Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 43. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, August 24, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
SOME QUEER RACING-CRAFT.
The illustrations on this page are of two varieties of sail-boats that
are very common in the vicinity of New York, and quite rare in other
parts of the country. They are boats built expressly for speed, and are
used almost entirely for racing.
The upper of the two pictures represents a regatta of swift sailing
craft that, as can be readily seen, would be totally unfit for a cruise
of any length, nor would they be of much use in ordinary
pleasure-sailing. They are very light of draught, have no cabin, are
apparently very much oversparred, and carry sails out of all proportion
to their size. Most of them are sloop-rigged, and the main-booms are so
long that, in order to control the sail at all, the main-sheet is
trimmed from the end of a platform that overhangs the stern of the
boat. Out on this is seated a skillful boatman, whose whole attention is
given to the main-sheet.
These boats have very large centre-boards, and in races carry crews of
from twelve to twenty men, whose duty it is to shift from side to side
the many sand-bags that are carried as ballast. Extraordinary speed is
made by these boats, and thousands of dollars are often wagered on races
between two or more of them.
Some of them have become so famous for speed that their names are seen
in the papers almost as often as those of noted race-horses. Among these
famous boats are the _Susie S._, _Brown_, _Nettle_, _Martha M._,
_Dare-Devil_, _Silence_, and many others, the names of which might be
mentioned if they could be recalled. The _Susie S._ and _Brown_ are now
known as the _Albertina_ and _Lady Emma_.
Quite a different-looking craft is that shown in the second picture on
the same page. It is a catamaran--a style of boat that has only been
known in New York waters during the past four years, and which is still
so rare as to excite much curiosity. A catamaran consists of two long,
narrow, canoe-like hulls, connected by strong wooden cross pieces, which
are fastened at the ends with ball-and-socket joints, so that each hull
moves up and down with the motion of the waves, independent of the
other. These hulls are air-tight as well as water-tight, and so buoyant
that they draw but a few inches of water. Upon the cross pieces
connecting them is built a light platform, surrounded by a wash-board.
This is deck and below-decks all in one, as it affords the only
accommodation for the crew that a catamaran can furnish: so you see that
it is not a very comfortable cruising boat either, though, to be sure, a
small tent might be carried, and raised over the deck when the boat came
to anchor for the night.
The speed attained by catamarans, with the wind free, is marvellous, and
with a good breeze many of them can beat the fastest steamers. A
catamaran has such a breadth of beam, on account of the distance between
the hulls, that it is almost impossible for it to capsize as ordinary
boats do, but it sometimes--though very rarely--turns a somersault, or
"pitch poles"; that is, buries its bows in the water, and upsets
head-foremost. This happened once to the first catamaran that was sailed
in New York Bay. She was sailing at a tremendous pace right before the
wind, when suddenly she buried her nose deep in the water, and turned
over so completely that her mast stuck deep in the mud at the bottom of
the bay, which was there very shallow. Her astonished crew, who had
never heard of such a performance, were thrown into the water far beyond
her.
The catamaran of New York Bay is merely a modified form of the famous
flying proa of the South-sea Islanders, who build the fastest sailing
craft in the world. The hull of the flying proa looks like half a
sail-boat that has been split in two, and had one side rebuilt straight
up and down. This straight side is always kept to leeward. From the
other side project stout bamboo poles, to the outer ends of which is
fastened a boat-shaped log of wood. This log, or outrigger, acts the
same part in the proa that the second hull does in the catamaran, and
practically gives the boat such a breadth of beam that it is impossible
to capsize her.
Sailing a catamaran is glorious fun, and the sensations are similar to
those felt in sailing an ice-boat; but it is a dangerous craft in
unaccustomed hands, and our boy-readers had better not undertake to
manage one of them without having been first carefully taught how to do
so. This is also a very good rule to apply to all kinds of sailing
craft, and, when followed, is the best known preventive of accidents.
