and practising with swords and muskets. The Japanese soldiers now use
firearms, but they still carry one or two of their old-fashioned
swords, and when they are in full costume they wear paper hats. Some
of the fencing was very interesting to Tom. He had fenced a little at
home, himself, but this vigorous work with swords was new to him.
[Illustration: NOON SCENE ON A JAPANESE CANAL.]
The weather was quite warm during Tom’s visit to Yedo, and about the
middle of the day the streets—especially the canals which take the
place of streets, presented a very peculiar scene. Scarcely a soul
was visible. Empty boats were fastened all along the shores, and all
the houses, glistening in the hot sun, seemed as if they had been
deserted. Not a sound was to be heard; and it was but very seldom that
a moving thing was to be seen.
It was very much, as Tom said, like the enchanted city in the Arabian
Nights, where all the inhabitants were changed into stone.
“But if you were to go poking about into some of those houses,” said
Moriyama, “you’d soon find that these people are not changed into
stone.”
Here and there the boys could see, between the screens that stood at
the entrances of the houses, the people inside eating their dinners.
The straw table-cloth—if there can be such a thing where there is no
table—was always spread upon the floor, and the family sat around
it eating rice. Sometimes they had meat or fish and vegetables, but
Moriyama said their principal food was rice. And from the way they were
eating it, they seemed to like it.
One night the boys went out on one of the many bridges in the city,
and saw hundreds of small boats cruising about in all directions, with
different colored lanterns hung about them; and besides these there
were rafts from which fireworks were continually set off. The scene was
charming, and Tom would have enjoyed it thoroughly had it not been for
the music. This was so unearthly and hideous that poor Tom would have
put his fingers in his ears had he not been afraid of offending the
people around him.
But before he left Japan he became used to this music, and sometimes
even fancied that he could make out some kind of a tune from the
curious sounds of the _samsins_ and the _gottos_, which are Japanese
guitars and harps.
One day the boys saw a very jolly sort of a game which Tom determined
to introduce in his school when he returned to the United States.
A long cable was stretched over one of the bridges, and two parties
were formed, with about a hundred men in each.
One of these parties went to one end of the bridge and the other to
the opposite end, and then the men seized the rope, and each party
endeavored to pull the other over the bridge.
They pulled and tugged and yelled, until one side, finding that it
was losing ground, suddenly, at a signal, let go the rope and over
backwards went every man on the other side, pell-mell in one great
kicking heap. Sometimes, Moriyama said, the rope broke and then
everybody went over backward.
When the game was finished, they all went off laughing to some of the
nearest tea-houses, and had a jolly time together, friends and enemies,
all in the same crowd.
Among the most interesting places visited was a Japanese school. This
was the rarest school that Tom ever saw. The little shaven-headed boys
and girls were all seated on the floor, and the master sat on the floor
too. In front of him was an affair like a stunted music-stand, on which
he put his book, and the old tyrant leaned forward and cracked the bad
boys with his fan. Think of an American teacher whipping his scholars
with a fan.
Some of the youngsters were bare-footed, and some wore stockings made
something like mittens, with a separate place for the big toe. The
books were full of such a curious mixture of what seemed to Tom like
black blots and scratches that he thought the Japanese youngsters must
be extraordinarily smart to be able to make any sense out of them.
When Tom heard that these characters were read from top to bottom of
the page instead of across he expressed the opinion that the Japanese
probably added up their letters as they stood in the columns so as to
find out what the whole thing came to.
The more he learned about the language of Japan, its different
dialects, and its two alphabets, the greater became his respect for
those who obtained a Japanese education.
“It must take you all your lives to learn how to read and write,” said
he to Moriyama.
“We believe,” said the Japanese boy, “that it takes all of a person’s
life to learn anything.”
[Illustration: A JAPANESE SCHOOL.]
That this was a common opinion in Japan Tom soon found out for himself.
Whatever the trade or profession in which a man was engaged, he seemed
to have been at it all his life, and ten to one his father and his
great-grandfather before him had followed the same business, and each
one of the family had given so much time and attention to his business
that he became almost perfect in it—as far as Japanese perfection went.
