Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 20. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, March 16, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: FRANK MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT.]
[Begun in No. 19 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, March 9.]
ACROSS THE OCEAN; OR, A BOY'S FIRST VOYAGE.
A True Story.
By J. O. DAVIDSON.
Chapter II.
THE FURNACE-ROOM.
Had Frank lain awake he would have seen a curious sight; for there are
few more picturesque scenes than the "forecastle interior" of an ocean
steamer at night, lit by the fitful gleam of its swinging lamp. This
grim-looking man, fumbling in his breast as if for the ever-ready knife
or pistol, must be dreaming of some desperate struggle by his set teeth
and hard breathing. That huge scar on the face of the gaunt, sallow
figure beside him, whose soiled red shirt and matted beard would just
suit the foreground of a Nevada gully, might tell a strange tale. That
handsome, statuesque countenance yonder, again, faultless but for the
sinister gleam of its restless eyes--what can it be doing among these
coarse, uncultivated men, not one of whom can tell why they should all
shrink from it as they do? What a study for a pirate any artist might
make out of this shaggy, black-haired giant, whose lion-like head is
hanging over the side of his bunk! His weather-beaten face looks hard as
a pine knot; but a child would run to him at once, recognizing, with its
own unerring instinct, the tender heart hidden beneath that rough
outside. Next to him lies a trim, slender lad, who looks as if he knew
more of Latin and Greek than of reefing and splicing, and whose curly
brown head some fond mother has doubtless caressed many a time; yet here
he is, an unknown sailor before the mast, with all his gifts wasted, and
doomed perhaps to sink lower still.
But these are the exceptions; the majority are sailors of the ordinary
type, careless, light-hearted, improvident, never looking beyond the
present moment--content to accept the first job that "turns up," and
quite satisfied with a day's food and a shirt to their backs. Some are
coiled up on lockers and spare sails, others sleeping off their last
night's "spree" on the bare planks, and rolling over and over with every
plunge of the vessel.
* * * * *
Whew! what a stream of cold air comes rushing down the hatchway, as it
opens to let in the deck watch, glad enough to get below again out of
the cold and wet! Their shouts, as they dash the brine from their beards
and jackets, and chaff the comrades who are unwillingly turning out to
relieve them, arouse Frank, who for a moment can hardly make out where
he is. Then it all flashes upon him, and he "tumbles up," and goes on
deck.
Certainly, if any one ever could feel dismal at sea, it would be during
the hour before dawn, the most cheerless and uncomfortable of the whole
twenty-four. After spending the night in a lively game of cup and ball,
with yourself for the ball, and an amazingly hard wooden bunk for the
cup, you crawl on deck, bruised and aching from top to toe. While gazing
upon the inspiring landscape of gray fog and slaty blue sea, you
suddenly feel a stream of cold water splashing into your boots, while an
unfeeling sailor gruffly asks "why in thunder you can't git out o' the
way?" Springing hastily aside, you break your shins over a spar which
seems to have been put there on purpose, and get up only to be instantly
thrown down again by a lee lurch of the ship, amid the derisive laughter
of the deck watch. Meanwhile a shower of half-melted snow insinuates
itself into your eyes, and up your sleeves, and down the back of your
neck; and all this, joined to the agonizing thought that it will be at
least two hours before you can get any breakfast, speedily fills you
with a rooted hatred of everything and everybody on board the ship.
Well might poor Frank, contrasting his dismal surroundings with the
comfortable rooms and piping-hot breakfasts of his forsaken home, begin
to think that he had made a fool of himself. But he choked down the
feeling as unworthy of a _man_, and tried to turn his thoughts by
watching the two quartermasters at the wheel, who were straining every
muscle to keep the ship's head to the mountain waves that burst over the
bow every moment with the shock of a battering-ram.
Breakfast came at last, but was not very satisfactory when it did. The
old saying of "salt-horse and hard-tack" exactly described the food; and
Frank, eating with one hand while clinging desperately to the long
narrow table with the other, had quite enough to do in keeping his knife
from running into his eye, and himself from going head over heels on the
floor. At every plunge below the water-line the mess-room, already dim
enough, became almost dark, while the faces of the men looked as green
and ghastly as a band of demons in a pantomime. And, to crown all, one
of Frank's neighbors suddenly sent a tremendous splash of grease right
over him, coolly remarking,
"Now, Greeny, you won't get hurt if you fall overboard--ile calms the
water, you know."
At which all the rest laughed, and Frank felt worse than a murderer.
Breakfast over, our hero was "told off" to go below with the firemen.
Down he went, through one narrow hole after another, past deck after
deck of iron grating--down, down, down--till at last, as he emerged from
a dark passageway, a very startling scene burst upon him.
Along either side of a long narrow passage (the iron walls of which
sloped inward overhead) gaped a row of huge furnace mouths, sending out
a quivering glare of intense heat, increased by the mounds of red-hot
coals that heaped the iron floor. Amid this chaos, several huge black
figures, stripped to the waist, and with wet cloths around their sooty
faces, were flinging coal into the furnaces, or stirring the fires with
long iron rakes--now standing out gaunt and grim in the red blaze, now
vanishing into the eddies of hissing steam tossed about by the stream of
cold air from the funnel-like "wind-sail" serving as a ventilator.
