much attached, and about which he wrote many pretty things. They were
given to him when they were leverets, as a hare is called during the
first year of its life, and he named them Puss, Bess, and Tiney. He
built them houses to sleep in, and always kept them near him. Bess, who
died soon after he was full grown, "was," writes Cowper, "a hare of
great humor and drollery. Puss was tamed by gentle usage; Tiney was not
to be tamed at all." Once poor Puss was sick. His master nursed him with
the greatest care. He says: "No creature could be more grateful than my
patient after his recovery--a sentiment which he most significantly
expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it, then the palm, then
every finger separately, then between all the fingers, as if anxious to
leave no part of it unsaluted; a ceremony which he never performed but
once again, upon a similar occasion."
Upon Tiney the kindest treatment had no effect. If his master ventured
to stroke him, he would grunt, strike with his fore-feet, spring
forward, and bite. Tiney lived to be nine years old, and died from the
effects of a fall. Puss survived him two years. A memorandum found among
Cowper's papers reads: "This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years,
eleven months. He died between twelve and one at noon, of mere old age,
and apparently without pain."
The poet was so fond of his pets that he buried them in his garden, and
wrote an epitaph on Tiney, from which we take the following stanzas:
"Here lies--whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo--
"Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack hare.
"Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
"His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw;
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
"On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippin's russet peel,
And when his juicy salads failed,
Sliced carrot pleased him well."
CHARADE.
Out on the sea, when the tempest is blowing,
Over the waters dark and wild,
Guide I the sailor, his pathway showing
Over the shoals and the currents flowing;
Never through me is the ship beguiled.
Many a wandering step have I guided;
Children at school have I often taught;
Many disputes through me are decided;
Oft has my help, though sometimes derided,
Even the Muse of History sought.
Off with my head! I'm a living creature;
Trembling I follow, I guide no more;
Large-eyed and gentle, of kindly feature,
Hunted by man; in the wilds of nature,
When he is coming, I fly before.
Cut off my head again, and for ages
Long have I kindled the spirit of man.
Worshipped by artists, adored by the sages,
Present and past combine in my pages;
There all the secrets of beauty you scan.
WHEN SKATES WERE BONES.
Though it appears to be impossible to fix on the time when skating first
took root in England, there can be no doubt that it was introduced there
from more northern climates, where it originated more from the
necessities of the inhabitants than as a pastime. When snow covered
their land, and ice bound up their rivers imperious necessity would soon
suggest to the Scands or the Germans some ready means of winter
locomotion. This first took the form of snow-shoes with two long runners
of wood, like those still used by the inhabitants of the northerly parts
of Norway and Sweden in their journeys over the immense snow-fields.
These seem originally to have been used by the Finns, "for which
reason," says a Swedish writer, "they were called 'Skrid Finnai'
(Sliding Finns)--a common name for the most ancient inhabitants of
Sweden, both in the North saga and by foreign authors."
When used on ice, one runner would soon have been found more convenient
than the widely separated two, and harder materials used than wood:
first bone was substituted; then it, in turn, gave place to iron; and
thus the present form of skate was developed in the North at a period
set down by Scandinavian archæologists as about A.D. 200.
Frequent allusions occur in the old Northern poetry, which prove that
proficiency in skating was one of the most highly esteemed
accomplishments of the Northern heroes. One of them, named Kolson,
boasts that he is master of nine accomplishments, skating being one;
while the hero Harold bitterly complains that though he could fight,
ride, swim, glide along the ice on skates, dart the lance, and row, "yet
a Russian maid disdains me."
In the "Edda" this accomplishment is singled out for special praise:
"Then the king asked what that young man could do who accompanied Thor.
Thialfe answered that in running upon skates he would dispute the prize
with any of the countries. The king owned that the talent he spoke of
was a very fine one."
