if he would be able to carry out his intention, for he was so charmed
at having discovered the soft place of which he had so often been told
that he resolved never to let go until his victim was dead; and in the
midst of the struggle he could not but regret that he had never
thought of hunting Alligators before.
As it may well be imagined, the Alligator soon began to be very tired
of this sort of thing. He could do nothing at all to damage his
antagonist, and the Jaguar hurt him, keeping his teeth jammed into the
very tenderest spot in his whole body. So he came to the conclusion
that, if he could do nothing else, he would go home. If the Jaguar
chose to follow him, he could not help it, of course. So, gradually,
he pulled himself, Jaguar and all, down to the river, and, as the
banks sloped quite suddenly at this place, he soon plunged into deep
water, with his bloodthirsty enemy still hanging fiercely to him.
As soon as he found himself in the water, the Alligator rolled himself
over and got on top. Then they both sank down, and there was nothing
seen on the surface of the water but bubbles.
The fight did not last very long after this, but the Jaguar succeeded
perfectly in his intentions. He found a soft place--in the mud at the
bottom of the river--and he stayed there.
A FEW FEATHERED FRIENDS.
[Illustration: A FEW FEATHERED FRIENDS.]
Whether dressed in broadcloth, silk, calico, home-spun, or feathers,
friends are such valuable possessions that we must pay these folks who
are now announced as much attention as possible. And if we do this and
in every way endeavor to make them feel comfortable and entirely at
home, we will soon perceive a very great difference between them and
many of our friends who dress in coats and frocks. For the more we do
for our feathered friends, the more they will do for us. Now, you
can't say that of all the men and women and boys and girls that you
know. I wish most sincerely that you could.
The first family who calls upon us (and the head of this family makes
the very earliest calls that I know anything about) are too well known
to all of us to need the slightest introduction. You will see in an
instant that you have met them before.
And there is no doubt but that these are among the very best feathered
friends we have. Those hens are liberal with their eggs, and those
little chickens that are running around like two-legged puff-balls,
are so willing to grow up and be broiled and roasted and stewed, that
it would now be almost impossible for us to do without them. Eggs seem
to come into use on so many occasions that, if there was to be an
egg-famine, it would make itself felt in every family in the land. Not
only would we miss them when boiled, fried, and cooked in omelets for
breakfast; not only without them would ham seem lonely, puddings and
sponge-cakes go into decline, and pound-cake utterly die, but the arts
and manufactures of the whole country would feel the deprivation.
Merely in the photographic business hundreds of thousands of eggs are
needed every year, from which to procure the albumen used in the
preparation of photographic paper.
[Illustration]
Do without eggs? Impossible.
And to do without "chicken" for dinner would seem almost as impossible
for some folks. To be sure, we might live along very comfortably
without those delightful broils, and roasts, and fricassees, but it
would be a great pity. And, if we live in the country, there is no
meat which is so cheap and easily procured all the year round as
chicken. I wonder what country-people would do, especially in the
summer time, when they have little other fresh meat, without their
chickens. Very badly, I imagine.
Next to these good old friends comes the pigeon family. These are very
intimate with many of us.
[Illustration]
Pigeons are in one respect even more closely associated with man than
the domestic fowls, because they live with him as readily in cities as
in the country. City chickens always seem out of place, but city
pigeons are as much at home as anybody else. There are few houses so
small that there is not room somewhere for a pigeon-box, and there are
no roofs or yards so humble that the handsomest and proudest "pouters"
and "tumblers" and "fan-tails" will not willingly come and strut and
coo about them as long as they receive good treatment and plenty of
food.
But apart from the pleasure and profit which these beautiful birds
ordinarily afford to their owners, some of them--the carriers--are
often of the greatest value, and perform important business that would
have to be left undone if it were not for them. The late war in France
has fully proved this. I remember hearing persons say that now, since
telegraph lines had become so common, they supposed carrier-pigeons
would no longer be held in esteem, and that the breed would be
suffered to die out.
