untie the knot. But my usually nimble fingers were provokingly slow to
act now; and I pulled and pulled away, but to no purpose. The knot
obstinately refused to yield. The man with the box had nearly reached
our pew, and I began to fear I should lose the chance to give.
"Don't let him slip by me," I whispered so loudly to father as to
cause at least a dozen persons in the adjacent seats to stare
wonderingly at me. "I've something to put in."
Another prodigious effort, and the knot yielded.
The man passed the box first to father, and he put in a bill. He
glanced at me, evidently thinking a child would hardly have money to
give, and was about to go on; but I looked beseechingly towards him,
and he stopped and extended the box to me. In an instant the entire
contents of my handkerchief were emptied into it--as much money as my
two chubby hands could hold.
Father looked down upon me, and a half-amused smile flitted over his
face, as he beheld my unexpected act.
After we had returned home, father sat down by the window in an easy
chair, and calling me to him, placed me upon his knee.
"Gracie, dear," said he, smilingly, "tell me how it happened you put
so much money into the contribution-box. It must have taken nearly all
you had."
"It _was_ all I had, papa. It was the money I saved in my bank, and
you told me I could spend it just as I pleased."
"O, yes, dear; I am glad to have you; only it was a good deal for a
little girl."
"I gave it because I wanted to please God," I replied with earnest
solemnity. "That dreadful night, when we all thought you would die,
dear papa, I promised God I would be a better girl than I have ever
been before. I would be more kind, generous, and obedient, and would
try and please him all my life, if he would only let _you_ get well;
and I gave my money to-day because I am so glad and grateful to him."
"Precious child," said he tenderly and with much emotion, drawing me
close to him, "and I am glad, and grateful too, for the rich gift of
my dear little daughter."
SARAH P. BRIGHAM.
THE WAY TO WALK.
As I tramped over a stony path,
One cloudy morning early,
I learned the only way to step,
To keep from being surly.
Don't hurry, and stride, and come down hard
Upon the rolling pebbles,
But lightly step; and that's the way
To charm all kinds of rebels.
Don't hurry, and stride, and come down hard,
Even on troublesome people;
But carry your feet, and tread on air,
As though you lived on a steeple.
There are rolling stones in every path,
And rocks with jagged edges,
Which, if we gently touch, may turn
To flowers and bending sedges.
M. R. W.
[Illustration: THE CAMEL.]
[Decoration]
CAMELS.
The Bactrian camel may be at once known by the two humps upon its
back, which give the animal a most singular appearance.
This species is a native of Central Asia, China, and Thibet, and is
generally as useful in those countries as is the dromedary in Arabia,
being employed for the saddle, for draught, and burden. It is,
however, chiefly employed for the second of those purposes, and is of
the greatest service to its owners.
The vehicle to which this camel is generally harnessed is a rude cart
of wood, ingeniously put together, without a particle of iron, and,
after the fashion of such structures, shrieking, creaking, and
groaning as the wheels turn on their roughly-made and ungreased axle.
The drivers, however, care nothing for the hideous and incessant
noise, and probably are so accustomed to it, that they would not feel
at home with a cart whose wheels moved silently. The mode of
harnessing is precisely that which so simple a vehicle requires. From
the front of the cart projects a pole, and to this pole are hitched a
pair of camels by a yoke that passes over their shoulders. In fact,
the entire harness is nothing more than a wooden yoke and a leathern
strap.
In spite, however, of the rude machine to which they are attached, and
the great loss of power by the friction of the badly-fitted wheels,
the animals can draw very heavy weights for considerable distances. A
burden of three thousand pounds' weight is an ordinary load for a pair
of camels, and a peculiarly strong yoke of these animals will draw
nearly four thousand pounds' weight. This camel is commonly yoked in
pairs.
For the plough the camel is never employed, not because it is not
sufficiently strong for the task, but because it does not pull with
the steadiness needed to drag the ploughshare regularly through the
ground.
Sometimes, however, the Bactrian camel is employed as a beast of
burden, the bales being slung at each side, and the water-skins
suspended below the belly. When the animal is employed for this
purpose, a kind of pack-saddle is used, somewhat similar in shape to
that which has already been described in the history of the one-humped
camel, but necessarily modified in its structure. The owner of the
camel takes great care not to overload his animal, as he is afraid of
injuring the humps, and thereby detracting from the value of the
camel.