A shovel was thrust into Frank Austin's hand, and he was set to keep the
doorway clear of the coal that came tumbling into it from the bunkers
where the coal-heavers were at work. In this way he labored till noon,
and then, with blistered hands and aching back, crawled up the iron
ladder, worn out, grimy, and half dazed, to his dinner.
But _what_ a dinner for Christmas-day! No appetizing turkey and
plum-pudding, eaten in the midst of loving faces and merry talk and
laughter; nothing but coarse salt-junk and hard ship-biscuit, hastily
snatched among rough, unsympathetic men, who neither knew nor cared
anything about him. And as soon as the meal was over, back again to his
weary toil in the coal bunker, which was fated, however, to be cut short
in a way that he little expected.
For a time he worked away manfully; but the heat of the room and the
monotony of his occupation combined to make him careless. Little by
little his thoughts wandered away to his pleasant home beside the
Hudson, and the little garden patch where he used to work, and the cozy
fire, in the ashes of which he and his brothers roasted their chestnuts,
and--
"Look out there!"
The warning cry came too late. There was a sudden shock--a deafening
crash--and poor Frank was seen lying on his back senseless and half
buried beneath the huge heap of coal that blocked the doorway.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
WHAT THE BOYS AND GIRLS PLAYED TWO THOUSAND YEARS AGO.
BY HATTIE B. CRAFTS.
Do you ever think about the little boys and girls who lived so long ago?
Well, in the celebrated country of Greece they were as fond of sports as
children of the present day, only they had not so many wonderful toys
made for them as are manufactured now. But could we look back upon them
at some of their sports, we should find them very happy children, and it
might surprise you to know how many games have been played century after
century, and are still played and enjoyed to-day.
The babies had their rattles and bright-colored balls, the children
their hoops and balls, and what we call "Blindman's-buff" was a favorite
game among them. Perhaps you know about the old giant Polyphemus, who
was master of a race of one-eyed giants, and who devoured the Greeks
that were round his cave, until they succeeded in putting out his eye,
and how he still groped around and endeavored to find them, but in vain.
Well, the boys and girls of Greece used to represent this story by this
very game of "Blindman's-buff." The one blindfolded was called
Polyphemus, and the others would hide and pretend they were the Greeks
whom he was to find. Another way of playing this game was for the
children to run round about the blindfolded person, and one of them
touch him. If he could tell correctly who it was, the two exchanged
places.
In Athens, and in other cities and towns as well, you might almost any
day see a whole group of children hopping along on one foot, as though
the other was hurt; but, no, it was only for the fun, as every child of
every nation knows, of seeing who could hop the farthest. Sometimes one
boy would be allowed the use of both his feet, and the others would try
to overtake him by hopping on only one foot, and for those who could do
this it was accounted a great victory.
In one of their games they set up a stone, called the Dioroe, and each
of the players was to stand at a certain distance from it, and in turn
throw stones at it. But the one who missed had rather a difficult task
to perform, for the rule of the game was that he must be blindfolded and
carry the successful player round on his back until he could go directly
from the standing-point to the Dioroe. A sport not requiring quite so
much skill, and one which many of you have perhaps practiced, consisted
in setting a stick upright in the soil wherever it was loose and moist,
and trying to dislodge it by throwing other sticks at it, keeping, of
course, at a certain distance.
Who will attempt to enumerate the many games played by a ring of
children running about one in the centre? There must be a wonderful
charm about them, so much are they played by both boys and girls in
every country. Whether little Sallie Waters had her origin in Greece I
will not pretend to say, but we do know that games were played in a
similar manner. Here are some, enjoyed especially by the boys. One boy
sat on the ground, and the others, forming themselves into a ring, ran
round him, one of them hitting him as they went; if the boy in the
centre could seize upon the one who struck him, the captive took his
place. This did very well for the smaller boys, but the older ones had
an arrangement a little in advance of it. The one in the centre was to
move about with a pot on his head, holding it with his left hand, and
the others, running around, would strike him and cry, "Who has the pot?"
To which he replied, "I, Midas," trying all the time to reach one of
them with his foot, and the first one touched was obliged to carry the
pot in his turn.
One of their most interesting games, and one which you would all enjoy,
was the twirling of the ostrakon. A line was drawn on the ground, and
the group of boys separated into two parties. A small earthenware disk,
having one side black and the other white, was brought forward, and each
party chose a side, black or white. It was then twirled along the line,
the one throwing it crying, "Night, or day," the black side representing
night, and the white day. The party whose side came up was called
victorious, and ran after the others, who fled in all directions. The
one first caught was styled "ass," and was obliged to sit down, the game
proceeding without him. And so it was continued until the whole number
were caught. This was excellent exercise, and often played by the hour
together.
A favorite game among the girls was played with five little balls or
pebbles. They would toss them into the air, and endeavor to catch many
on the back of the hand or between the fingers. Of course some of them
would often fall to the ground; but these they were allowed to pick up,
provided they did so with the fingers of the same hand on which the
others rested, which required considerable skill. The French girls have
a very pretty game of this, which is played with five little glass
balls.