[Illustration]
But that is a mistake. There are times, especially during wars, when
telegraphic and railroad lines are utterly useless, and then the
carrier-pigeon remains master of the situation.
The doves are such near relations of the pigeons that we might suppose
they would resemble them in their character as much as in appearance.
But they are not very much alike. Doves are not ambitious; they don't
pout, or tumble, or have fan-tails. As to carrying messages, or doing
anything to give themselves renown, they never think of it. They are
content to be affectionate and happy.
And that is a great deal. If they did nothing all their lives but set
examples to children (and to their parents also, sometimes), the doves
would be among our most useful little birds.
[Illustration]
I suppose we all have some friends whom we are always glad to see,
even if they are of no particular service to us. And this is right; we
should not value people's society in exact proportion to what we think
we can get out of them. Now, the swan is a feathered friend, and a
good one, but I must say he is of very little practical use to us. But
there is something more to be desired than victuals, clothes,
feather-beds, and Easter-eggs. We should love the beautiful as well as
the useful. Not so much, to be sure, but still very much. The boy or
man who despises a rose because it is not a cabbage is much more
nearly related to the cows and hogs than he imagines. If we accustom
ourselves to look for beauty, and enjoy it, we will find it, after
awhile, where we never supposed it existed--in the caterpillar, for
instance, and in the snakes. There is beauty as well as practical
value in almost everything around us, and we are not the lords of
creation that we suppose we are, unless we are able to see it.
Now, then, I have preached you a little sermon, with the swans for a
text. But they are certainly beautiful subjects.
A goose, when it is swimming, is a very handsome bird, and it is most
admirable when it appears on the table roasted of a delightful brown,
with a dish of apple-sauce to keep it company. But, for some reason,
the goose has never been treated with proper consideration. It has for
hundreds of years, I expect, been considered as a silly bird. But
there never was a greater mistake. If we looked at the thing in the
proper light, we would not be at all ashamed to be called a goose. If
any one were to call you an ostrich, I don't believe you would be very
angry, but in reality it would be much more of an insult than to call
you a goose, for an ostrich at times is a very silly bird.
But geese have been known to do as many sensible things as any
feathered creatures of which we know anything. I am not going to say
anything about the geese which saved Rome, for we have no record that
they _intended_ to do anything of the kind; but I will instance the
case of a goose which belonged to an old blind woman, who lived in
Germany.
Every Sunday these two friends used to go to church together, the
goose carefully leading the old woman by her frock.
When they reached the church, the goose would lead his mistress to her
seat and then go outside and eat grass until the services were over.
When the people began to come out the goose would go in, and, taking
the old woman in charge, would lead her home. At other times also he
was the companion of her walks, and her family knew that old blind
Grandmother was all right if she had the goose with her when she went
out.
[Illustration]
There was another goose, in a town in Scotland, who had a great
attachment for a young gentleman to whom she belonged. She would
follow him in his walks about the town, and always testified her
delight when she saw him start for a ramble.
When he went into a barber's shop to be shaved, she would wait on the
pavement until he came out; and in many of his visits she accompanied
him, very decorously remaining outside while her master was enjoying
the society of his friends.
[Illustration]
Ducks, too, have been known to exhibit sociable and friendly traits.
There is a story told of a drake who once came into a room where a
young lady was sitting, and approaching her, caught hold of her dress
with his bill and commenced to pull vigorously at it. The lady was
very much surprised at this performance, and tried to drive the drake
away. But he would neither depart or stop tugging at her dress, and
she soon perceived that he wanted her to do something for him. So she
rose from her chair, and the drake immediately began to lead her
towards the door. When he had conducted her out on to the lawn, he
led her to a little lake near the house, and there she saw what it was
that troubled Mr. Drake. A duck, very probably his wife, had been
swimming in the lake, and in poking her head about, she had caught her
neck in the narrow opening of a sluice-gate and there she was, fast
and tight. The lady lifted the gate, Mrs. Duck drew out her head and
went quacking away, while Mr. Drake testified his delight and
gratitude by flapping his wings and quacking at the top of his voice.