Olaus Magnus, the author of the famous chapter on the Snakes of Iceland,
tells us that skates were made "of polished iron, or of the shank bone
of a deer or sheep, about a foot long, filed down on one side, and
greased with hog's lard to repel the wet." These rough-and-ready bone
skates were the kind first adopted by the English; for Fitzstephen, in
his description of the amusements of the Londoners in his day (time of
Henry the Second), tells us that "when that great fen that washes
Moorfields at the north wall of the city is frozen over, great companies
of young men go to sport upon the ice. Some, striding as wide as they
may, do slide swiftly; some, better practiced to the ice, bind to their
shoes bones, as the legs of some beasts, and hold stakes in their hands,
headed with sharp iron, which sometimes they strike against the ice;
these men go as swiftly as doth a bird in the air, or a bolt from a
cross-bow." Then he goes on to say that some, imitating the fashion of
the tournament, would start in full career against one another, armed
with poles; "they meet, elevate their poles, attack and strike each
other, when one or both of them fall, and not without some bodily hurt."
Specimens of these old bone skates are occasionally dug up in fenny
parts of Great Britain. There are some in the British Museum, in the
Museum of the Scottish Antiquaries, and probably in other collections;
though perhaps some of the "finds" are not nearly as old as
Fitzstephen's day, for there seems to be good evidence that even in
London the primitive bone skate was not entirely superseded by
implements of steel at the latter part of last century.
One found about 1839 in Moorfields, in the boggy soil peculiar to that
district, is described as being formed of the bone of some animal, made
smooth on one side, with a hole at one extremity for a cord to fasten it
to the shoe. At the other end a hole is also drilled horizontally to a
depth of three inches, which might have received a plug, with another
cord to secure it more effectually.
There is hardly a greater difference between these old bone skates and
the "acmes" and club skates of to-day, than there is between the skating
of the Middle Ages and the artistic and graceful movements of good
performers of to-day. Indeed, skating as a fine art is entirely a thing
of modern growth. So little thought of was the exercise, that for long
after Fitzstephen's day we find few or no allusions to it, and up to the
Restoration days it appears to have been an amusement confined chiefly
to the lower classes, among whom it never reached any very high pitch of
art. "It was looked upon," says a recent writer, "much with the same
view that the boys on the Serpentine even now seem to adopt, as an
accomplishment, the acme of which was reached when the performer could
succeed in running along quickly on his skates, and finishing off with a
long and triumphant slide on two feet in a straight line forward. A
gentleman would probably then have no more thought of trying to execute
different figures on the ice than he would at the present day of dancing
in a drawing-room on the tips of his toes." Even as an amusement of the
common people it is not alluded to in any of the usual catalogues of
sport so often referred to.
THE MONKEYS OF INDIA.
A missionary in India gives an interesting account of the monkeys that
live in that far-away country. He says that in the morning, during the
cold season, the monkeys are always very listless, but as soon as they
are warmed with the rays of the sun, they are as playful as kittens.
They will jump over each other's backs, slap each other's faces, pull
each other's tails, and even make pretense to steal each other's babies.
The gray and the brown species are found nearly all over the continent
of India; the former is more daring and destructive, and the latter more
mischievous and cunning. They both form themselves into separate packs,
or tribes, and rarely go beyond a certain boundary. They seldom migrate,
except it be for food or water in times of drought and scarcity. This
wild citizenship seems to be respected, for they very rarely trespass on
each other's ground. Each tribe has a leader, or king, which can easily
be recognized, and from the manner in which he conducts himself, he is
evidently aware of the dignity of his position.
Like nearly all other wild animals, they have a keen sense of danger,
and when a certain whoop is given, however scattered or tempted to stay,
in a few moments they are hidden on the tops of the highest trees in the
locality. They have the bump of destructiveness largely developed, and
it is no small calamity when a tribe locates itself near a village.
Scarcely anything in the shape of fruit or grain comes amiss to them,
and when neither are to be had, in the hottest part of the year they eat
the stems of the young leaves. When they commence upon a field of
lentils, pulse, or peas, they always pluck up the plant by the root,
pull off one pod, and then fling the plant away, so that it does not
require many days to clear a whole field. Ripe mangoes have a special
attraction, and it requires no small amount of vigilance to keep them
away from the groves.