[Illustration: CAMEL OF A TARTAR EMIGRANT.]
In Persia the camel is employed for a very singular purpose. There
was, and may be now, a corps of the army which is called the camel
artillery. It consisted of a number of camels, each fitted with a
peculiar saddle, which not only accommodated the rider, but carried
a swivel-gun of about one pound calibre. These weapons had a greater
range than the ordinary Persian matchlocks, and, owing to the rapidity
with which they could be transferred from spot to spot, formed a
valuable branch of the artillery.
When the enemy saw that a detachment of the camel artillery was about
to attack them, their usual device was to reach such a position as to
force the camels to traverse wet and muddy ground, in which they were
sure to slip about, to lose all command over their limbs, and
sometimes to lame themselves completely by the hind legs slipping
apart.
Camels were especially serviceable for this purpose, because they are
wonderfully sure-footed when the ground is dry, almost rivalling the
mule in the certainty of the tread. The Arabian camel is notable for
his sure tread, but the Bactrian species is still more remarkable in
this respect. Owing, in all probability, to the elongated toe, which
projects beyond the foot, and forms a kind of claw, the Bactrian camel
can climb mountain passes with perfect security, and in consequence of
this ability is sometimes called the mountain camel.
It is as serviceable in winter as in summer. The soft, cushion-like
feet, which slide about so helplessly in mud, take a firm hold of ice,
and enable their owner to traverse a frozen surface with easy
security. In snow, too, the Bactrian camel is equally at home; and the
Calmucks would rather ride a camel than a horse in the winter, because
the longer legs of the former animal enable it to wade through the
deep snow, in which a horse could only plunge about without finding a
foothold. No greater proof of the extreme utility of this animal can
be adduced than the fact that a body of two thousand camels were
employed in conducting a military train over the "snow-clad summits
of the Indian Caucasus" in winter time, and that throughout the space
of seven months only one camel died, having been accidentally killed.
Although the camel has so strong an objection to mud, it has none to
water, and will wade across a river without hesitation. It can even
swim well when the water is too deep to be forded; but it does not
appear to have much power of directing its course, or of propelling
itself through the water with much force. Indeed, it may rather be
said to float than to swim.
In point of speed it cannot approach the Arabian dromedary, although
it is little inferior to the ordinary camel of burden. About two and a
half miles per hour is the average pace at which a pair of Bactrian
camels will draw a load, varying in weight from three to four thousand
pounds; and if they travel over a well-made road, they can do their
thirty miles a day for many successive days. In countries, therefore,
which are adapted to its habits, the camel is far superior to any
other beast of burden, whether for draught or carriage.
One great advantage of the camel is, that its feet are so tough, that
they can pass over rough and stony places without suffering, and that
therefore the animal does not require the aid of shoes. In an ordinary
march, the constant attention to the shoeing of horses and cattle
entails great labor, much watchfulness, and often causes considerable
delay, so that the peculiar formation of the camel's foot, which
neither requires nor admits of an iron shoe, is of exceeding value in
a forced march. In some places a leathern shoe is fixed to the camel's
foot, but is really of little use.
[Illustration: THE CAMEL.]
The very worst time for the Bactrian camel is the beginning and end of
winter, when frost and thaw occur alternately. At such times of the
year the snow falls thickly, is partially melted in the daytime, and
at night freezes on the surface into a thin cake of ice. Through this
crust the feet of the camel break, and the animal cuts its legs
cruelly with the sharp edges of the broken ice.
For the cold weather itself this species of camel cares little,
passing its whole time in the open air, and feeding on the grass when
it is caked with the ice formed from the dew. Indeed, it bears a
severe winter better than either horse, ox, or sheep, and has been
observed to feed with apparent comfort when the thermometer had sunk
many degrees below zero. In some places--such as the country about
Lake Baikal--the camel is partially sheltered from the cold by a thick
woollen cloth, which is sewn over its body; but even in such cases its
owners do not trouble themselves to furnish it with food, leaving it
to forage for itself among shrubs and trees of higher ground, or among
the reeds and rushes that grow on marshy land and the banks of rivers.
Almost the only disease among the Bactrian camels is an affection of
the tongue, which is covered with blisters, so that the poor animal
cannot eat, and dies from starvation.