A catamaran rarely carries a crew of more than two men, and of course
needs no ballast. Three of the most noted of these queer-looking boats
are the _Amaryllis_, which was the first one seen in New York waters,
the _Tarantella_, and the _John Gilpin_.
THE GOOD KNIGHT.
In the lovely country of Dauphine had lived for generations the lords of
Terrail, and there in the old castle of Bayard was born, in 1475,
Pierre, our "good knight." When a lad of thirteen, his father, finding
his health failing, and desirous of providing for his children's future,
asked each what he would like to be; and on Pierre's answering that he
was determined to be a soldier, told him he would try, through the
influence of his uncle, the Bishop of Grenoble, to place him as page in
the household of Charles, Duke of Savoy, where he could be properly
instructed. The request was granted, and Pierre was made ready to start.
His father gave him his blessing, and exhorted him to be valiant; but
his mother wept at parting with her young son, and, among other advice,
told him there were three things she commanded him always to do. "The
first is, you love and serve God, without offending Him in any way, if
it be possible to you. The second is, be mild and courteous to all; keep
yourself temperate in eating and drinking; avoid envy; be loyal in word
and deed; keep your promises; succor poor widows and orphans. The third
is, be bountiful of the goods that God shall give you to the poor and
needy, for to give for His honor's sake never made any man poor." Pierre
promised to remember his mother's advice (and his life shows that he
did); and giving him a little purse she had made for him, with some
pieces of gold in it, she kissed him, and they parted, never to see each
other again.
Charles, Duke of Savoy, was charmed with his page, and would have been
glad to keep him; but King Charles of France was so pleased with him,
when on a visit to the Duke, that he took him into his own service, and
when only seventeen Pierre accompanied the King in his expedition into
Italy. Here he gained great fame, and was ever after called "Bayard, the
good knight, without fear, and without reproach."
It would be impossible to tell of all his deeds, for "the loyal servant"
who wrote his life says of him, "The good knight was a very register of
battles, so that on account of his great experience every one deferred
to him," and until his death, save times, when laid up with wounds, he
was constantly battling for his King and country. Twice was he captured;
but so great was his fame both for prowess and goodness that both times
his enemies released him without ransom. Once he defended a bridge
single-handed against the enemy, and enabled the French army to retreat.
So great was his valor at the battle of Marignano that Francis I. of
France, after the field was won, craved the accolade at his hand. But
never, either in victory or defeat, did he forget the promise he made
his dear mother.
"Was he in possession of a crown, all shared it; the first thing he did
when he rose was to serve God; he was a great giver of alms; and there
was no man during his life who could say he had refused him anything
within his power to grant."
Once, when assaulting Brescia, he was severely wounded, and after the
town was taken was carried to the house of a nobleman who had fled,
leaving his wife and daughters, and Bayard protected them from pillage
and insult. When his wound was cured, for his kindness to them the
mother besought his acceptance of 2500 ducats, but bidding her ask her
daughters to come to him, he said to them: "You must know that military
men are not usually furnished with pretty toys to give to ladies. The
good lady, your mother, has given me this money, and I present each of
you one thousand ducats to aid you in marrying." Then, to the mother,
"Madam, I accept these five hundred ducats, to be distributed among the
poor nuns of the convents that have been pillaged; I give it to you in
charge for me."
When he was ready to mount his horse, the daughters each gave him a
present, one "a pair of bracelets delicately composed of fine gold and
silver threads, the other a purse of crimson satin most curiously
wrought." He told them the presents came from such good hands, he should
value them at ten thousand crowns. "He then put the bracelets on his
arms and the purse in his sleeve, declaring he would wear them as long
as they lasted for their sakes."
In the year 1524 he was sent to reduce Genoa; but the French were
unsuccessful, and were forced to retreat; and while passing the river
Sesia (April 30), Bayard was covering the rear of the army, when a stone
from an arquebuse shattered his spine. "_Mon Dieu!_" he cried, "I am a
dead man," and fell heavily from his horse.