Dogs, however strong and fleet, are of very little use to drive them
away, for the monkeys are sagacious enough to know that their safety is
in keeping near the trees. When the dog has spent himself with barking
and screaming at the foot of the tree, a monkey will come down to the
lowest branch, and wag his long tail within a few inches of the dog's
face, and when the poor dog has retired, completely foiled, a monkey
will soon be after him to tempt him to a second encounter.
Mischief is certainly in their hearts, for, not content with stealing
the produce of the gardens and fields, they will pull off the thatch
from the native huts, fling the tiles from the better-built houses and
shops to the ground, and we have even seen them try their best to rift
the stones from the temples. A native town in one of the zemindary
estates was so mutilated by them that it looked as if it had sustained a
siege.
Some years ago, after making our arrangements for our encampment at
night, we constantly had our peaceful rest broken by a tribe of brown
monkeys. They evidently thought that long possession had given them a
prior claim to the grove. For our own comfort it was felt by all that
some means must be adopted to drive them away. Accordingly one was shot.
Death was not instantaneous, and quite a number came around to see it
die. They looked with startling interest into its face, but as soon as
life was extinct they bounded away. Fear had fallen upon them all, and
not a sound was heard from them during the night. Early next morning
they assembled in an adjoining field. The sharp and quick manner in
which they turned their faces first in this way and then in that was a
sight not soon to be forgotten. They had instinct enough to see that
their only safety would be in flight. In the course of an hour the king
headed the tribe, and away they went, and not a solitary monkey was
seen in that region for years afterward. The natives dared not openly
commend us, but they were not a little pleased that we had rid them of
creatures so destructive to their homesteads.
The monkeys are very numerous in the sacred cities, and especially in
Benares and Pooree. Within a few miles of the temple of Juggernaut there
are many hundreds, if not thousands. They are so tame that they will
come down from the trees and eat rice from the hands of the pilgrims.
When the pilgrim presents his hand with the rice in it, the monkey
seizes it with his left paw, and he will never let go his grip until he
has taken every grain. Very few persons are injured by monkeys, but they
will sometimes seize a basket, if there be fruit in it, when carried by
a woman or child. The natives often say that "monkeys can do everything
except talk, and they would do that were it not for the fear of being
made to work."
THE LITTLE DELINQUENT.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE DELINQUENT.]
"Lucie, my Lucie, wilt thou not forgive thy little Fritz?" pleaded the
mother of two children whose father had been a soldier in the Prussian
army, and whose bravery had been rewarded with a medal which was worn on
his coat lapel.
Lucie answered, with a deep sigh, "He was so cruel, dear mother; he
pushed me down so rudely on the hard floor!"
"Yes, I saw that push; but he was angry."
"And I tried so well to do what he wished; I kept the step and marched
behind him, and I helped to make his cap, and I ran out to the
poultry-yard for a feather which had dropped from the cock's tail--the
green and blue one that eats so much corn--and I was as good a soldier
as I knew how to be!"
"Well, what was the matter?"
"Why, I had my dear Rosa in my arms, and Ludwig looked over the fence,
and laughed at Fritz for having a girl with a doll in his regiment, and
Fritz became very cross, and said he would not play. Then I put my Rosa
down, and went marching again; but that dreadful great cock came and
pecked at her eyes, and I _could_ not see her suffer; so I hid her in my
apron while Fritz was not looking, and we came into the house to fill
our knapsacks; then Fritz saw Rosa, and he said I was a disobedient
soldier, and he pulled her out of my arms, and tossed her down and broke
her, as you see--oh, my dear, my good Rosa!"
"But I think Fritz is sorry. See! he has been tied to the table a long
while for punishment. Can you not forgive him?"
Lucie did not answer; her little soul seemed much disturbed.
"Come, I will tell thee a story, my Lucie, of two other children, and
then, perhaps, thou wilt be more ready to let Fritz go free. Far away up
in the mountains where are the chamois, and where the rocks are rough
and the forests dark, lived Hans and Gretchen. They were wild as the
chamois themselves, and their old grandfather could scarcely keep them
by his side long enough to tell them the story of the Saviour's love, or
teach them even to read. They knew the haunt of every wild creature of
the woods, and many were their quarrels over a nest of young birds, or
the possession of the animals they trapped. They had no kind mother;
their words were often harsh, and sometimes hunger made them really
cruel to each other. They were much to be pitied, for their grandfather
was lame as well as old, and could do little for their support.
