captured, and they and their descendants for several generations
should be exposed to all sorts of privations and hardships; worked
hard as soon as their spirits were broken, fed on mean food and very
little of it; beaten, kicked, and abused; exposed to cold climates, to
which their nature does not suit them, and treated in every way as our
Jackasses are generally treated, they would soon become as slow, poky,
and dull as any Donkey you ever saw.
If we have nothing else, it is very well to have a good ancestry, and
no nobleman in Europe is proportionately as well descended as the
Jackass.
ANCIENT RIDING.
There are a great many different methods by which we can take a ride.
When we are very young we are generally very well pleased with what
most boys and girls call "piggy-back" riding, and when we get older we
delight in horses and carriages, and some of us even take pleasure in
the motion of railroad cars.
Other methods are not so pleasant. Persons who have tried it say that
riding a Camel, a little Donkey, or a rail, is exceedingly
disagreeable until you are used to it, and there are various other
styles of progression which are not nearly so comfortable as walking.
[Illustration]
There were in ancient times contrivances for riding which are at
present entirely unknown, except among half-civilized nations, and
which must have been exceedingly pleasant.
When, for instance, an Egyptian Princess wished to take the air, she
seated herself in a Palanquin, which was nothing but a comfortable
chair, with poles at the sides, and her bearers, with the ends of the
poles upon their shoulders, bore her gently and easily along, while an
attendant with a threefold fan kept the sun from her face and gently
fanned her as she rode.
Such a method of riding must have been very agreeable, for the
shoulders of practised walkers impart to the rider a much more elastic
and agreeable motion than the best made springs, and, for a well fed,
lazy Princess nothing could have been more charming than to be borne
thus beneath the waving palm-trees, and by the banks of the streams
where the lotus blossomed at the water's edge, and the Ibis sniffed
the cooling breeze.
But when the father or brother of the Princess wished to ride,
especially if it happened to be a time of war, he frequently used a
very different vehicle from an easy-going Palanquin.
He sprang into his war-chariot, and his driver lashed the two fiery
horses into a gallop, while their master aimed his arrows or hurled
his javelin at the foe.
Riding in these chariots was not a very great luxury, especially to
those who were not accustomed to that kind of carriage exercise. There
were no seats, nor any springs. The riders were obliged to stand up,
and take all the bumps that stones and roots chose to give them, and
as they generally drove at full speed, these were doubtless many and
hard. There was in general no back to these Chariots, and a sudden
jerk of the horses would shoot the rider out behind, unless he knew
how to avoid such accidents.
We of the present day would be apt to turn up our noses at these
ancient conveyances, but there can be no doubt that the Egyptian
Princesses and warriors derived just as much pleasure from their
Palanquins and rough-going war-chariots as the ladies of to-day find
in an easy-rolling barouche, or the gentlemen in a light buggy and a
fast horse.
BEAUTIFUL BUGS.
[Illustration]
We are not apt--I am speaking now of mankind in general--to be very
fond of bugs. There is a certain prejudice against these little
creatures, which is, in very many cases, entirely unwarranted. The
fact is that most bugs are harmless, and a great many of them are
positively beautiful, if we will but take the trouble to look at them
properly, and consider their wonderful forms and colors. To be sure,
many insects to which we give the general name of bugs are quite
destructive in our orchards and gardens, but, for all that, they are
only eating their natural food, and although we may be very glad to
get rid of our garden bugs as a body, we can have nothing to say
against any particular bug. None of them are more to blame than the
robins and other birds, which eat our cherries and whatever else we
have that they like, and we never call a robin "horrid" because he
destroys our fruit. True, the insects exist in such great numbers that
it is absolutely necessary for us to kill as many of them as possible,
and it is very fortunate that the robins and black-birds are of so
much benefit to us that we are glad to let them live.
But all this should not make us despise the bugs any more than they
deserve, particularly as they are just as beautiful as the birds, if
we only look at them in the right way. A microscope will reveal
beauties in some of the commonest insects, which will positively
astonish those who have never before studied bugs as they ought to be
studied. The most brilliant colors, the most delicate tracery and
lace-work over the wings and bodies; often the most graceful forms and
beautifully-contrived limbs and bodies and wing-cases and antennæ, are
to be seen in many bugs when they are placed beneath the glasses of
the microscope.