The fleece of the Bactrian camel ought to weigh about ten pounds, and
is used for making a coarse and strong cloth. In the summer time the
hair becomes loose, and is easily plucked off by hand, just as sheep
used to be "rowed" before shears were employed in removing the wool.
The camel in the Zooelogical Gardens may be seen in the summer time in
a very ragged state, its fleece hanging in bunches in some parts of
the body, while others are quite bare. The price of the wool is about
six cents a pound.
The skin is used for making straps, ropes, and thongs, and is seldom
tanned. It is thought to be inferior to that of the ox, and is in
consequence sold at a comparatively cheap rate, an entire hide only
fetching about two dollars. The milk is used for food, but is produced
in very small quantities, the average yield being only half a gallon.
The flesh is eaten, and when the animal is fat is tolerably tender,
and is thought to resemble beef. If, however, it be in poor condition,
the meat is so tough and ill-flavored, that none but hungry men, armed
with good teeth, can eat it. The price of a good Bactrian camel is
about fifty dollars.
The weight of a full-grown animal is about one third more than that of
the average ox--that is to say, about twelve hundred pounds. The
average height is seven or eight feet, and the animal generally lives
about thirty-five or forty years.
Dissimilar in external appearance as are the Bactrian and Arabian
camels, their skeletons are so alike, that none but a skilful
anatomist can decide upon the species to which a skeleton has
belonged. The legs of the Bactrian species are rather shorter in
proportion than those of the Arabian animal, and in them lies the
chief distinction of the two species. Indeed, many naturalists deny
that there is any real difference of species, and assert that the two
animals are simply two varieties of the same species.
The specimen in the Zooelogical Gardens is called "Jenny" by the
keeper, and has rather a curious history, being associated with one of
the great events of the present century. During the late Russian war
her mother was taken from the enemy in the Crimea, and was
unfortunately killed. The deserted little one ran about among the
soldiers, and was adopted by the corps of Royal Engineers, who towards
the end of 1856 presented her to the Zooelogical Society. Both the
camels are fed upon the same diet, and eat about the same quantity.
J. G. WOOD.
[Illustration: {Two girls looking thoughtful; one of them is sitting
on a clothes trunk}]
WHAT SO SWEET?
What so sweet as summer,
When the sky is blue,
And the sunbeams' arrows
Pierce the green earth through?
What so sweet as birds are,
Putting into trills
The perfume of the wild-rose,
The murmur of the rills?
What so sweet as flowers,
Clovers white and red,
Where the brown bee-chemist
Finds its daily bread?
What so sweet as sun-showers,
When the big cloud passes,
And the fairy rainbow
Seems to touch the grasses?
What so sweet as winds are,
Blowing from the woods,
Hinting in their music
Of dreamy solitudes?
Rain, and song, and flower,
When the summer's shine
Makes the green earth's beauty
Seem a thing divine.
MARY N. PRESCOTT.
COUNTING BABY'S TOES.
Dear little bare feet,
Dimpled and white,
In your long night-gown
Wrapped for the night,
Come let me count all
Your queer little toes,
Pink as the heart
Of a shell or a rose.
One is a lady
That sits in the sun;
Two is a baby,
And three is a nun;
Four is a lily
With innocent breast,
And five is a birdie
Asleep on her nest.
[Illustration: THE WELL.]
THORNS.
"Deepdale is a delightful place to visit." So thought little Nellie
Harris when she went there to see Cousin Rose. All day long they
wandered over the farm with Uncle John, first to feed the chickens,
then to the well so dark and deep Nellie shuddered when she looked
far, far down into it, and held tight to Rose for fear of falling.
Uncle John turned the windlass to let Rose and Nellie see the bucket
rise all dripping from its watery bed.
One morning after Nellie's return to the city, Rose was walking alone
in the garden.
The flowers were charming, for the dew was not yet off their delicate
petals; and they were so fragrant that little Rose's nose was put
close up to a great many, to find which it was that smelled so very
sweetly. First she was sure it was a great cabbage-rose that nodded at
her from its stalk, but soon after she was surer that it was a little
bed of pansies, or "Johnny-jump-ups," which turned all their bright
little faces to the sun, like a family of newly-washed and
clean-aproned children just starting for school. Soon, however, she
was surest that it was a patch of mignonette under the pear tree,
which, though it looked so plain and humble with its little bits of
blossoms, was pouring out the richest perfume.