His esquire, by his orders, set him against a tree, with his face to the
Spaniards, and taking hold of his sword by the cross-hilt, he kissed it,
confessed his sins, and then swooned away. His enemies, when they came
up and found him thus, were full of pity, and when he came out of his
swoon he found they had erected a pavilion over him, and placed him on a
bed. They mourned for him as sincerely as the French, their chief, the
Marquis of Pescara, declaring, "Never have I seen or heard tell of any
knight who could compare with you in all admirable qualities." He had
Bayard's body embalmed, and returned it to his friends, after having
solemn service for him two days; and the dead hero was carried home to
Grenoble. Half a league from the city the bier was met by all the
dignitaries of the place. He was buried in the convent of Minims, and
France mourned publicly for him for a month. Of all the vast sums he had
obtained from his prisoners by way of ransom he left none behind, having
dowered over one hundred orphan maidens, and succored the many widows
who appealed to him for aid.
CROCODILE TEARS.
On the banks of the Nile an old crocodile
Lay sunning himself one day,
And he gently did croon an attempt at a tune,
As he watched some small children at play--
At play--
As he watched some small children at play.
He pondered awhile, and a hungering smile
Revealed the extent of his jaw;
He was twenty feet long, was uncommonly strong,
And his teeth were arranged like a saw--
Like a saw--
And his teeth were arranged like a saw.
He used every wile their hearts to beguile,
As toward them he stealthily stole;
He balanced each scale, and waggled his tail,
Then gobbled those children up whole--
Up whole--
Then gobbled those children up whole.
And such is the style of this old crocodile,
He sheds bitter tears o'er his prey;
He was filled with deep gloom when he thought of their doom,
And he wept all the rest of the day--
The day--
And he wept all the rest of the day.
A FRESH WATER AQUARIUM.
BY A. W. ROBERTS.
Many fresh-water plants have a tendency to grow above the surface. When
this takes place, the leaves become so different in shape that they can
hardly be recognized as belonging to the same plant. Therefore care must
be taken to keep all plants submerged that are intended to supply air
for the fish.
[Illustration: MERMAID-WEED.]
One of the most common plants is the mermaid-weed (_Proserpinaca_). I
have drawn it submerged and out of water, to show the change in the
leaf. It grows along the margins of ponds that partially dry up in
summer.
[Illustration: WATER-THYME.]
Water-thyme (_Anacharis canadensus_) grows in slow-flowing streams. It
requires coaxing to establish it in an aquarium, but when once rooted,
is apt to grow too fast, requiring thinning out. Heap plenty of gravel
on the root ends. Do not tie the bunch with string, as it will cause it
to decay.
[Illustration: NITELLA.]
_Nitella flexis_ is almost a rootless plant, and will grow without any
care. It is found growing in shady parts of cool ponds, streams, and
lakes.
[Illustration: FONTINALIS.]
_Fontinalis antipyretica_ grows in springs and cool, shady ponds. It
resembles a very fine and long moss. In color it is of a beautiful light
green. I have often stored up quantities of this plant during summer (it
becoming perfectly dry), that I might have it for winter use, and when
placed in an aquarium it started out as fresh as ever.
[Illustration: DUCK-WEED.]
Duck-weed, or duck's-meat, is a small floating plant, covering the
surfaces of ponds and lakes in shady places. It is one of the best
surface plants for producing shade, or for cutting off light that enters
from the top of the water. Its thousands of rootlets afford
hiding-places for numerous small aquatic animals, such as the hydra,
crimson water-spider, and the brick-maker.
A small stone should be tied to each bunch of plants, to anchor them
till they take root.
After your aquarium has been in operation a few days, a green coating
will begin to form on the glass. This is a minute plant that is
developed by the action of light. It can be removed by means of a swab.
In all other parts of your aquarium allow it to grow, as it is the
favorite food of gold-fish and snails.
[Illustration: SNAILS.]
I have given drawings of the two best kinds of snails. One is shown with
its broad foot expanded, by which it moves along the surface of the
water, or on the glass when eating the green coating spoken of. Snails
also eat decaying vegetable matter.