[Illustration: TRANSFORMATIONS OF BEETLES.]
But there are insects which do not need the aid of magnifying glasses
to show us their beauties.
Some of the Beetles, especially the large ones, are so gorgeously
colored and so richly polished that they are imitated, as closely as
Art can imitate Nature, in precious stones and worn as ornaments.
There are few living things more beautiful than a great Beetle,
glittering in resplendent green and gold, and the girl (or woman
either) who will hold one of these in her hand or let it crawl upon
her arm while she examines its varied colors, shows a capacity for
perceiving and enjoying the beauties of nature that should be envied
by those who would dash the pretty creature upon the floor,
exclaiming, "That horrid bug!"
There are many insects with which we need not desire to be too
familiar, such as Mosquitoes, Fleas, Wasps, and Bees; but when a "bug"
is harmless as well as beautiful, there is no reason why we should not
treat it as a friend. Who is afraid of a Butterfly?
And yet a Butterfly is really just as much a bug as a Beetle is. The
fact is that the term "bug" is applied with a certain propriety to
many insects which are not at all pleasant (although the Lightning Bug
is an exception), and we should therefore be very careful about giving
what has grown to be a bad name to insects that do not deserve it, and
should avoid treating such as if they were as ugly and disagreeable as
the name would seem to imply.
A BATTLE ON STILTS
[Illustration: A BATTLE ON STILTS.]
In the year 1748 the great Marshal Saxe, who was travelling through
the Low Countries, came to the town of Namur in Belgium. There the
citizens did everything in their power to make his stay pleasant and
to do him honor, and among other things they got up a battle on
stilts. These inhabitants of Namur were well used to stilts, for their
town, which has a river on each side of it, lay very low, and was
subject to overflows, when the people were obliged to use stilts in
order to walk about the streets. In this way they became very expert
in the use of these slim, wooden legs, and to make their stilts
amusing as well as useful they used to have stilt-battles on all
holidays and great occasions.
The young men of the town, two or three hundred on each side, would
then form themselves into opposing armies, and with flags flying and
trumpets blowing they would advance to the attack.
And they fought hard and well. It was against the rule to use any club
or similar weapon, or to strike with the fists. Punching with their
elbows, to push each other down, and kicking with their stilts, to
knock their opponents' legs from under them, were the methods of
assault in this kind of warfare.
The battle often lasted for an hour or two, the armies fighting and
shouting, advancing and retreating; while their wives and sisters
stood around them, encouraging them by shouts and hand-clapping, and
when an unfortunate fellow was knocked down, these women would hasten
to his assistance, and help him up again as soon as he had recovered
from his fall.
This was pretty rough sport, for the combatants fought as if their
lives and fortunes depended upon the victory, and although they did
not often seriously injure one another, there must have been many a
sore head and bruised leg and arm after the battle was over.
Marshal Saxe knew all about fighting, and on this occasion he
declared, that if two real armies should engage with as much fury as
these young fellows on stilts, the battle would be a butchery.
At another time, when the Archduke Albert came to Namur, the citizens
had one of these stilt-battles, and it proved a very profitable one to
them. Before the fight began, the governor of the city promised the
Archduke to show him a battle between two bodies of men, who would be
neither on horseback nor on foot; and when the engagement was over,
Albert was so much pleased that he gave the town the privilege of
being forever exempt from the duties on beer.
As the good folks of Namur were nearly as good at drinking beer as
they were at walking on stilts, this was a most valuable present for
them.
Things are different in this country. It is said that in 1859 a man
walked across the rapids of the Niagara river on stilts, but I never
heard of any of his taxes being remitted on that account.
DRAWING THE LONG BOW.
[Illustration]
When a man has a bow and arrows as long as those used by some of the
natives of Brazil, so that he has to lie down on his back, and hold
the bow with his foot when he shoots, he may well be said to draw a
long bow, but it is not of these people that I now intend to speak.
Without describing any particular school of archery, I merely wish to
give a few instances where "the long bow" has been drawn in words,
about feats with the bow and arrows.