"One day, in an eager chase after a rabbit Gretchen gave Hans a great
push, which sent him down over a rocky ledge on to some stones. She was
frightened to see that he did not move, and still more frightened when
she found he was moaning with pain. She ran to get help, and the
neighbors came and lifted Hans and carried him home; but he never walked
again: his spine was hurt. Ah! what sorrow then was Gretchen's! How she
wished she had never been so unkind!
"How she missed her companion in her wild rambles, and in her search for
the Edelweiss flowers which she sold to travellers, and so gained a
little money! Lottie by little she learned how to be a better
girl--learned to be patient with Hans, who was often very cross; and as
she grew older, and could better care for the house and her old
grandfather, they came to love her very much.
"But do you not think that little children who have been taught to be
kind, and to love the dear Father in heaven whose Son died on the cross,
should be willing to forgive when quarrels arise?"
Both little faces had grown sad, one with earnest resolve never again to
be harsh with his sister, the other with tender regret. At last Lucie
said, "My mother, I forgive Fritz; but what shall I do for poor Rosa?"
"Rosa shall have a new head when I have saved kreutzers to buy one,"
said Fritz; and so they kissed and made up.
THREE FAMOUS DIAMONDS.
A magnificent diamond, belonging to the Emperor of Russia, bought by the
Empress Catherine, weighs over one hundred and ninety-three carats. It
is said to be the size of a pigeon's head, and to have been purchased
for ninety thousand pounds, besides a yearly sum for life to the Greek
merchant from whom it was bought. This diamond formed one of the eyes of
the famous idol Juggernaut, whose temple is on the Coromandel coast, and
a French soldier, who had deserted into the Malabar service, found the
means of robbing the temple of it, and escaped with it to Madras. There
he disposed of it to a ship captain for two thousand pounds, and by him
it was resold to a Jew for twelve thousand pounds. From him it was
transferred for a large sum to the Greek merchant. This diamond now
surmounts the imperial sceptre.
The diamond of the Emperor of Austria, which formerly belonged to the
Grand Dukes of Tuscany, weighs one hundred and thirty-nine and a half
carats. Its estimated value is one hundred and fifty-five thousand
pounds. This stone is of a lemon yellow color, which greatly lessens its
value.
Among the Prussian crown jewels is the famous Regent or Pitt diamond,
discovered in the Pasteal mine at Golconda. It weighs one hundred and
thirty-six and three-quarters carats, and is remarkable for its form and
clearness, which have caused it to be valued at one hundred and sixty
thousand pounds, although it cost only one hundred thousand pounds. It
was stolen from the mine and sold to Mr. Pitt, grandfather of the great
Earl of Chatham. The Duke of Orleans purchased the diamond for
presentation to King Louis the Fifteenth.
After the fall of Louis the Sixteenth, the people insisted that the
crown jewels should be exposed to the gaze of the mob, and with them the
Regent diamond was shown. So little, however, did the exhibitors confide
in the honesty of these patriots that great precautions were taken to
prevent the consequences of too strong an attraction. The passer-by who
chanced to demand, in the name of the sovereign people, a sight of the
finest of the jewels, entered a small room, within which, through a
little window, the diamond was presented for sight. It was fastened by a
strong steel clasp to an iron chain, the other end of which was secured
within the window through which it was handed to the spectator. Two
policemen kept a vigilant watch on the momentary possessor of the gem,
until, having held in his hand the value of twelve millions of francs,
according to the estimate in the inventory of the crown jewels, he again
took up his hook and basket at the door and disappeared.
This diamond, which decorated the hilt of the sword of state of the
first Napoleon, was taken by the Prussians at Waterloo, and now belongs
to the King of Prussia.
In former times, superstition attributed to the diamond many virtues. It
was supposed to protect the possessor from poison, pestilence,
panic-fear, and enchantments of every kind. A wonderful property was
also ascribed to it when the figure of Mars, whom the ancients
represented as the god of war, was engraved upon it. In such cases the
diamond was believed to insure victory in battle to its fortunate owner,
whatever might be the number of his enemies.