For keeping the water very clear, introduce a small-sized fresh-water
mussel. Give him at least two inches of sand, in depth, in a corner of
the tank, to burrow in, but watch him well, for if he dies without your
knowledge your aquarium will be ruined.
[Illustration: CADDIS-WORMS.]
In the illustration are figured three kinds of caddis-worms. These worms
are useful for consuming decaying animal matter. When a "cad" has grown
too large for his house, he makes a little case of silk, which he covers
at each end with pieces of leaves, wood, or straw, biting them to the
right length; some fasten on small bits of stone and shells. However
rough the outsides of their houses may be, the insides are smooth, and
lined with silk. When he changes into a chrysalis, he crawls up a plant,
and closes up both ends of his house with a strong net-work of silk,
which allows the water to pass through, but prevents the entrance of
enemies. As he has taken care to place himself near the surface of the
water, he easily escapes when he comes forth a four-winged insect
resembling a small moth.
[Illustration: APPLE-SMELLERS.]
Apple-smellers, or merry-go-rounds, are very interesting. They are of an
intense shining black in color, and generally school together, moving in
circles, with great rapidity, on the surface of the water. They are
called apple-smellers on account of the strong odor they possess,
resembling that of apples or quinces, and merry-go-rounds on account of
their merry circling motions around one another. Young apple-smellers
live on the bottoms of ponds, and look like centipedes. When the time
comes for them to change into real apple-smellers, they climb up a
plant, and make small bags of gray paper, into which they fasten
themselves till they get their swimming legs and shining black new
clothes, after which they burst open the paper bags, and swim off to
join their friends gliding so merrily on the surface of the pond. When
an apple-smeller dives to the bottom of a pond to take a rest or to
feed, he attaches a globule of air to his tail (see cut); this he
breathes while under water.
[Illustration: STICKLEBACKS.]
The nine and the three spined sticklebacks are, without doubt, the most
wonderful fish for their size that are common to our waters. They will
live well in either fresh or salt water aquaria, building nests and
raising their young under all discouragements. The male builds the nest
for the female to lay her eggs in. The nest is composed of plants
cemented together with a glue provided by the male, who also carries
sand and small stones to the nest in his mouth, with which he anchors
it. During the breeding season the male assumes the most brilliant hues
of blue, orange, and green; previous to this season he is of a dull
silvery color. When an enemy approaches the nest, be he large or small,
he will attack him, inflicting wounds with his sharp spines. Nor will he
allow the mother of the young sticklebacks to come near, as she is so
fond of her babies that she often forgets herself and eats them up. When
the young "tittlebacks," as they are often called, swim too far from the
nest, the male takes them in his mouth and brings them back, throwing
them out with such force that they make many somersaults before landing.
Sticklebacks are the smallest known fish when first hatched out of the
egg, being nearly invisible.
[Illustration: DRAGON-FLY.]
Here is the dragon-fly, as he looks before he gets his wings. He lives
on the bottoms of ponds when he is young; but at a certain age he
ascends to the surface, and crawling out of his old clothes, comes forth
an unmistakable darning-needle. When he lived under the water he had
very large and long jaws, folded up on the under side of his head. If a
fish came within reach, he would dart out this curious trunk, and
seizing it, convey it to his mouth. He also has the power of taking in
and squirting out water from his tail; this action forms a current,
which draws small insects within his reach. The taking in of the water
is also his method of breathing, and the ejecting of it with force
propels him through the water.
[Illustration: BOAT-FLIES.]
Water-boatmen, or boat-flies, are so named from their resemblance to
tiny boats with oars. As they have to swim on their backs, they are
provided with large and very observing eyes. When they breathe they come
to the surface, and by a quick diving motion, and the assistance of
numerous stout hairs on the hind parts of their bodies, they entangle a
mass of air, which, as they descend, spreads, giving their bodies a
bright silvery color.