This expression, "drawing the long bow," does not always mean that a
falsehood has been told. It often refers to a very wonderful story,
which may be true enough, but which is so marvellous that it requires
a firm trust in the veracity of the narrator for us to believe it.
So now let us see what long bows have been drawn about bows and
arrows.
Such stories commenced long ago. The poet Virgil, in the "Æneid,"
tells of four archers who were shooting for a prize, the mark being a
pigeon, tied by a cord to the mast of a ship. The first man struck the
mast with his arrow, the second cut the cord, and the third shot the
pigeon while it was flying away. There now being nothing for the
fourth archer to shoot at, he just drew his bow, and sent his arrow
flying towards the sky with such velocity that the friction of the air
set the feathers on fire, and it swept on, like a fiery meteor, until
it disappeared in the clouds.
It would be very hard, even in this progressive age, to beat that
story.
The Greeks could tell tall stories, too, of their archers. An
historian, named Zosimus, tells of a man who shot, at the same time,
three arrows from the same bow at three different targets, and hit
them all! It is to be hoped that his histories contained some things
easier to believe than this.
But as we approach the present age we still find wonderful narrations
about archers. Robin Hood, for instance, was a great fellow with the
bow. It is said that on one occasion he shot an arrow so that it fell
a mile from where he was standing! A long shot, and hard to be
equalled by the crack rifles of the present day.
Sir Walter Scott, in "Ivanhoe," introduces Robin Hood under the name
of Locksley, and in a shooting match, when his opponent had planted
his arrow right in the centre of the bull's-eye, and everybody, of
course, thought that nothing better than that could be done, Master
Robin just steps up and lets fly his arrow, driving it into the arrow
that was sticking in the target, splitting it from end to end!
And then there is that famous story about William Tell. Many persons
have their doubts about this performance, and either assert that there
never was such a person as Tell, or that no man could have confidence
enough in his own skill to shoot at an apple on his son's head. But I
prefer to believe this good old story, and, in fact, I see no good
reason to doubt it. There was a Dane, named Foke, of whom the same
story is told, and an Englishman, named William of Cloudesley, is said
to have shot an apple from his son's head merely to show his
expertness.
Most of the stories of bows and arrows relate to the accurate aim of
the archers, but here is one which shows the tremendous force by which
an arrow may be propelled, if the bow is strong and long enough. A
French gentleman named Blaise de Vigenère, says that he _saw_ a Turk,
named Barbarossa, an admiral of a ship called the Grand Solyman, send
an arrow from his bow, right through a cannon-ball! He did not state
whether the cannon-ball had a hole through it, or not.
But I think that the most wonderful, astounding, and altogether
amazing story about arrow-shooting is told of the Indians who used to
inhabit Florida. It is stated that these Indians were in the habit of
assembling, in parties of ten or a dozen, for the purpose of having
some amusement in archery. They would form themselves into a circle,
and one of them throwing an ear of maize or Indian corn into the air,
the rest would shoot at it and would shell it of every grain of corn
before it fell to the ground. Sometimes, the arrows would strike it so
hard and fast that it would remain suspended in the air for several
minutes, and the cob never fell until the very last grain had been
shot from it!
After such a specimen of the drawing of the long bow as this, it would
not be well to introduce any feebler illustrations, and so I will keep
the rest of my anecdotal arrows in my quiver.
AN ANCIENT THEATRE.
[Illustration]
I suppose you are all familiar with pictures of the Colosseum at Rome,
but unless you have carefully studied detailed descriptions of this
edifice it is impossible for you to properly comprehend the grand
style in which the ancients amused themselves.
This great theatre, the ruins of which are now standing in Rome, and
which will probably stand for hundreds of years longer, was built
nearly eighteen hundred years ago. It is a vast oval building, four
stories high, and capable of containing ninety thousand spectators!
Seats, one row above the other like steps, were placed around the
walls, from top to bottom. There was no roof to the building, and if
the sun was hot, or it rained, the people were obliged to shelter
themselves as well as they could, although it is probable that the
seats for the emperors and other great dignitaries were protected by
awnings. In the centre of the building, down at the foot of the seats,
was the great amphitheatre where the performances took place. And
wonderful performances they were. There were sometimes great fights
between lions, tigers, bulls, and bears; sometimes wild beasts were
slain by men, and sometimes men were slain by wild beasts. There were
gladiatorial combats, executions of criminals, and many other kinds of
cruel and barbarous amusements. When the Colosseum was inaugurated,
five thousand wild beasts were put to death, and afterwards, at the
celebration of a great victory, eleven thousand animals perished.