"Oh, it is you, is it?" said little Rose. "Mamma read to us yesterday
that perfume was the soul of flowers. I guess you have got the biggest
soul of them all, if you are so little."
Pretty soon Rose began to think of something more substantial than
bird-songs, sunbeams and flowers. There were very nice raspberries,
red and ripe, over beyond the currant-bushes, and her mamma allowed
her to pick them in that part of the garden, for she knew how
delightful it is for little folks to eat their fruit just where they
pick it from the bushes.
Little Rose went around into the lower walk, where she could see the
raspberries. A good many had ripened over-night, and hung on the long,
waving stems, waiting to be picked.
There was a short way to them, right across between two great
branching currant-bushes. She saw it was guarded by long briar-stalks
with sharp thorns all along their sides, but it was so much nearer
than to go around the long row of currants. "Mamma says we must not be
afraid of trials and discouragements in our way," Rose said. She was
very fond of quoting things she heard said or read, and applying them
to her own experience.
"I guess I can get through. Little girls must be brave!" And she
pushed boldly into the middle of the space between the bushes. But
there she caught fast, and could not go a step farther. One great,
strong branch of thorns was stretched across her foot, the sharp
points sticking fast in her stocking, and hurting her flesh cruelly if
she tried to move it. Another one caught hold of her little
garden-shawl and pulled it away back off her shoulders. She pulled and
twitched with all her might, but could not get it loose. On the other
side her little bare elbow was torn and bleeding from a scratch, while
her dress was held as fast as if a hundred invisible hands were
pulling at it. There she was. She could not get on nor back. There was
nothing to be done but to call for her mother. This she did so loudly
that everybody in the house came rushing to see what was the matter.
Dolly and Hannah, leaving their dish-washing in the kitchen, got there
first, and setting to work soon had Rose out, but with scratched
hands, arms and feet and two great rents in her dress.
"How in the world did you come in there among the briars?" asked
mamma, after they were in the house again and Rose became comforted a
little.
"It was the nearest way to the raspberries," she answered.
"The nearest? Yes; but not the best. It would have been far better to
go around by the path."
"I heard you tell Cousin Lucy the other day that folks must never mind
if there were thorns in their way," said little Rose, almost sobbing
again, for she had thought that at least her mother would praise her
courage and philosophy.
Her mother smiled, but presently looked grave.
"My darling," she said, "it is true we must not mind thorns if they
are in the path of duty. But when they grow in any other path, we have
a right--indeed, we ought--to avoid them if we can."
"But wasn't I in the path of duty when I tried to get the raspberries,
mamma? You said that I might pick all that grew down there."
"You were not doing wrong in trying to get them."
"Isn't that the same as duty?"
"Not exactly. Would it have been wrong for you to do without them? Or
would you have been to blame for going by the path?"
"Oh no," said Rose; "it would not have been wrong, for nobody said I
must get them, or that I must go through the currant-bushes."
"Then you see it was not duty."
"Please tell me exactly what is meant by duty, mamma."
"Duty is not only something which we may do, it is something which we
ought to do, and which it would be wrong to neglect. It is not simply
permission, but obligation. Is that plain?"
"Yes, mamma. I understand now. I was permitted to pick the berries,
but I was not obliged to do it or else do wrong. But if you had sent
me to pick them for you, it would have been duty."
"And do you think that in that case it would be right to go through
the thorns?"
"No, mamma; I see now. It is right to take the plainest, easiest way
when we can."
"Yes, my dear. We must not be afraid of thorns if our path leads over
them. But if we leave the true path and foolishly try to push
ourselves through unnecessary obstacles, it is not bravery or
fortitude, but vanity and silly rashness."
UNDER THE PEAR TREES.
Under the pear trees one August day,
In the long-ago and the far-away,
Four little children rested from play,
Cheering the hours with childish chat,
Now laughing at this or shouting at that,
Till a golden pear fell straight in Fred's hat.
"I'm lucky," he cried as he hastened to eat
The mellow pear so juicy and sweet;
"If I tried for a week, that couldn't be beat."
Then Tom and Jenny and Mary spread
Their hats and aprons wide, and said,
"We can catch pears as well as Fred."
Then long and patient they sat, and still,
Hoping a breeze from over the hill
Their laps with the golden fruit would fill.