We must not omit the ancestors of Punch and Judy, who lived in these
early times, though probably under different names. But however they
were called, they were just as queer-looking a family; and their arms
would move, their shoulders shrug, their eyes roll, and their feet cut
as strange capers as those of their descendants; and I have no doubt
afforded the little ones, and perhaps some older persons, as much
pleasure then as now.
GARDEN-LORE.
Every child who has gardening tools
Should learn by heart these gardening rules:
He who owns a gardening spade
Should be able to dig the depth of its blade;
He who owns a gardening rake
Should know what to leave and what to take;
He who owns a gardening hoe
Must be sure how he means his strokes to go;
But he who owns a gardening fork
May make it do all the other tools' work;
Though to shift, or to pot, or annex what you can,
A trowel's the tool for child, woman, or man.
THE ROBBER BLUEBIRD.
BY A LITTLE GIRL.
Once upon a time there lived in a beautiful house two little brothers,
called John and Harry, and they were almost always very good boys.
But one day they got angry at each other, and they looked just like two
turkey-gobblers, their faces were so red, and they blustered about so.
John declared that he would thrash Harry; and Harry made faces at John,
and dared him to fight.
What do you think all the quarrel was about? Why, nothing but a little
piece of cake that the cook had given to Harry. Now just as they were
going to strike one another, they saw a beautiful bluebird, with a
lovely crest upon its head, fly down into the yard and pick up a large
worm.
He was just going to fly off with it, when another bird, just like
himself, dived down and tried to take the worm from the one that had
first found it.
Before the two brothers could say a word, the birds were flying at each
other, and tearing off their beautiful crests and coats.
Harry and John stood watching them, and quite forgot that they had a
fight on hand of their own.
Just as the naughty bird that was trying to rob his brother bluebird had
seized the worm, and was about to fly away with it, there was a sudden
rush and flash, and Pussy Cat ran under the house with the wicked little
robber tight between her teeth.
Then the other bird, trembling with fear, flew up into a tree to rest.
"Oh, John!" cried Harry, "just think if that had been you and me, and a
lion had come and carried one of us off, and ate us up!"
"Only--only it would not have been you, Harry. He would have carried me
off, because it was I began the quarrel. Cook gave you the cake, and I
wanted to take it from you, just like the robber bluebird did. Let us
kiss and be friends, Harry."
"Yes, and you can have half of my cake, John."
"And I hope my little boys will never do so again," said mamma, who had
been watching, and heard all.
And years afterward, when John and Harry were away from their mamma and
home, they often reminded each other of the lesson they had learned from
the fate of the robber bluebird.
[Illustration]
DREAMING.
"He is dreaming. Guess of what, now."
"Well, I guess that in his hand
Is a marble--such a beauty!
And he dreams of wonder-land.
"Dreams a dream of giants rolling
Giant marbles--oh, such fun!
See, he smiles, for he has seen one
Bigger, brighter, than the sun."
CHAMPION.
BY MRS. L. G. MORSE.
Hetty had five brothers and sisters, and Champion, the dog, felt that he
had too much to do. There were plenty of people in the cottage at Lenox,
where they lived in summer, to take care of the children, but there is a
certain sort of responsibility which dogs of good, sound character are
not willing to intrust to anybody. The baby was always with his mother
or nurse, and Champion found it easy to take care of the other little
ones, for they were not allowed to venture outside of the garden gate,
and if that were carelessly left open, he had only to station himself in
front of it, and to gently tumble them over on the grass if they
attempted to pass through it. He had never hurt them, and their mother
thought that they could not be under any better protection than that of
good old faithful "Cham."
But Hetty, who was seven years old, and Rudolph, who was nine, worried
the dog terribly, and caused him to wear almost a perpetual scowl of
anxiety upon his face. He evidently looked upon them as not old enough
to be trusted by themselves, and it was a serious annoyance to him that
they were too big to be rolled over on the grass, and so kept within the
limits of the garden.
One lovely summer morning Hetty was missing. She had run away with a
beautiful ripe plum, which her cousin Francis had picked in order to
show her that the bloom upon it was exactly the color of old "Greylock"
in the distance. So she climbed the nearest hill, to compare the colors
of the mountain and the plum. Looking away over the valley, the child
saw too much beauty all at once. Clasping her hands behind her, she took
in a long sweet breath of morning air, and did not know what it was that
filled her whole soul with joy. She laughed aloud up at the clear sky,
and spreading her arms as if they were the wings of a bird, she ran down
the hill-side. Oh, there were so many robins! And butterflies flew
around her in little clouds. The fields were like fairy-land, they were
so full of flowers. She picked baby daisies, and put them inside of the
wild-carrot heads, not in blossom yet, which grew in the shape of nests.
When she climbed over a stone wall to the road, a squirrel ran across
her path, into the woods on the opposite side. "There!" she whispered,
softly, "maybe I can find his hole." And she ran after him.
It was a great pity that Champion had so much to do that morning. When
dinner was ready, and no Hetty appeared, Rudy called the dog, and asked,
"Cham, where's Hetty?"
Champion whined piteously, and looked first down the road, then up at
Rudy, and then down the road again.
"Come and eat some dinner, Rudy," said his mother, shading her eyes, and
looking anxiously toward the woods. "Hetty will feel hungry, and come
home soon now." But she looked proudly after Rudy when he clapped his
hat on with a thump, and said, "Never you mind about me, mother; I'll
eat more if I find Het first," and went racing after Champion, who
bounded over the ground as if he meant to run all the way to the
mountain.