[Illustration]
We have also friends among the feathered tribes, who are not quite so
intimate and sociable as those to which we have already alluded, but
which still are very well deserving of our friendship and esteem. For
instance, what charming little companions are the canary-birds! To be
sure, they would not often stay with us, if we did not confine them in
cages; but they seem perfectly at home in their little wire houses,
and sing and twitter with as much glee as if they were flying about in
the woods of their native land--or rather, of the native land of their
forefathers, for most of our canary-birds were born in the midst of
civilization and in cages.
[Illustration]
There are some birds, however, no bigger than canaries, which seem to
have an attachment for their masters and mistresses, and which do not
need the restraint of a cage. There was once a gold-finch which
belonged to a gentleman who lived in a town in Picardy, France, but
who was often obliged to go to Paris, where he also had apartments.
Whenever he was obliged to go to the great city, his gold-finch would
fly on ahead of him, and, arriving there some time in advance of the
carriage, the servants would know that their master was coming, in
time to have the rooms ready for him. And when the gentleman drove up
to the door he would generally see his little gold-finch sitting on
the finger of a cook or a chamber-maid, and twittering away as if he
was endeavoring to inform the good people of all the incidents of the
journey.
Some of these little birds, however, which are very friendly and
comparatively sociable as long as they are not troubled and annoyed,
are not only able to distinguish their friends from their foes, but
are very apt to stand up vigorously in defence of their rights. Those
little sparrows, which hop about so cunningly in the streets of many
of our cities, understand very well that no one will hurt them, and
that they may pick up crumbs wherever they can find them. But let a
few boys get into the habit of throwing sticks and stones at them, and
the little things will leave that neighborhood as quickly as if the
rents of all their tiny houses had been raised beyond their means.
[Illustration]
Magpies, too, are very companionable in their own way, if they are
well treated; but if a boy should undertake to steal away with one of
their nests, when it was full of young ones, he would run a very great
risk of having his eyes picked out.
There is a feathered friend of ours who keeps himself so secluded, at
least during the day-time, that he is very apt to escape our notice. I
refer to the owl.
It may not be supposed, by some, that the owl is a friend of mankind,
and I am perfectly willing to admit that very often he acts very much
like an enemy, especially when he kills our young chickens and
turkeys. But for all that, he has his good points, and very often
behaves in a commendable manner. If you have a barn or a house that is
overrun with mice, there is nothing that will be more certain to drive
them out than an owl. And he will not be so apt to steal your milk or
kill your canary as many of the cats which you have taken into your
family without a recommendation.
[Illustration]
We once had an owl living in our house. He belonged to my young
brother, who caught him in a trap, I believe. All day long, this
solemn little fellow (for he was a small brown one), would sit on the
back of a chair, or some such convenient place, and if any of us came
near him, he would turn his head and look at us, although he could not
see very well in the day-time; and if we walked behind him, or on
different sides of him, he would always keep his eyes on us, turning
his head around exactly as if it was set on a pivot.
It was astonishing how easily he could turn his head without moving
his body. Some folks told us that if we walked around and around him,
he would turn and turn his head, until he twisted it off, but we never
tried that.
It was really astonishing how soon the mice found out that there was
an owl in the house. He had the range of a great part of the house all
night, and in a very short time he had driven every mouse away. And
the first time he found a window open, he went away himself. There is
that objection to owls, as mousers. They are very good so long as they
will hold the situation, but they are exceedingly apt to leave without
giving the family any notice. You won't find a cat doing that. The
trouble with her very often is that she will not go when you give
_her_ notice to leave.
When we speak of our feathered friends, it is hardly fair to exclude
all but those which are domesticated with us, or which are willing,
sometimes, to come and live in our houses. In the country, and very
often in towns, our homes are surrounded, at certain seasons, by
beautiful birds, that flutter and twitter about in the trees, and sing
most charmingly in the bright hours of the early morning, making the
spring-time and the summer tenfold more delightful than they would be
without them. These birds ask nothing of us but a few cherries or
berries now and then, and they pay well for these by picking up the
worms and grubs from our gardens.