Under the ground, in two vast basement stories, the beasts were kept
in cages until they were brought up to destroy human life or to be
butchered themselves.
For six hundred years these barbarous games were celebrated in the
Colosseum, but it afterwards became a fortress, and it was used at one
time for a hospital. When it began to decay, many of the inhabitants
of Rome carried away portions of its materials to build houses for
themselves, but such depredations have long been forbidden and now the
Colosseum stands, useless and ruined, a silent memento of the
wickedness of man. People are bad enough in our age, but the day is
past, when ninety thousand men, women, and children could be gathered
together to see other men, women, and children torn and devoured by
lions and tigers. Let us hope, that by the time the Colosseum has
entirely crumbled away, men will no longer meet in thousands to kill
and mangle each other on the battle-field.
BIRD CHAT.
[Illustration: BIRD CHAT.]
In a far-off country, on a summer day, it chanced that two Cormorants
stood on a great rock, lazily dozing. This rock was by the side of a
little river that, only a few miles below, flowed into the sea; for
the Cormorant is a marine bird, and haunts the sea-coast. It was a
lovely place, although not very far from the habitations of men, and a
number of cows had laid themselves down in the grassy field that
surrounded an old ruined temple on the gentle slope of a hill above
the river. The day had been still and hot, but now a soft breeze was
stirring the long grasses, and bending the tassels of the reeds
gracefully over the water, and the scent of flowers came floating down
from the vines clambering over the old ruin, and the hum of insects
filled the air.
But I do not think the Cormorants noticed any of these things. Their
long necks were folded so that their heads nearly rested on their
backs, for, as I said before, they were dozing. The truth is, these
birds had eaten so much they had made themselves perfectly stupid,
which is a bad way the Cormorant has, as, no doubt, you know; for it
has probably happened to you some time in your life to have indulged
yourself so freely in eating something that you liked that you have
been scornfully called "a little Cormorant!"
But this state of insensibility was passing away, and they were now in
a gentle doze, and sleeping, thinking of the company they were to
entertain. For these Cormorants had come to this spot to meet their
cousin the Pelican to consult with him on some family matters. Upon
their first arrival at the place they had set to work to get together
a good supply of fish, for this is the only food of both the Cormorant
and the Pelican. In a short time they landed a great number, and
bestowed them in a safe place, and then they set to work catching
fish for themselves and eating them greedily.
You might suppose such a lazy-looking bird would find it impossible to
catch anything so active as fish. But you should see it when it is
fully awake and hungry. The bird darts through the water with a speed
greater than that of the fishes. Its wings can be closed so tightly
that they do not hinder its progress, and the tail serves for a
rudder, while the broadly-webbed feet act as paddles. Its long,
snake-like neck gives it the power of darting its beak with great
rapidity, and the hook at the end of the beak prevents the prey from
escaping. The bird is also a diver, and can stay a long time under
water.
[Illustration]
Our two Cormorants opened their eyes when they heard a slight
splashing in the water. Something was about to invade their retreat.
They had not long to wait. Slowly into the stream waded a Bittern.
Seeing the Cormorants there he stopped; and, drawing himself up into
as small a compass as possible, he sunk his head in his shoulders, and
nothing could be seen of his long neck, while his bill was thrust up
in the air as if he cared nothing for his neighbors or their affairs.
The Cormorants heartily wished he would go away, and they kept their
eyes open and watched him, for fear he would spy the fish they had
carefully hidden in the wet grass, for the Bittern also lives on fish.
So the Cormorants winked and blinked, and thought how different the
Bittern looked when on the alert for his prey, or calling his mate.
Many a time had they been roused out of their sleep by the terrible
night-cry of the Bittern--a fearful sound, something between the
neighing of a horse, the bellow of a bull, and a shriek of savage
laughter, and so loud and deep it seemed to shake the marshy ground.