At the edge of the woods Rudy waited, and whistled to Cham. "Hold on!"
he said; "maybe she's hiding." And for a while he looked about the
laurel bushes in the places where they were accustomed to play, and
sang, lustily,
"A-roving, a-roving,
I'll go no more a-roving
With thee, fair maid."
But after a while he ceased his singing, and answered one of Champion's
whines by ramming his hands in his pockets, and saying, "Look a-here,
Cham! If anything has happened to Het, I'll--" The thought brought such
a film over his honest brown eyes that he had to rub his cuff over them
a good many times before he could see well enough to go on with his
search. Fortunately, dogs don't cry tears, and Champion's eyes seemed to
grow brighter as Rudy's grew dim. He seemed to say to himself: "If Rudy
is going to give up, and cry about it, I've got to take matters into my
own hands. Hetty's got to be found, and I can't waste my time waiting
for a boy to get the better of his feelings. He oughtn't to _have_ any
feelings until after our business is settled!" And Champion gave Rudy's
boot a good-by lick, and raced away alone.
Rudy dried his eyes, and had no more idea than the dog had of giving up
the search. Dogs are just as apt to misunderstand boys as boys are to
misunderstand dogs.
Rudy ran over woods and fields, up and down the neighboring hills,
calling Hetty and Champion, whistling and shouting, until he was hoarse.
He could not find Hetty, and Champion did not return.
After a while he got angry at the dog, and said, between his teeth,
"I'll give it to Cham for running away from me, just when I want him to
help me find Het!" But his anger melted into grief when the terrible
thought came that perhaps some dreadful thing had happened to his
sister. Once he lay down flat upon his face, and cried aloud at the
sudden memory of how he had teased her that very morning by running away
with one of her doll's shoes, which he had only just that moment
switched out of his pocket. In a few moments, however, he jumped up
again, looked at the little shoe tenderly, and tied it carefully in a
corner of his handkerchief, saying, "There! I'll give it back the minute
I find her, and I'll fix her something for the baby-house, to make up."
He started off once more, this time without stopping to think where
Hetty would be likely to go, only rushing about in a sort of desperate
way, calling her by name, and shouting for Cham.
[Illustration: ON GUARD.]
He stopped on top of a high hill called the Ledge, and looked down the
steep side of it a moment. Hark! He certainly heard the whine of a dog.
He clambered down a little way, and called his loudest. The dog's whine
answered him again. With a new hope in his heart, he called, and
listened until the whine grew louder and louder, and he recognized
Cham's bark. Catching at branches, stumbling, sliding, and blundering,
he made his way down the hill-side, until suddenly the dog's bark was
almost at his ears. And at last, there, farther round the side, on a
ledge, just where a light motion would send her rolling down a steep
declivity, lay Hetty; and Champion-stanch old Champion--sat upright
before her, like a brave, resolute soldier on guard, pricking up his
ears, barking loud in answer to Rudy's calls, his body quivering all
over, and his feet restless on the ground. But Rudy knew that Hetty
could roll no farther, and that Champion would sit there until help
came. He did not wait to waken Hetty, but climbing to her, he patted
Cham on the head, and bade him watch her till he returned. Then he
planted a rough, glad, boyish kiss on her unconscious cheek, and hurried
home as he had never hurried in his life before.
The mother's pride in her boy that night made her face shine, as she sat
by Hetty, who lay on the sofa, waited upon by everybody, because of her
ankle, which was slightly sprained. And she said nothing about the chips
Rudy was making, against all regulations, on the floor, as he was
whittling into shape a bench for Hetty's doll's kitchen.
"I'll tell you what, though, Het," said Rudy, "when you want to go off
again to see whether mountains are plum-colored or not, you'd better
take somebody along who knows that a carrot-weed's a flower, and that
stumps and stones _are_ stumps and stones. You'd better take a
person--like me, you know," he said, winking comically at Hetty--"who
won't mistake a frightened squirrel for the king of the brown elves off
on a hunting spree, or for anything else that never was born, except
inside of your topsy-turvy head."
Hetty laughed, and blushed rosy red. "I guess I won't," she said; "but
if you had found yourself, Rudy, sliding and tumbling and running like
lightning down that hill, I guess _your_ head would have been
topsy-turvy for once. And I don't know which is the funniest, to faint
away, or to wake up and find Cham licking me. Dear, good, darling Cham!
I never _will_ go away again without Cham."
Champion licked Rudy's face as he and the boy rolled over on the rug
together, and blinked at both the children as if he understood and quite
approved of Hetty's good resolution.
THE LITTLE SHIPS OF THE WATER STREETS.
BY JAMES B. MARSHALL.
If the jolly uncle of certain Venetian girls and boys comes home from
China, and says, "Hurra, children! let's go take a ride, and have a good
time," they don't imagine it will be in an open carriage behind
swift-footed horses.
[Illustration: A GONDOLA ON THE GRAND CANAL.]