It is best to keep these aquatic insects by themselves, as they are all
voracious feeders, and fierce in their habits. They are not so beautiful
in form, color, and motions as fish, but possess a much greater interest
as they pass through their many transformations. As most of them can
fly, the aquarium should be provided with a close-fitting frame covered
with mosquito netting.
[Illustration: CRIMSON-SPOTTED NEWT.]
The crimson-spotted newt is one of the most inoffensive of all animals
for the aquarium, and is valuable from the fact that he does not breathe
water, but rises to the surface to breathe. Every few weeks he casts his
skin, which he swallows, seeming to relish it, after which he comes
forth more brilliant than ever.
[Illustration: TADPOLE.]
An aquarium without tadpoles, from which to obtain a supply of small
frogs, is not much of an aquarium; and as they are also surface
breathers, you can use them freely.
The rock-fish is a very safe fish for the aquarium, as it does not
breathe the water, but rises to the surface, and stores away a supply of
air, with which it descends to the bottom, remaining for half an hour
before it rises for a new supply.
All fresh-water fish (excepting the trout family) can be kept in a
fresh-water aquarium. Select the very smallest specimens; have all of an
equal size, to prevent their quarrelling; feed on shreds of raw beef, or
earth-worms that have been freed of all earthy matter by placing them in
damp moss or grass overnight. _Look out for food not eaten._
[Begun in No. 31 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, June 1.]
THE MORAL PIRATES.
BY W. L. ALDEN.
CHAPTER XIII.
The cruise up the Schroon was a delightful one while it lasted. The
river was so narrow that the trees on either side frequently met,
forming a green and shady arch. Although there was a road not far from
the river, and there were houses and small villages at a little distance
from its banks, the boys while in their boat saw nothing but the water,
the trees, and the sky, and felt as far removed from civilization as if
they were sailing on an African river. They saw nothing to shoot, after
their adventure with Joe's bear, and there were no signs of fish in the
water; but they delighted in the wild and solitary river, and were very
much disappointed when, at the close of the day, they reached a dam so
high that it seemed hopeless to try to carry the boat around it.
Before camping they walked some distance above the dam, and found that
the river was completely blocked up with logs, which had been cut in the
forest above, and floated down to the saw-mill. The men at the mill said
that the boys would find the river choked with logs for a distance of
nearly three miles, and that a little farther up it became a mere brook,
too shallow and rapid to be navigated with the _Whitewing_.
It was clear that the cruise on the Schroon had come to an end, and that
it would be necessary to hire a wagon to take the boat to the lake.
Having reached this decision, the boys made their camp, and being very
tired, put off engaging a team until morning.
When morning came, one of the men at the mill came to see them while
they were at breakfast, and advised them not to go to Schroon Lake. He
said that the lake was full of houses--by which he meant that there were
a great many houses along its banks--and that if they were to go there
they would find neither shooting nor fishing. He urged them to go to
another lake which they had never heard of before--Brandt Lake. It was
no farther off than Schroon Lake, and was full of fish. Besides, it was
a wild mountain lake, with only two or three houses near it. The boys
thanked him, and gladly accepted his advice. They had supposed that
Schroon Lake was in the wilderness, and were exceedingly glad to find
out their mistake in time to select a more attractive place. The owner
of the saw-mill furnished them with a wagon, and soon after breakfast
they started for Brandt Lake.
When, after a pleasant ride, they came in sight of the lake, they were
overjoyed to find how wild and beautiful it was. Steep and thickly
wooded hills surrounded it, except at the extreme southern point, where
they launched their boat. It was not more than two miles wide at the
widest part, and was about five miles in length, and they could see but
two houses--one on the east and the other on the west shore. They
eagerly hoisted the sail, and started up the lake to search for a
permanent camping ground; and after spending the afternoon in examining
almost the entire line of shore, they selected a little rocky island in
the upper part of the lake, which seemed made for their purpose.