I think that these little warblers and twitterers, who fill the air
with their songs and frolic about on the trees and bushes, who build
their nests under our eaves and in any little box that we may put up
for them, who come regularly back to us every spring, although they
may have been hundreds of miles away during the cold weather, and who
have chosen, of their own accord, to live around our houses and to
sing in our trees and bushes, ought to be called our friends, as much
as the fowls in our poultry-yards.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IN A WELL.
Perhaps very few of you have ever seen such an old-fashioned well as
this. No pump, no windlass, no arrangement that you are apt to call at
all convenient for raising the water. Nothing but that upright stake,
on top of which moves a long pole, with the bucket hanging from one
end of it. But the artist does not show in the picture the most
important part of this arrangement. On the other end of this long pole
a heavy stone is fastened, and it is easy to see that a bucket of
water may be raised without much trouble, with the stone bearing down
the other end of the pole. To be sure, the stone must be raised when
the bucket is lowered, but that is done by pulling downward on the
rope, which is not so hard as to haul a rope upward when the
resistance is equal in both cases. Try it some time, and you will see
that the weight of your body will count for a great deal in the
operation. In old Mr. Naylor's yard--he lived in a little town in
Pennsylvania--there was one of these wells. It had been dug by his
father, and, as it had answered all his needs from his childhood, Mr.
Naylor very justly considered it would continue to do so until his
death, and he would listen to no one who proposed to put up a pump for
him, or make him a windlass.
One afternoon in the summer-time, Jenny Naylor, his granddaughter, had
company, and after they had been playing around the orchard for an
hour or two, and had slid down the straw-stacks to their heart's
content, the children all went to the well to get a drink. A bucket of
water was soon hauled up, and Tommy Barrett with a tin-cup ladled out
the refreshment to the company. When they had all drank enough they
began to play with the well-pole. Boys and girls will play, you know,
with things that no grown person would imagine could be tortured into
means of amusement. In less than five minutes they had invented a
game. That is, the boys had. I will give the girls the credit of
standing by and looking on, in a very disapproving manner, while this
game was going on. The pastime was a very simple one. When the
stone-end of the pole rested on the ground, on account of the bucket
being empty, one of the boys stood by the well-curb, and, seizing the
rope as high up as he could, pulled upon it, the other boys lifting
the stone-end at the same time. When the stone was a foot or two from
the ground the boys at that end sat on the pole and endeavored to
hoist up the fellow at the other end.
A glorious game!
The sport went on very nicely until Tommy Barrett took hold of the
rope. He was the biggest boy, and the little fellows could not raise
him. No, it was no use, so they gave it up and jumped off of the pole.
But what was their amazement to see the stone rise in the air, while
at the same time Tommy Barrett disappeared down the well!
The fact was, Tommy had been trying to "show off" a little before the
girls, and when he found the boys could not raise him, had stepped on
the well-curb, and pushing the bucket off, had stood on it, trying, on
his part, to raise the boys. So, when they jumped off, down he sank.
The stone was not nearly so heavy as Tommy, but it was weighty enough
to prevent his going down very fast, and he arrived safely at the
bottom, where the boys and girls saw him, when they crowded around the
well, standing up to his arm-pits in water.
"Pull me up, quick!" cried Tommy, who still stood on the bucket, and
had hold of the rope.
The children did not wait to be asked twice. They seized the rope and
pulled their very best. But they could not move Tommy one inch. The
rope hung right down the middle of the well, and as they had to reach
over a good deal even to touch it, they could get no opportunity of
exerting their full strength upon it. And it is very well that they
could not, for had they been able to raise Tommy, it is probable that
one or two of them would have been jerked down the well every time he
slipped down again, which he would have been certain to do a great
many times before he reached the top.