[Illustration: JAPANESE WRESTLERS.]
For instance Tom went to a wrestling match, where the wrestlers, great
powerful fellows, all belonged to a tribe or guild that according to
their account, had existed ever since the third year of the first
Mikado, which in our chronology would be the year 658 B.C.
[Illustration: JAPANESE BALANCING FEATS.]
At any rate, they were men whose ancestors for hundreds of years had
been wrestlers, and they themselves gave up all their time and thought
to the attainment of perfection in their art.
Consequently they were splendid wrestlers.
Other gymnastic performers were equally proficient in different lines.
Some of them had great long noses fitted to their faces, and on these
noses they balanced themselves and each other, and did many other
astonishing feats.
One man laid on his back supporting on one foot a fellow who stood
on his nose, while, on the prostrate man’s nose, another man stood,
balancing on _his_ nose an umbrella, while he kept five or six balls
flying in the air, catching each one as it fell and tossing it up
again, never allowing one of them to drop.
Each of these performers, no matter what else he was doing, held a fan
in one hand, which was kept constantly in motion.
And in all the performances there was never a mishap or a mistake.
Every man was absolutely perfect in his part.
When Tom went back to Yokohama he told his father that he had made up
his mind that he was going to be absolutely perfect in some one thing.
If the Japanese could succeed in this, he was sure he could.
He had not made up his mind what he would do, but it was to be
something.
His father commended this resolution, and suggested arithmetic.
Tom did not feel altogether certain about arithmetic, but as soon as
he could think of a good thing, he intended to commence the study of
perfection.
When his father laughed a little at his enthusiasm Tom said that one
great difficulty would be that he was afraid he could not find out what
his father and grandfather had been perfect in. If he could do that, it
would help him very much.
But we cannot mention all the curious things that Tom and Moriyama saw
in Japan.
It would require a book to tell about the wonderful processions, such
as that of the white elephant, which, by the way, Tom thought was a
real animal, until he saw that its legs did not move, and that under
each of its feet were two human legs belonging to the men who carried
the huge stuffed creature—and the many other strange things that they
saw in the streets and houses of Japan.
[Illustration: PROCESSION OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT.]
Suffice it to say, that since Tom came home—and it has been some years
since his trip to Japan—he has earnestly endeavored to discover what
particular thing it would be best for him to learn thoroughly and
completely.
I am not sure that he has even yet made up his mind upon the subject,
but he is convinced that if his experience among the Japanese had
no better effect than to teach him that to know how to do something
perfectly well, it is greatly to be desired, and well worth striving
for—no matter how much time and toil it may require.
LUMINOUS INSECTS.
The fire-flies that flit about so merrily on our pleasant summer
evenings, emit little sparkles of light, that seem like tiny stars,
shining among the grass and trees. Sometimes the air is full of these
twinkling lights, which are very pretty, though not sufficiently
brilliant to help us to find our way on a dark night, or to bring into
our houses to save the expense of candles or kerosene.
[Illustration: HUT LIGHTED BY BEETLES.]
Occasionally we see, at night, in the grass by the roadside, or in a
field, a very small trail of a bright-green light; and, on stooping
down to examine into this singular appearance, we find on the ground
an insignificant little ugly worm, to which Nature has given the power
of producing a lovely colored light. These glow-worms are somewhat
rare in this country, but are common in England, where our fire-fly
is unknown. The glow-worms of tropical countries are as large as
good-sized caterpillars, and give out a light of corresponding size.
Some of the beetles of tropical countries are much more radiant than
the glow-worms. They have a bright ring around their bodies, which
sheds such a light that it is said that the negroes use them for lamps.
These negroes we are told by travelers make small round cages of thin
wooden slats placed near each other, and closed at the top and bottom.
In these they put several beetles, and thus light up their rooms free
of cost.
[Illustration: THE GREAT LANTERN FLY.]