There was a great deal of work to be done, for they intended to stay at
Brandt Lake for a fortnight. They had to clear away the underbrush and
cut down several small trees to make room for the tent. A small
landing-place had to be built of stones and logs, so that the boat could
approach the island without striking on the sharp rocks which surrounded
it. Then the stores were all to be taken out of the boat, and placed
where they would be dry and easy of access. The provisions had by this
time become nearly exhausted; but the boys had been told that they could
get milk, eggs, butter, bread, and vegetables at one of the houses,
which was not more than a mile from the camp, so they were not troubled
to find that of their canned provisions nothing was left except a can of
peaches.
Of course all this work was not done in one day. On the afternoon of
their arrival at the lake the boys merely pitched the tent, and then
went fishing, with a view to supper. Fishing with drop lines from a
large rock at one end of their little island, they caught perch as fast
as they could pull them in, good-sized pickerel, and two or three
cat-fish. That night they ate a supper that would have made a
boarding-house keeper weep tears of despair, and went to bed rather
happier than they had ever felt before.
Tom was to row over to the house for milk and other provisions in the
morning; but when morning came, the boat was gone. She had broken loose
during the night, not having been properly fastened, and had floated
quietly away. A faint speck was visible on the surface of the lake about
two miles away, which Harry, who had remarkably good eyes, said was the
_Whitewing_. Whether he was right or wrong, it was quite certain that
the boys were imprisoned on the island, with nothing to eat but a can of
peaches and some coffee and sugar.
The fish, however, were waiting to be caught, and before very long a
breakfast of fish and of coffee without milk was ready. The boys then
began to discuss the important question of how they were to get back
their boat, or to get away from the island.
It was a mile to the shore, and nobody felt able to swim that distance.
Joe proposed that they fasten one of their shirts to a tall tree, as a
signal of distress, and then fire the gun every minute. The objection to
this plan was that the nearest house was out of sight behind a little
point of land, and that no one would see the signal, or would understand
why the gun was fired. Then Tom proposed to build a raft, on which two
boys could paddle after the runaway boat. This was a practicable
suggestion, and it was at once put into execution.
It was hard work to cut down timber enough to build a raft, but by
perseverance the raft was finished before noon. It consisted of four
logs laid side by side, and bound together with handkerchiefs,
shoe-strings, green twigs, and a few strips from one of Harry's shirts,
which he said was unnecessarily long. It was covered with two or three
pieces of flat drift-wood; and when it was finished, a piece of board
was found, which was shaped with the hatchet into a rude paddle. Then
Tom and Harry proceeded to embark.
[Illustration: HARRY SETS OUT IN PURSUIT OF THE BOAT.]
The raft floated Harry very well, but promptly sank when Tom also
stepped on it. Either more timber must be added to it, or one boy must
go alone in search of the boat. Harry insisted upon going at once, and
as the lake was perfectly smooth, and he could swim well, there did not
seem to be great risk in his making the voyage alone. Bidding the boys
good-by, he paddled slowly away, and left his comrades to anxiously wait
for his return.
It was ticklish work paddling the raft. The logs were fastened together
so insecurely, owing to the fact that all the rope was in the runaway
boat, that Harry was in constant fear that they would come apart, and
was obliged to paddle very carefully to avoid putting any strain on the
raft. With such a craft speed was out of the question; and after an hour
of hard work the raft was only half way between the island and the boat.
Harry was not easily discouraged, however, and he paddled on, knowing
that if nothing happened he must reach the boat in course of time.
Something did happen. When, after paddling for more than two hours, the
_Whitewing_ was rather less than a quarter of a mile from the raft,
Harry missed a stroke with his paddle, and tumbled over. He struck the
raft with his shoulder, and went through it as easily as if it had been
fastened together with paper. When he came to the surface again he found
that the raft had separated into its original logs, and that his voyage
on it was ended. Luckily the _Whitewing_ was now within swimming
distance, so he struck out for her, and finally crept into her over the
stern, so much exhausted that he had to lie down and rest before taking
to the oars. Had the raft gone to pieces half an hour sooner, he would
have been in a dangerous position; for it is doubtful if he could have
clung to one of the logs long enough to drift to the shore without
becoming totally exhausted.