They would think of a beautiful little ship, about thirty feet long,
four or five wide, and as light as cork, called a gondola, which means
"little ship." It would be painted black, like every other gondola, and
the prow would be ornamented with a high halberd-shaped steel piece,
burnished to a dazzling glitter. This steel prow would act as a
counter-balance to their rower, who would stand on the after-end, and
row with his face in the direction they wished to be taken. The rowlock
would be simply a notched stick, and he would row with one long oar,
pushing swiftly along.
He would row so gracefully and easily that you might think you could
quickly become a good gondolier if you tried. You would change your
mind, however, after the laughable experience of rowing yourself
overboard several times, and admit that rowing a gondola requires no
small skill.
It was the people called the Veneti who, more than a thousand years ago,
settled Venice, and invented these little ships. The fifteen thousand
houses of Venice are built on a cluster of islands, over one hundred in
number, and divided by nearly one hundred and fifty canals, or water
streets. However, one may visit any part of the city without the aid of
a gondola, as the islands are joined together by three hundred and
seventy-eight bridges, and between the houses lead narrow crooked
passages, many not wider than the width of one's outspread arms.
The canals are salt, and offer at high tide fine salt-water bathing. As
most of the houses rise immediately from the water, it is not an
uncommon sight, at certain hours, to see a gentleman or his children
walk down his front-door steps arrayed for bathing, and take a "header"
from the lower step. That sounds very funny, but to the Venetians such
proceedings are quite a matter of course.
In the lagoon around the city are numerous exasperating sand islands,
exposed to view at low tide. The amateur gondolier seeks this lagoon, to
be safe from scoffers at his clumsy rowing, and often, right in the
midst of his "getting the knack of it," the tide leaves him stuck fast
on a sand island, to wait for its return.
Excepting the Grand Canal, the canals are narrow, and make innumerable
sharp turns; so that it requires more skill to steer a gondola than it
does to row, if such a thing is possible. The gondoliers display great
skill in both rowing and steering, and they cut around corners and wind
through openings seemingly impassable, always warning each other of
their intentions by certain peculiar cries.
During Venice's prosperity, gondola regattas were held, and were events
of great pomp and display. They took place on the Grand Canal, when the
whole city gathered on its banks, or in many gondolas on its surface,
and what with the music, the display of flags and banners, and the
bright-colored clothing of the color-loving people, the spectacle
certainly must have presented a scene of great brilliancy. The prizes
were money and champion flags, and with the lowest was also given a live
pig--a little pleasantry corresponding to the leather medal in American
contests.
Once a year the Doge, or chief ruler of Venice, and his officers went in
a vessel of royal magnificence, called the _Bucintora_, out upon the
Adriatic Sea, followed by a grand procession of gondolas, and there he
dropped overboard a gold ring, after certain impressive ceremonies, thus
signifying Venice's espousal with the sea, and her dominion over it.
This _Bucintora_ was a two-decked vessel propelled by one hundred and
sixty of the strongest rowers of the Venetian fleet. Its sides were
carved and gilded, some parts gold-plated, and the whole surmounted by a
gold-embroidered crimson velvet canopy. The mast is still preserved in
the arsenal at Venice, but the vessel was purposely destroyed to secure
its gold ornaments.
It is only in the severest winters--of rare occurrence--that gondolas
can not be used; but then the young Venetians may perform the--to
them--wonderful feat of walking on the water, and tell of it years
after. Some two hundred years ago the ice lasted the unheard-of time of
eighteen days, and such an impression did the event make upon the
Venetians that the year in which it happened is known to the present day
as the _anno del ghiaccio_--"year of the ice."
THE GREAT LILY'S MISSION.
BY MRS. J. B. McCONAUGHY.
Forty-three years ago last New-Year's Day a native boat was gliding
along through one of the small rivers of British Guiana, when it came to
a spot where the stream widened into a little lake. A celebrated
botanist was a voyager in the little canoe, and all at once his
attention was fixed on a wonderful plant he found growing along the
margin of the lake. All his weariness and the many discomforts of his
situation were forgotten in the enthusiasm of that moment. Never before
had he seen such a flower. One might fancy a giant had been raising
lilies to present to some fair giantess.
Imagine the rippling water covered with thick leaves of pale green,
lined with vivid crimson, each one almost large enough to cover your
bed, while all about were floating massive lilies, whose single petals
of white and rosy pink were more than a foot across, and numbered over a
hundred to a blossom.
The flower was sent home to England, and awakened great enthusiasm among
the lovers of science, but no one surmised that the fair stranger was
destined to effect a great revolution in the architecture of the world.
Yet all great enterprises have generally taken a very roundabout way
before they came to perfection. You could hardly forecast them when you
looked at their beginnings.
Such a royal lily well deserved a royal name. So it was christened the
_Victoria Regia_. Had it been a beautiful princess they were anxious to
make contented in her adopted land, they could not have taken more pains
to humor her tastes and whims. Mr. Paxton, the great gardener who had it
in charge, determined that the baby lily should never know that it was
not in its native waters, growing in its native soil, under its own
torrid skies. So he made up a bed for its roots out of burned loam and
peat; the great lazy leaves were allowed to float at their ease in a
tank of water, to which a gentle ripple was imparted by means of a
water-wheel, and then a house of glass, of a beautiful device, was built
over it all, and the right temperature kept up to still further deceive
the young South American.