But the most splendidly illuminated insect in the world is the great
lantern fly. Its monstrous head is a blaze of light. When it flies
through the air it is like a streamer of fire. When it alights upon a
leaf, with its beautiful wings outstretched, and its head gleaming with
star-like rays, that light up everything for some little distance, it
is a gorgeous sight indeed.
But, although this insect is so bright-headed it is not so wise as some
others whose heads are not brilliant at all. Perhaps this head is like
some shops we have seen, where pretty much all the furniture is on the
outside.
OWLS ON A FROLIC.
[Illustration: THE OWLS UPSETTING THE LAMP.]
The owls are abroad on a mad carouse,
Waking the echoes far and wide;
They whirl in a crowd through the ruined church,
Or up to the belfry glide.
The little screech-owl makes a horrid din;
While the great white owl looks wise;
And the horned owl nods his head, and blinks;
As around the lamp he flies.
The lamp is a cup, half filled with oil,
That swings from a broken beam;
And, over the traveler sleeping below,
It throws but a dusky gleam.
The owls have no fear of the burning wick—
’Tis only a cotton loop—
They’re after the oil in the swinging cup,
And down on its brim they swoop.
The weary traveler, sound asleep,
Hears naught of the noise o’erhead,
A rickety chair as a bedstead serves,
His overcoat is his bed.
With the sweep of the wings the lamp upsets,
While the gurgling oil o’erflows
With a drip, and a rush, on the great owl’s tail,
A splash on the traveler’s nose.
He’s up in a trice, and, seizing a broom,
He arms himself for a fight.
But all is still in the ruined church;
For the owls are out—and his light.
COMMON AND UNCOMMON SPONGES.
[Illustration: A FINE SPONGE.]
They are all wonderful enough, no matter how common they may be. It
takes thousands and thousands of minute creatures, to make a sponge,
and these creatures are so little understood that about all we know of
them is that they must belong to the very lowest order of animal life,
and that they do build sponges. That is not much to know, but it is not
long since the sponge was first known to be an animal production at
all, and our scientific men may yet find out something more definite
about these curious little architects. Perhaps they may have lately
found out something, and I have not heard of it. This would be the
least wonderful thing about sponges.
The ordinary form of the sponge is familiar to nearly everybody who has
ever been washed, and this picture gives a good idea of a fine large
one, as it is found growing at the bottom of the sea. I say growing,
because it seems to be growing there, like a vegetable. But it does not
grow, in the ordinary sense of the word, any more than a wasp’s nest
grows.
But there are sponges with which we are not at all familiar, and which
are curious, apart from the manner of their construction. Such a one is
the sponge called the “Cup of Neptune.”
This is several feet high, and is formed like a great goblet. It would
make a very good cup for Neptune, if he drank brandy or rum, for it
would soak up all that he poured into it, and he could not get a drop,
unless he squeezed his cup pretty hard—and even then the liquor might
all run out of the bottom.
As a rule, civilized and well educated people are more easily surprised
and astonished at uncommon and wonderful works of nature than
uncivilized or ignorant people, for the latter do not know enough to be
astonished. They see nothing strange in the development of a plant from
its seed—nothing grand in a high mountain, nor anything very beautiful
in a flower. They look at these things as a child looks at his hand.
The hand is a very curiously constructed instrument, full of intricate
mechanism, but the child does not know or think of that. It is not
until he grows older and his mind is cultured that he appreciates the
wonderful construction and the varied action of his hand.
So it is with savages. They do not comprehend that many strange works
of nature are worthy of admiration, and they take it for granted that
things are as they are because they ought to be, just as they think of
their own bodies, if they think of them at all.
[Illustration: THE CUP OF NEPTUNE.]
But this great goblet-like sponge is strange enough to astonish even a
savage.
MAGHAR’S LEAP.
It chanced upon a time, a very great many years ago, while fairies
and magicians still dwelt upon earth, that a youth and maiden—brother
and sister—were walking in a forest, talking about their recent
misfortunes, and laying plans for their future. The youth was clad in
armor, according to the warlike fashion of those times. But he had
under his arm a book, which was not in accordance with the fashion of
those times. The maiden wore a dress of some coarse woolen stuff; and,
in her hands she held a sheet of parchment, and a pen.