Till, weary of waiting, Tom said with a sneer,
"I could gather a _bushel_ of pears, 'tis clear,
While idly we _wait_ for a _windfall_ here."
Then up the tree he sprang, and the power
Of his sturdy arm soon sent a shower
Of yellow fruit as a golden dower.
It was long ago, that August day
When four little children rested from play
Under the pear trees far away.
And the children, older and wiser now,
With furrows of care on either brow,
Have not forgotten the lesson, I trow--
The lesson they learned on that August day,
That for having our wishes the surest _way_
Is to _work_, and in _earnest_, without _delay_.
THE CAVE OF BENTON'S RIDGE.
The cave was a large opening in a ledge of rocks, about half a mile
from the village of M----, and had for years been a favorite resort
for the boys on the holidays.
'Twas at the close of school, on a bright June day, when, with a rush
and a shout, out came a bevy of boys from the school-house, and over
the wall with a bound were half a dozen before the rest had emerged
from the open door. The first ones took their way across the fields to
the cave, and had thrown themselves down on the rock at the entrance,
and were busily talking, when the last comers arrived.
"We've planned to have a time Saturday; if Miss Walters will take the
botany class for a walk, we'll come here and have supper, and go home
by moonlight," said Fred Manning. "How does that strike you?"
"Count me in," said Phil Earle. "I second the motion," said Arthur
Ames. "Where shall we go to walk?" said another; "this is nearly far
enough for some of the girls."
"Pooh! no! we can get some nice pitcher-plants, if we go to Eaton's
meadows; we haven't been there for ever so long," said Phil.
All agreed it would be fun, and Phil was deputized to ask Miss
Walters, and with her complete the arrangements.
"It's Thursday now; and I'll ask father if we can't have some of the
hay they are making down in the lower field, to put inside the cave;
for we must fix up a little," said Arthur. Willie Eaton said his
mother would make them a jug of coffee; and as he lived near, he would
run round that way at noon, and put it in the spring, so as to have
it nice and cool. For one of the attractions of this place was a
lovely spring, that bubbled and sparkled among the ferns, just under
the rock where the cave was.
Fred and Phil began to lay the stones for the fireplace; for though it
was not cold on these bright June nights, still a fire was one of the
grand features of the occasion.
They all worked, some brushing out the cave with bushes, some getting
old wood in piles to burn, rolling stones for seats, etc., until it
was time for them to go home, when, with merry shouts, off they ran
down the rock, and over the fields, home.
Next morning Phil called for Miss Walters, and on the way told her of
the plans for Saturday, into which she entered heartily, and wanted
the boys to stay a few moments after the morning session, to perfect
the arrangements.
At recess she called the girls of the botany class to her, and said,--
"Girls, can you go on Saturday to walk? The boys have invited us to
take supper at the cave."
"O, yes!" "O, yes!" "Yes, indeed!" "Splendid!" answered half a dozen
voices.
"We will meet here at two o'clock; and you must dress for the meadows.
I believe the boys are mostly web-footed, by the way they take to such
places; however, we do find the best specimens there. Another
thing--the boys are to furnish eggs and coffee, they say; and each of
you can bring what is most convenient."
Off went the girls, eager to plan and discuss the welcome project.
Saturday came--a bright, cloudless day. All were at the school-house
at two, or before, and set forth, looking like strollers, as they
were.
They did not make many collections on the high land; but when they
entered the meadows, they soon found a variety of pretty grasses.
"Fudge!" said Ella Barton; "I'm not going to get any of that old
hay--would you, Miss Walters?"
"No, certainly not, if I did not want the trouble of carrying it; but
I think them very lovely to put with branches of bayberry, as they
form such a pretty contrast of color with the delicate pearl-gray
berries and brown branches; and if you add a few bunches of bright red
arum berries, you have a pretty, fadeless winter bouquet."
"Where can we get the bayberries?" said Fred, coming up.
"In most places near the salt water. In the town where my home is,
there are acres and acres of it; and may be at Thanksgiving time I can
send you some to distribute, or, better still, you might make up a
party, and come down. I'll promise you a fine tramp, plenty of
berries, and perhaps my mother will let you taste of her Thanksgiving
pies."
Off went Fred's hat high in the air. "Hurrah for the pie! I'll
certainly go, if you'd like to have me."