With all this pampering it grew so fast that in a month it had outgrown
its house. A new one must be had forthwith, or the baby lily would be
hopelessly dwarfed. Mr. Paxton was not disconcerted by this
precociousness of his wayward pet, but at once put his talents to work
to provide it with suitable accommodations. The greenhouse he next built
was a more novel and elegant conservatory, and might rightly be styled
the first Crystal Palace.
It was just at this time that the word had gone out over all the earth
that its nations were invited to a great World's Fair at London. And now
a very serious question came up about the building in which to house
them. The committee, of course, decided on a structure of orthodox brick
and mortar, and then began a fierce war in the papers with regard to the
project. How would their beautiful Hyde Park be spoiled by letting loose
in it such an army of shovellers, bricklayers, hewers, and all manner of
craftsmen! What a spoiling of its ornamental trees, and what a cutting
up of its smooth drives by the heavy carts loaded with brick and mortar
enough to build a pyramid!
Mr. Paxton read in the _Times_ these many objections, and the thought
flashed through his mind that they could all be removed by building on
the plan of his lily-house. A succession of such structures enlarged and
securely joined together would produce just such a building as was
wanted. All could be prepared in the great workshops of the kingdom, and
brought together with almost as little noise and confusion as was
Solomon's great Temple.
The building committee were hard to convince. They were joined to their
idols of brick and mortar. But good Prince Albert, and Sir Robert Peel,
and Mr. Stephenson, the engineer, were all on the side of iron and
glass, and at last they won.
Such a beautiful fairy-like structure as went up, almost like Aladdin's
palace, by New-Year's Day, 1851, the world had never seen. The great
lily had, all unconsciously, accomplished a wonderful work. Over and
over again has its crystal house been copied, and not the least
beautiful of such structures is our own grand Centennial Main Building.
THE MISHAPS OF AN ARAB GENTLEMAN.
The Orientals differ in many respects from the Europeans and Americans
in their customs and manners, their dress, and the furniture of their
houses. The dress of the men consists of a red cap, wide baggy cloth
trousers, silken girdle, and a jacket. The houses in Syria are
invariably built of stone, and in the south of Palestine entirely so.
The floors of the rooms are paved with marble or granite. At the
entrance of every room is a space of several feet square, paved with
figured marble, and never carpeted, generally used as a receptacle for
shoes and slippers, which the Orientals remove from their feet on
entering a room. The rest of the floor is raised about half a foot
higher. The Orientals sleep on the ground, _i. e._, on mattresses laid
on carpets, or mats spread on the floor.
In an Arab family one of the members became ambitious of transforming
himself into a European. This young gentleman had received an excellent
education, being familiar not only with the Arab literature, but master
of the ancient and modern Greek.
His first step toward the desired end was to study English and French.
When he had gained a fair knowledge of these languages, he applied for
the position of interpreter to the American consulate, to which he
succeeded in being appointed.
His so-far satisfied ambition would no longer allow him to wear the
Oriental dress, and he soon showed himself to an admiring world of
natives in European costume. One day he was asked how he liked his new
costume.
"Not at all," he replied. "I feel as if tied hand and foot in a
tight-fitting prison."
A few weeks later he one day startled some of his European friends by
asking them, with a thoughtful seriousness, whether they often tumbled
out of bed.
"Tumble out of bed!" they exclaimed. "Why, of course not. How could
one?"
"I would much rather find out how a person could not," was his reply.
He was asked what put such an idea into his head.
The rest is best told in his own words.
"I furnished my rooms with European furniture. Bad luck to the day I was
foolish enough to do so! A few nights ago, after having locked my door
and put out my light--things I never did before--I got up into the
bedstead. My sensations were those of being put away on a high shelf in
a dark prison. I wondered whether Europeans experienced such feelings
every night. Finally I fell asleep, comforting myself that I might get
used to it. How long I slept in that bed I shall never know, for when I
awoke, it was to find myself in the grave. I was cramped in every limb;
I felt the cold pavement under me, and icy walls round me. For clothing
or covering I found nothing within reach but what at the time seemed a
shroud. Where was I? What had happened? Suddenly the idea came to me
that I must have fainted, been mistaken for dead, buried, and now
recovered consciousness in my grave. So convinced was I, that I shouted
at the top of my voice that I was not dead, and begged to be taken out
of the tomb. The noise I made soon awoke the whole house, and as I had
locked my door, no one could get in. I heard my mother and brothers
uttering pious ejaculations to exorcise the evil spirit which they
believed had got hold of me, while I trebled my frantic yells for
deliverance. By vigorously shaking the door, they finally burst it open,
and then I was surprised to see that I was not in my grave, but that I
had tumbled out of bed, and rolled along the floor till I landed in the
space by the door."
"But did you not wake with the fall?"
"No; I felt nothing till I awoke, as I believed, in my tomb, but really
in the shoe receptacle; and since you all assure me that Europeans never
tumble out of their beds, I resign all hopes of ever being transformed
into one. I shall in the future, as I have done in the past, sleep on
the ground, from which there is no danger of tumbling."
THE HIPPOPOTAMUS.