Suddenly there broke into their quiet talk the sound of clashing arms,
and the mad plunging of horses. Sybil, the maiden, stopped terrified.
“Oh!” she cried, “it is the noise of battle! Too well I know those
sounds. Let us go quickly back!”
“Let us go forward a little way,” said Maghar, the youth, “to yon
opening in the woods. Or, stop here, if you fear, and I will go alone
and look out.”
“No,” said Sybil, “if you go I will follow.”
Together they looked out upon the open plain. Two hostile armies had
met unexpectedly, and a fierce conflict had commenced.
“Alas!” said Sybil, shuddering. “There are the savage infidels that
laid waste our home!”
“Yes,” said Maghar, excitedly, “and here, on this side, are our
countrymen, and neighbors! I must bear a hand in this fight!”
“And leave me alone!” cried Sybil. “I have only you left! Your single
arm will not count for much in a battle!”
“It would be a shame to me,” said Maghar, “to sneak off, like a coward,
and leave our friends and Christian soldiers, when their forces are
few, and every warrior counts. Have I not my armor? I shall find
shield and spear on the battle-field on some poor fellow who has
already fallen in the fray. Do not fear, sister! Go back to Christern’s
cottage. There you will be safe; and I will return in a few hours.”
So saying, he led Sybil back into the forest to the path leading to
Christern’s cottage; gave the book into her hands; and, kissing her
good-bye, he ran out of the woods as fast as the weight of his armor
would allow.
[Illustration: SYBIL’S WATCH.]
But Sybil did not return to the cottage. She was too anxious about her
brother; and, going to the entrance of the wood, she crouched among the
trees, where she was hidden from view, and watched the progress of the
fight. She was ready to fly if the tide of battle brought the armies
too near. But they seemed to be gradually moving away from her. She
soon singled out her brother. He had secured a spear and shield, and
mounted a riderless horse. In a few minutes he was lost in the throng,
and she saw him no more.
Her mind was filled with sad forebodings. This Infidel army had
invaded the country, and laid it waste; had killed her parents, and
overthrown, and utterly ruined the beautiful castle that had been
her home. A few things had been saved by old Christern, a much loved
servant of the family, and these constituted the property of Maghar
and Sybil. Old Christern’s cottage, in the depths of the forest, was
the refuge of the orphans. There they had lived for several weeks, and
no way of retrieving their fortunes seemed open to them. Maghar was a
fine scholar. His father had had him taught to read his own language
and Latin, and to write a very beautiful hand. That was the extent of
his knowledge; and it was a great deal at a time when very few of the
richest people knew their letters.
And now, in their poverty, there seemed to be very little use for his
learning. Nobody cared anything about it. He might copy manuscript for
some learned man, and get a living this way, for printing and paper
had not then been invented; and all books were written on parchment.
But Maghar had a contempt for a _clerk_, as he called a copyist,
and did not fancy this method of supporting his sister and himself.
Nevertheless, the two were that day on their way to the abode of
a great and learned man to see if he wished anything of this kind
done; and if he would buy their only book—a Latin volume, written on
parchment, and beautifully illuminated and bound in wooden covers.
Sybil went over these things in her mind as she watched the battle,
trying, in vain, to distinguish the form of her brother. She soon saw
to her dismay, that the Infidel forces had turned the flank of the
Christian army, and that the ranks of the latter were broken, and they
were retreating, closely followed by their enemies. She stood up now,
and strained her eyes to watch them until they had all disappeared over
the crest of a hill. Then she sadly returned to Christern’s cottage to
tell the old man of this new and terrible misfortune.
Days passed away, and Maghar did not return. Christern learned that
the Christian army was broken, and the soldiers scattered. Some had
returned to their homes. The wounded were cared for among their
friends. The dead were buried. But Maghar was with none of these. No
one could tell anything about him, except that he had fought bravely.
Then Sybil determined to seek out the great and learned man to whom
Maghar had intended to offer his services as copyist. She was somewhat
afraid of him, for he was known to be a powerful magician. But he
could, no doubt, tell her the fate of Maghar, and she would try to
overcome her fears.
