got fat. The little
colt I named 'Snowdrop,' and when she was old enough, broke her in;
and many a good gallop we had over the place where she and her mother
neighed to me on that dark and dismal night."
FOOTNOTE:
[A] A peculiar shout, heard at a great distance, which is common among
the Australian settlers.
SPRING HAS COME.
Spring has come back to us, beautiful spring!
Blue-birds and swallows are out on the wing;
Over the meadows a carpet of green
Softer and richer than velvet is seen.
Up come the blossoms so bright and so gay,
Giving sweet odors to welcome the May.
Sunshine and music are flooding the air,
Beauty and brightness are everywhere.
ABOUT "BITTERS."
[Illustration: {Bitters being chased by a rooster}]
Charley and Jimmie D. were playing near the barn one day, when along
came the forlornest looking cur you ever did see. The children
commenced calling him, and laughed loudly as the animal came towards
them, he was _such_ an ill-looking thing.
"Good fellow! nice fellow!" said Charley, patting him. "Jim, you run
in, and get him something to eat--won't you? and don't tell mother
yet; you know she dislikes dogs so. We'll tie him up to-night, and
tell her to-morrow, if no one comes for him."
Such another looking dog I think I never saw--scrawny and poor, as
though he had never been more than half fed; a slit in one ear, tail
not much to speak of, and color a dirty black and white.
Jimmie soon came back from a successful forage, and gave him a good
supper. At least doggie seemed to think so, for he gobbled it up in
about a minute, and then wagged the stump of his tail for more.
"No, sir," said Charley, "no more to-night."
Then they shut him up in a little room in a corner of the barn, and
ran to find their father, and tell him, well knowing he would not
care, if their mother was willing.
They found their father, who went with them to see him, and laughed
long and loud as they led out the ugly beast.
Then all went in to supper; the great secret almost revealing itself
in their tell-tale looks and occasional whisperings, neither of which
attracted their mother's attention.
Supper over, they made a final visit to their pet, and then left him
for the night.
"What shall we name him?" said Jimmie, when they were alone in their
room at night.
"O, we must have a funny name, he's such a sorry looking feller!
Wouldn't you call him 'Bitters'?" said Charley.
"Bitters!" said Jim, with a laugh.
"Yes, that's bad enough."
So Bitters he was named; and next morning they won their mother's
reluctant consent to keep the dog, provided he was kept at the barn,
or away from the house, at all events.
Then they fed and played with him till school time, and shut him up
till noon.
Bitters seemed to take to his new admirers, and appeared quite
satisfied with his quarters, and was getting to look a little more
like a respectable dog, when one morning, as he was running round a
corner of the barn, he came suddenly upon the old rooster, who
bristled up and showed fight. Bitters turned, and ran for dear life,
as hard as he could go, and never has been seen or heard from, from
that day to this, much to the boys' regret.
F. E. S.
[Illustration: DOG STEPHEN.]
FRED AND DOG STEPHEN.
"Now, just one good cuddle," said little six-year-old Freddie, "and
then I'll be ready for school;" and he curled himself up like a young
Turk in his mother's lap, and nestled there in a very enjoyable way.