The boys on the island did not witness the end of Harry's raft, for it
was too far away when the accident occurred for them to see anything but
a little black dot on the water. They became, however, very anxious
about him as the hours went by and he did not come back. Tom was
especially uneasy, and blamed himself for permitting Harry to go alone.
He thought of making another raft and going in search of Harry; but
there were no more strings with which to fasten logs together, and he
did not quite like to tear up his clothes and use them for that purpose.
He did, however, resolve that, if Harry did not come in sight within
another hour, he would take a small log, and, putting it under his arms,
try to swim to the mainland and borrow a boat, if one could be found, in
which to search for his comrade. He was spared this hazardous
experiment; for toward the end of the afternoon Harry and the
_Whitewing_ came in sight, and were welcomed with a tremendous cheer.
Tom took the boat and went for provisions, and when he returned the
_Whitewing_ was not only dragged on shore, but fastened to two different
trees with two distinct ropes. The boys were determined that she should
not escape again; and when Joe proposed that somebody should sit up with
her all night, so that she could not cut the ropes and run away, Tom
seriously considered the proposal. The next day a snug little dock was
built, in which she seemed quite contented, and from which she could not
escape without climbing over a stone breakwater--a feat of which there
was no reason to believe that she was capable.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE TALL CLOCK.
BY MARY DENSEL.
One night our six tow-headed urchins were sitting round the table
chattering like so many magpies. The tall clock in the corner insisted
on talking too.
"Tick-tock--tick-tock.
'Tis eight--o'clock;
Come, boys--cease noise,
Quick tread--to bed;
'Tis eight--o'clock.
Tick-tock--tick-tock."
That is what it said.
Then it rang out eight clear strokes, and the jolly red moon, which for
two weeks had been slowly rising in the space above the clock's face to
show how the month was passing by, and which was now full and round,
like the real moon out-of-doors--this jolly red clock-moon seemed to
wink waggishly at the children.
"Hurry! scurry! Here it is eight o'clock, going on nine--next comes
ten--eleven--twelve. Half the night gone, and you not in bed yet."
How its eyes twinkled! It nearly burst its fat cheeks laughing at its
own joke.
Out the door, up the uncarpeted stairs, clattered the boys--Solomon and
Isaac, Elias and John, Philemon and Romeo Augustus.
They all gave a nod to the clock-moon. "Good-night, old fellow," they
said. All but Romeo Augustus. He did not like the clock. That is what
this story is about.
Solomon and Isaac marched off to their own chamber. They would not
condescend to associate with "the babes." Solomon and Isaac were twins.
They were, as I have told you before, ancient. They were fourteen years
old. Philemon and Romeo Augustus were only eight, and they knew no
pleasure equal to that of sitting bolt-upright in their trundle-bed
while Elias peered down at them over the foot-board of his bed, and told
them stories with gestures.
"Tell us about the clock," said Philemon, on this occasion.
But at this suggestion Romeo Augustus--poor little Romeo
Augustus!--quaked in his red flannel night-gown.
Elias always spoke in deep and dreadful tones when he alluded to the
clock.
"Persons don't live inside, but THINGS!" said he; and Romeo Augustus
quaked afresh. "Two of them hang in air. They haven't a sign of a head,
nor feet, nor arms, nor legs. They just dangle. And the other
THING"--here Elias's voice was awful--"the other THING writhes in agony.
It is never quiet; never, never, nevermore; not when we're asleep, nor
when we're eating our porridge. Forever and forever it writhes--_anon_."
That was a capital word to end with. No one knew what "anon" meant. It
was probably some especially horrible way of writhing.
Romeo Augustus shook with terror. He could hear that clock talking still
down stairs.
"Tick-tock--tick-tock.
'Tis nine--o'clock.
Ro-meo--be-low,
Come see--in me
THINGS drear--ap-pear.
'Tis nine--o'clock.
Tick-tock--tick-tock."
That is what it said.