For a long time diamonds were sent to Holland to be cut and polished,
but this art is now well understood in England, and has been recently
introduced into this country.
Diamonds are not only worn as ornaments of dress, or rare objects of
art, but they are employed for several useful purposes, as for cutting
glass by the glazier, and all kinds of hard stones by the lapidary.
TEMERITY.
[Illustration: ON THE TRACK.]
A butterfly lived like a princess in a green and golden wood, guarded
day and night by the trees; but as there was never a butterfly yet that
did not prefer sunshine to safety, she came fluttering out one morning,
and after dazzling all the flowers in the neighborhood, spread her wings
for a long flight.
There was no one to warn her of the dangers abroad, so when she came to
the railroad track she just settled upon it, with no more fear than if
it were a twig. An ugly brown worm that had been sunning himself on a
sleeper crept up to her.
"You are in a dreadfully dangerous place," he groaned.
"Why?" asked the little rainbow, not a bit scared.
"There is a great monster coming soon. He crushes everything he meets;
he has no heart; his bones are made of iron."
"How funny!" exclaimed the butterfly.
"See how dark the sky is getting; he will soon be here," went on the
worm, solemnly.
"Oh, pshaw! it's only a shower coming up," said the butterfly,
stretching her wings.
"No, it is the monster; don't you feel the ground shake? The storm is
coming, but the monster is coming too. Get into this hole under the
track; I beg you, I entreat you, get into this hole and be saved."
"Nonsense!" laughed the butterfly.
The rail was trembling, and in the distance a strange wild shriek was
heard, a great puff of smoke went rolling up to the sky.
"Quick! quick!" implored the worm. "Do as I do, or you will be killed.
There is no time to lose."
But the only answer he got was a laugh.
The monster was getting nearer and nearer, and the worm, with one more
vain petition to the butterfly to follow him, squirmed into a crevice
under the rail.
On came the monster, its great iron limbs pounding back and forth. A
rattle, a shriek, a puff of smoke: he had come and gone. The worm--where
was he? Limp and dead in his little hole under the rail. And the
butterfly--the poor beautiful butterfly?
Oh, she had simply flown away.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
NEW YORK CITY.
In a short paper entitled "The Paradise of Insects," in _Young
People_ No. 10, some interesting facts are told of small
sand-flies, called sancudos, which abound on the Upper Amazons and
other swampy localities of South and Central America. Boys will
like to know the origin of their name. Stilts are called _zancos_
in Spanish, and these flies, a species of mosquito, are called
sancudos--more properly spelled zancudos--on account of their very
long, slender legs and disproportionately small bodies, which
remind one of a very small boy on very high stilts. Flies on stilts
is a funny idea, but not more funny than the appearance of these
troublesome little insects.
RODRIGO.
* * * * *
I am a little girl twelve years old, and live at Fort Supply,
Indian Territory. My father is a captain in the Twenty-third
Infantry. We live in huts made of logs, and the cracks filled with
mud to keep out the cold, and the inside lined with canvas. We have
frequent visits from the Indians. Not long ago a party of about
fifty Indians were here, some of whom were on the war-path last
fall. We have a school, and about sixteen scholars. If it were not
for school I should be very lonesome, as I have only one playmate.
There are plenty of children here, but they are all too small to
play with. I take _Young People_, and it is a great addition to my
small fund of amusements.
GRACE W. HENTON.
* * * * *
PUTNAM, CONNECTICUT.
DEAR "YOUNG PEOPLE."--I thought when you made your first appearance
that you were as pretty and interesting as possible, but when you
arrived in your new dress, looking so fresh and bright, wishing us
a "Merry Christmas," I was still more delighted with you. I hope
the number of your subscribers will grow as fast as you have, you
are such a dear little paper.
ANNA C. B.
* * * * *
The two following letters are from very young readers, who wrote in big
capitals with their own little hands:
NEW YORK CITY.
I am so glad you have published _Young People_. I am five years
old. I have a little kitten, and my papa says it will soon be a
cat. I wish it wouldn't.
JIMMIE B.
* * * * *
STOCKPORT, NEW YORK.