[Illustration]
Soon there appeared hovering over them a snowy cloud. As it floated
nearer it proved to be a magnificent Pelican with its gigantic wings
outspread. It alighted near the Cormorants, at the foot of a little
grassy hill. It was an old male bird, very wise and very cunning. He
greeted his cousin Cormorants cordially, but, ruffling up the crest of
curled feathers on his head, and shaking his half-folded wings
angrily, he looked askance at the Bittern.
Now the Bittern is a very unsocial bird, and as he took not the least
notice of the new comer, the Pelican could not pick a quarrel with
him. Therefore he turned to his cousins, and said: "I have just come
from my pleasant home on a rocky island. The waters make music there
all day long, and the green moss gleams through the white foam, and
gay-colored fish sparkle in the sunlight; so that when men behold it
they exclaim: 'See! what a beautiful spot!' There are some birds that
like dingy pools, where only coarse rushes grow, where there is
nothing but blight and mildew, where even carrion crows will not fly,
and at which men shudder."
Now this exactly described the places the Bittern prefers to all
others; but, as he really considered them very captivating, and hated
the very sight of mankind, he did not feel abashed by the Pelican's
stinging rebuke, and perhaps took it for a compliment; and there is no
knowing how long he would have staid there, if a frisky little Hoopoe
had not chanced to alight on a tree that had fallen across a foaming
brook not very far from the group of birds.
Not liking so much company, the Bittern stalked away. The Hoopoe
nodded so often to the birds that its beautiful tall crest trembled as
if a breeze stirred it, and having preened its prettily-barred
feathers for awhile, it began to talk as fast as ever it could.
"I have came from a long distance, and only stopped twice on my way to
get a meal of insects, which I can dig out of decaying wood with my
long curved beak, very fast, I can tell you. And what do you think I
saw in that place I came from? You would never guess. Why, men had
some pet Cormorants that they had trained to catch fish for them! Oh!
it was fun! And I heard these men say that in the days of Charles I.
of England (I hope you know who he is, for I'm sure I don't),
Cormorants were kept by nobles and kings for the purpose of catching
fish, and that there was attached to the Court an officer called the
King's Master of the Cormorants. Did you ever hear the like of that?"
[Illustration]
Although this was strictly true, the Cormorants had never heard of it;
but, before they could answer, a loud, deep voice cried; "Heigho! What
is all that?"
The startled birds turned towards the spot from whence the voice
proceeded, and there, perched on a lonely rock, a good distance to the
left of them, was a great bird with very large bright eyes and
powerful curved beak.
Neither the Hoopoe nor Pelican had ever before seen him, but the
Cormorants knew him very well. He was the Peregrine Falcon. And they
knew him because, like them, he chose rocky ledges, high and
inaccessible, for his nest. And although his nests were usually on
loftier crags than theirs, they were quite neighborly, especially as
they did not chase the same prey, the Cormorants drawing theirs from
the sea, and the Falcons finding theirs in the air.
[Illustration]
"Those people you speak of," said he sternly to the frightened Hoopoe,
"_may_ have had Cormorants to catch their fish, but I never heard of
it before. Whereas all history is full of the exploits of my
ancestors, and monarchs and nobles spent immense fortunes in buying
and keeping Falcons that hunted birds grandly."
Now the Hoopoe knew very well that it was not this Falcon, but the
great Gerfalcon, his cousin, that was formerly held in such high
esteem; but he did not dare to say so, and, as he must be saying
something, he turned to the Pelican.
"I have long wanted to meet with you to ask you if is true that you
tear open your breast with your hooked bill, and feed your young with
your own blood?"
"Not a word of truth in it!" replied the Pelican scornfully, "I am
often obliged to gather food in places far from home. I do not dive
into the water like the Cormorant, but catch, with a sidelong snatch
of my bill, the fish that rise to the surface. This loose skin, that
is now so folded up under my beak that you can scarcely see it, I can
distend into an enormous pouch. This I fill with fish, and my wings
being wide and powerful, I can easily carry a great weight of fish
through the air. When I reach home I feed my young by pressing my beak
against my breast, and thus forcing out the enclosed fish. And on the
tip of my beak is a little curved hook as red as a drop of blood. And
now you know the whole story."