They soon perceived that they could not draw Tommy from the well in
that way. And the stone-end of the pole was far out of their reach.
What should they do?
There was no one at the house but the two old people, and they were
scarcely as strong as the children. They all said a great deal, but
Jenny Naylor, who was much older than any of the others, saw that
something must be done instantly, for Tommy was crying out that he was
nearly frozen to death, and she was afraid that he would let go of the
rope, slip off of the bucket, and be drowned.
So, without a word to anybody, she ran to the upright stake and began
to climb it. This was a very unlady-like proceeding, perhaps, but
Jenny did not think about anything of that kind. She was the oldest
and the largest of them all, and there was no time to explain matters
to the boys. Up she went, as actively as any boy, and scrambling to
the crotch of the stake, she seated herself upon the pole.
Then she began to work herself slowly up towards the stone-end. And as
she gradually approached the stone, so she gradually began to sink a
little, and the nearer she got to it the more she sank and the higher
Tommy Barrett rose in the well!
She and the stone were heavier than he was, and some of the children
stood, with open mouths, looking at Jenny slowly coming down, while
the others crowded around the well to see Tommy slowly coming up.
When Jenny had nearly touched the ground, there was Tommy hanging
above the well!
Half a dozen little hands seized the bucket, and Tommy, as wet as a
dish-rag, stepped on to the curb.
I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that whenever there is a party of
children, playing around an open well, that there could be a girl like
Jenny Naylor with them.
A VEGETABLE GAS MANUFACTORY.
[Illustration]
There is a plant, called by botanists the Fraxinella, which has the
peculiar property of giving out, from its leaves and stalks, a gas
which is inflammable. Sometimes, on a very still day, when there is
no wind to blow it away as fast as it is produced, this gas may be
ignited by a match, when the plant is growing in the open air. But
this is very seldom the case, for the air must be very quiet, and the
plant very productive, for enough gas to be found around it to ignite
when a flame is applied.
But it is perfectly possible, as you may see in the engraving, to
collect sufficient gas from the Fraxinella to produce combustion
whenever desired. If the plant is surrounded by a glass case, the gas,
as fast as produced, is confined in the case, and at last there is so
much collected in this novel gasometer, that it is only necessary to
open the case, and apply a match, to see plant-gas burning.
It is not at all probable that the least use in the world could be
made of this gas, but it is certainly a very pretty experiment to
collect and ignite it.
There are other plants which have this property of exuding
illuminating gas in very small quantities, but none, I believe, except
the Fraxinella, will produce enough of it to allow this experiment to
be performed.
A FEW WORDS ABOUT BEARS.
[Illustration: A COMPANY OF BEARS.]
If you should ever be going up a hill, and should meet such a
procession as that on the opposite page, coming down, I would
recommend you to get just as far to one side as you can possibly go.
Bears, especially when there are so many of them together, are by no
means pleasant companions in a walk.
But it is likely that you might wander about the world for the rest of
your lives, and never meet so many bears together as you see in the
engraving. They are generally solitary animals, and unless you
happened to fall in with a mother and her cubs, you would not be
likely to see more than one at a time.
In our own country, in the unsettled parts of many of the States, the
black bear is still quite common; and I could tell you of places
where, if you pushed carefully up mountain-paths and through lonely
forests, you might come upon a fine black bear, sitting at the
entrance of her cave, with two or three of her young ones playing
about her.
If it should so happen that the bear neither heard you, saw you, or
smelt you, you might see this great beast fondling her young ones, and
licking their fur as gently and tenderly as a cat with her kittens.
If she perceived you at last, and you were at a distance, it is very
probable that she and her young ones, if they were big enough, would
all scramble out of sight in a very short time, for the black bears
are very shy of man if circumstances will permit them to get away
before he approaches too near to them. But if you are so near as to
make the old bear-mother fearful for the safety of her children, you
will find that she will face you in a minute, and if you are not well
able to take care of yourself, you will wish you had never seen a
bear.
[Illustration]