She took off the coarse peasant’s dress she had been wearing, and
arrayed herself in her best robe of fine white cashmere, which was
one of the things that Christern had managed to save. She loosened
her beautiful hair, which fell nearly to her feet. This last she did
to show the deep sorrow she was in. She also took with her the Latin
volume, as a present, to propitiate the powerful magician.
The great man lived in the simplest manner in a rocky cavern. Sybil
found him outside his dwelling, seated on a mossy stone, sorting some
plants that lay in his lap. He did not look up as she approached, and
she had a good opportunity to study his countenance, which was so sweet
and gentle that her fear of him vanished; and she came forward quite
boldly, greeted him, and presented her book.
But the magician waved the volume aside. “I know why you seek me,
sister of Maghar,” he said, kindly.
“Oh, can you tell me aught of my brother?” cried Sybil.
“I know not where he is. The oracles would not enlighten me without
your presence. Come into my dwelling, and we will consult them.”
So saying he conducted her into his cave through a low, dark passage
way. Great was Sybil’s astonishment when she found herself in a vast
room, with a lofty ceiling. Around the circular walls was a continuous
row of lamps, kept constantly burning. Their light was reflected from
myriads of stalactites that hung from the roof, glowing with all the
colors of the rainbow, making the rough, rocky chamber as brilliant and
gorgeous as a fairy palace. In the centre of the room stood a brazier,
filled with burning coals, and near it, a large iron harp, with silver
strings, and a sort of cupboard, made of iron. A few rough couches were
scattered around. And this was all the furniture the room contained.
The magician invited Sybil to take a seat. He then proceeded to place
on his head a crown, woven of vines of magical virtues. He took from
the cupboard some singular-looking vessels, and mixed in them various
powders and liquids. Then, pouring all their contents into a copper
pot, he placed it on the coals, seated himself on a stone near it, drew
his harp in front of him, and motioned to Sybil to stand before it. He
looked so pleasantly upon her she did not feel afraid, but her heart
beat fast, not knowing what fearful thing she might see.
She saw nothing whatever but the harp, and the old man; for, as soon as
the clouds of fragrant white smoke that poured out from the brazier,
had completely enveloped the two, the magician swept his fingers over
his harp, and began to sing. Then Sybil forgot everything else, for his
chant was of Maghar.
[Illustration: SYBIL AND THE MAGICIAN.]
He sang of the great deeds Maghar had done in the battle, and how
he had made himself famous. He was the last prisoner taken by the
Infidels; and was now confined in a castle several leagues distant.
The Infidel army was there encamped. They would like to slay Maghar
outright, but were afraid of the vengeance of the Christian armies near
them if they murdered a man held in such esteem. He was at present
undisturbed, but the probability was that, after a time, they would
decide to starve him to death, and give out word that he had died from
sickness. His sister had thus a little time in which to work to save
him.
Here the song ended, and the weeping girl begged the great magician to
save her brother. This he said was not in his power. She must find a
good fairy, and make it her friend. The small creature could get into
the castle, see her brother, and, together, they could devise a way of
escape. He might, perhaps, be able to help them then. He told her what
roads to follow to reach the castle; and, assuring her that such a good
girl would surely find a good fairy to assist her in her trouble, he
dismissed her with his blessing.
That very day Christern and Sybil set out for the castle. They reached
the place after three days’ journey. They told no one what their errand
was in that part of the country; and there were so many homeless people
in the land that their appearance excited no surprise. Christern soon
found employment among the wood-cutters, and fitted up a deserted hut
as a temporary dwelling.
But though they could, every day, look upon the walls of the castle
in which Maghar was confined, they seemed no nearer to him than
before. He was in the hands of the cruel infidels, and where were
there any fairies? There were plenty in that part of the country, the
wood-cutters said, which, at first, was encouraging. But, on inquiry,
it turned out that not one of them had ever seen a fairy, or knew
anybody who ever had seen one. Sybil was in despair as the days went
by, and she blamed her friend, the magician, that he had given her no
help, after all.