The hippopotamus, or river-horse, is found exclusively in the great
rivers, lakes, and swamps of Africa. Fossil remains of extinct species
have been discovered in both Europe and Asia, but ages have passed since
they existed. This animal is amphibious, and can remain under water five
minutes or more without breathing. When it comes to the surface it
snorts in a terrible manner, and can be heard at a great distance. It is
never found far away from its native element, to which it beats a
retreat at the least alarm. Travellers along the White Nile and in
Central Africa often encounter enormous herds of these ungainly
creatures sometimes lying in the water, their huge heads projecting like
the summit of a rock, sometimes basking on the shore in the muddy ooze,
or grazing on the river-bank; for this animal is a strict vegetarian,
and the broad fields of grain and rice along the Upper Nile suffer
constantly from its depredations.
The hippopotamus is a hideous-looking beast. It has an enormous mouth,
armed with four great tusks that appear viciously prominent beneath its
great leathern lips. These tusks are so powerful that a hippopotamus has
been known to cut holes through the iron plates of a Nile steamer with
one blow. Its eyes are very small, but protruding, and placed on the top
of its head. Its body resembles a huge hogshead perched on four short,
stumpy legs. A full-grown animal will sometimes measure twelve feet in
length and as much in circumference. The hide of this beast is very
thick and strong, and is used to make whips. Ordinary bullets, unless
they strike near the ear, rattle off the sides of this King of the Nile
like small shot. Sir Samuel Baker, the African traveller, relates an
encounter with a large bull hippopotamus which was taking an evening
stroll on the bank of the river, quietly munching grass. Baker and his
attendant were armed only with rifles. They aimed and fired, hitting as
near the ear as possible, but the great beast only shook its head and
trotted off. At the sound of firing the remainder of the party hurried
up, and poured a volley of musketry at the retreating beast, but the
hippopotamus walked coolly to the edge of a steep cliff, about eighteen
feet high, and with a clumsy jump and a tremendous splash vanished in
the water. As the flesh of the hippopotamus, which is said to resemble
pork in flavor, was much desired as food by the soldiers under Baker's
charge, he had a small explosive shell constructed, which, fired into
the creature's brain, seldom failed to leave its huge body floating dead
on the surface of the river.
[Illustration: FIGHT WITH A HIPPOPOTAMUS.]
The natives are very fond of hippopotamus flesh, and resort to many
expedients to secure the desired delicacy. Hunting this beast is
dangerous sport, for in the water it is master of the situation, and
will throw a canoe in the air, or crunch it to pieces with its terrible
jaws. In Southern Africa, Dr. Livingstone encountered a tribe of natives
called Makombwé who were hereditary hippopotamus-hunters, and followed
no other occupation, as, when their game grew scarce at one spot, they
removed to another. They built temporary huts on the lonely grassy
islands in the rivers and great lakes, where the hippopotami were sure
to come to enjoy the luxurious pasturage, and while the women cultivated
garden patches, the men, with extraordinary courage and daring, followed
the dangerous sport which passes down among them from father to son.
When they hunt, each canoe is manned by two men. The canoes are very
light, scarcely half an inch in thickness, and shaped somewhat like a
racing boat. Each man uses a broad, short paddle, and as the canoe is
noiselessly propelled toward a sleeping hippopotamus not a ripple is
raised on the water. Not a word passes between the two hunters, but as
they silently approach the prey the harpooner rises cautiously, and with
sure aim plunges the weapon toward the monster's heart. Both hunters now
seize their paddles and push away for their lives, for the infuriated
beast springs toward them, its enormous jaws extended, and often
succeeds in crushing the frail canoe to splinters. The hunters, if
thrown in the water, immediately dive--as the beast looks for them on
the surface--and make for the shore. Their prey is soon secured, for the
well-aimed harpoon has done its work, and the hippopotamus is soon
forced to succumb. Should it be under water, its whereabouts is
indicated by a float on the end of the long harpoon rope, and it is
easily dragged ashore.
Travellers on the Nile are often placed in great peril by the attacks of
these beasts, which although said to be inoffensive when not molested,
are so easily enraged that the noise of a passing boat excites them to
terrible fury. Baker relates being roused one clear moonlight night by a
hoarse wild snorting, which he at once recognized as the voice of a
furious hippopotamus. He rushed on deck, and discovered a large specimen
of this beast charging on the boat with indescribable rage. The small
boats towed astern were crunched to pieces in a moment, and so rapid
were the movements of this animal, as it roared and plunged in a cloud
of foam and wave, that it was next to impossible to take aim at the
small vulnerable spot on its head. At length, however, it appeared to be
wounded, and retired to the high reeds along the shore. But it soon
returned, snorting and blowing more furiously than ever, and continued
its attack until its head was fairly riddled with bullets, and it rolled
over and over, dead at last.
Young hippopotami have been captured and placed in zoological gardens,
but as they become old they grow savage, and are very hard to manage.
Some fine specimens were formerly in the Jardin des Plantes at Paris.
They ate all kinds of vegetables and grass, and slept nearly all day,
generally lying half in and half out of the big water tank provided for
them.
The hippopotamus is supposed by many to be identical with the behemoth
of Scripture, which is described as a beast "that lieth under the shady
trees, in the covert of the reed and fens." It is also spoken of as one
that "eateth grass as an ox," and that "drinketh up a river," and the
"willows of the brook compass him about."
THE CAT'S-MEAT MAN.
[Illustration: PREPARING CAT'S MEAT IN FULTON MARKET.]
In one corner of Fulton Market in New York city is the snug little stall
of the cat's-meat man. He is a jolly, merry-looking fellow, as you may
see by his picture; and he sings and whistles as he works. In the
morning he goes about the streets feeding his cats; but his afternoons
are devoted to preparing their food for the next day.
Most of this food is raw meat, which, with a sharp knife, he cuts up
into very small pieces, until several hundred pounds are thus prepared.
Sometimes a small portion of the meat is boiled; but this cooked meat is
only intended for cats who are not very well, and who need something
more delicate than raw meat. Once a week--on Thursdays--the cat's-meat
man cuts up fish instead of meat; for on Fridays all his cats have a
meal of fish, of which they are very fond, and which is very good for
them.
After the meat or fish has been nicely cut into bits, it is all done up
in small brown-paper parcels, each of which weighs a pound; and these
parcels are packed into great strong baskets. Each basket holds forty
or fifty of these pound packages, and is pretty heavy for the cat's-meat
man to carry.
[Illustration: STARTING OUT]
Bright and early in the morning, soon after sunrise, the cat's-meat man
begins to feed his cats, starting out from the market with a big basket
of meat on his shoulder, and threading his way through the crooked
streets and lanes of the lower part of the city to the homes of his
little customers.
[Illustration: SOME DOWN-TOWN CATS.]
Everywhere the cats and kittens are anxiously waiting and watching for
him, and sometimes they run out and meet him at the corners half a block
or more away from their homes. Often when he is feeding the cats on one
side of the street, those living on the other side run across, and
rubbing against his legs, mewing and purring, seem to beg him to hurry
and get over to their side. Of course these cats do not belong to the
cat's-meat man, though he takes just as much interest in them, and is
just as fond of them, as though they were his own. They are the cats
that live in the stores and warehouses of the lower portion of the city,
where they are kept as a protection against the armies of fierce rats
that come up from the wharves, and do terrible damage wherever the cats
are not too strong for them. For this reason the cats are highly prized
and well cared for in this part of the city, and the cat's-meat man
finds plenty of work to do in feeding them. He is paid for this by the
owners of the cats, and as he has about four hundred customers his
business is quite a thriving one.
[Illustration: THE MORNING CALL.]
The cats all know and love him, and are generally expecting him; but if
he opens the door of a store where one of his cats lives, and she is not
to be seen, he calls "Pss-pss-pss," and the kitty comes racing down
stairs, or from some distant corner, so fast that she nearly tumbles
head over heels in her hurry to get at her breakfast.
Some of the cats are only fed every other day, and they know just as
well as anybody when it is "off day," as the cat's-meat man calls it. On
these off days they lie perfectly still as he passes, paying no
attention to him; but on the days they are to be fed, these
"every-other-day cats" are the most eager of all, and travel the
greatest distances to meet their friend.
[Illustration: CARLO.]
Besides the cats, several dogs are fed daily by the cat's-meat man, and
of these the most interesting is Carlo. Carlo used to be a sailor dog,
but now he lives quietly in a store on Old Slip. His first master was a
sea-captain, with whom Carlo made voyages to many different parts of the
world. At last his kind master, who was as fond of Carlo as though he
had been an only child, became very sick with a terrible fever, and when
his ship reached New York, he was taken to a hospital to die. Carlo went
to the hospital with him, and just before the dying sailor breathed his
last, he begged a kind gentleman who stood beside his bed to take care
of Carlo. The gentleman promised to do so, and has ever since kept his
promise by giving Carlo a good home in his store, and paying the
cat's-meat man to feed him every day. Carlo repays this kindness by
keeping the store free from rats, and his reputation as a famous ratter
has spread far and wide through the neighborhood.
[Illustration: A CHARITY CAT.]
Many stray cats watch for the coming of the cat's-meat man, for they
know that he will befriend them, and many a tidbit does he give to some
lean hungry creature as he merrily trudges along through the winter
snow-drifts.
At certain corners the cat's-meat man is met by one of his assistants,
with whom he exchanges his empty basket for a full one. These
halting-places are well known to all the forlorn and homeless cats and
dogs, and at them a number of these always await his approach. He most
always throws them a few bits from his well-filled basket, for which
they seem very grateful, though they look as if they would be very glad
of more.
Besides feeding cats and dogs, the cat's-meat man cares for them when
they are sick, preparing special food for his patients, and sometimes
giving them small doses of medicine. So, you see, the cat's-meat man is
a real benefactor, and it is no wonder that all the cats and dogs in the
lower part of the city watch for his coming, and are glad when they see
him.
MY TARTAR.
BY DAVID KER.
Most of us have read descriptions and seen pictures of those sallow,
flat-faced, narrow-eyed, round-headed hobgoblins who, under the name of
Tartars (a wrong one, too, for it should be Tatâré), used to amuse
themselves by conquering Eastern Europe every now and then some hundreds
of years ago. But it is not every one who has had the pleasure of
travelling alone with one of these fellows over nearly a thousand miles
of Asiatic desert in time of war--a pleasure which I enjoyed to the full
in 1873.