"How painful it must be to 'writhe anon'!" whispered Romeo Augustus to
himself. "I wouldn't care if it was _persons_--but THINGS!"
For some unknown reason the idea was ghastly to Romeo Augustus.
Now, my little readers, wait a moment before you laugh at him. Hear what
this eight-year-old boy did.
Once upon a time Solomon had composed the following somewhat startling
proverb, "It is a wise fellow who wrenches forth the serpent's fang."
Which dark saying, being interpreted, was, "If you are scared of
anything, just trot right up and wrestle with it."
"For," continued Solomon, in a speech to the other five, "that's the
only way to grow plucky. If you hear an odd noise, don't hide your head
like a hyena or an ostrich, whichever it is, but hunt it up. If you
happen to see a ghost, skip up and attack it."
Now the words of Solomon were always prized as gold. The boys reverenced
Solomon, who could repeat the whole of a Latin verb, and was, moreover,
"pitcher" on "the nine."
So the "babes" had made a solemn compact that if any one of them was
ever "scared," he should step boldly out and "wrench forth the serpent's
fang." Should he be too great a coward so to do, he should wear a huge
letter =C= pinned on his jacket for a fortnight, and be subject to all
the taunts which could be imagined at his expense.
No wonder the boys grew brave. They dared not be otherwise.
Philemon's special bugbear had been a dark cellar, filled to overflowing
with shadows. Down into this cellar he had gone with a beating heart,
and had forced himself to search out every crack and cranny, even to the
coal-bin. Of course he found nothing to fear, and now it was Philemon
who was always ready to go down for apples in the winter evenings, and
that too without even a candle.
As for Elias, he had stood in much awe of a grove over the hill, and was
obliged to spend the greater part of a whole month wandering solitary
among the trees before he could snap his fingers at their shadows.
And now Romeo Augustus's turn had come. His poor little heart was filled
with dismay when he found that he was in mortal fear of the clock. He
felt sure that he should have to search the matter to the very bottom.
For a week he had been trying to bring himself up to the pitch of
requisite boldness. More than once he had marched up to the enemy, and
then marched back again, vanquished. He dared not breathe a word to
Philemon. The big letter =C= was all ready to cling to his back, and how
could he bear such disgrace? No sympathy could he expect from any
brother. His work must be done, and done alone.
How loudly the clock called out from below! Could it be actually
stalking up stairs?--so sharply did its tones ring in Romeo Augustus's
wide-open ears.
"Tick-tock--tick-tock.
'Tis ten--o'clock.
Make haste--don't waste
Minutes--in fits
Of fear.--Come here!
'Tis ten--o'clock.
Tick-tock--tick-tock."
Romeo Augustus put one bare foot out of bed; he drew it back; he half
rose, and sank on the pillows again. Then, with a mighty effort, he gave
a bound, and stood shivering in the middle of the floor.
The house was still. Elias was sleeping the sleep of the just, never
dreaming how he had terrified his small brother.
Out into the entry stole Romeo Augustus. The harvest-moon threw a broad
band of light on the stairs. Down crept the small bare feet along the
lower hall into the sitting-room. How weird everything looked in the
dimness! Gaunt and tall stood the clock in the corner.
The outside moon tossed a handful of beams into the clock-moon's face.
The clock-moon was so very jolly! Did he know that just beneath were
THINGS?--two dangling in air, headless, armless? one "writhing in agony
anon"?
Romeo Augustus almost turned and fled. His breath came in gasps. How
could he go forward? But he creeps on. His hand is on the clock's
brass-bound door. Will he open it now?
"Tick-tock--tick-tock.
Past ten--o'clock.
Turn key--and see
Things three--in me.
Past ten--o'clock.
Tick-tock--tick-tock."
Snap! went the brass key. Into the dark were thrust two little cold
hands.
Then, suddenly, "Ha! ha! ha!" a shrill laugh went dancing up stairs.
"Ha! ha! ha! Hurrah! Ha! ha! ha!"
What could the matter be?
"Ha! ha! ha! Oh, ha! ha! ha!"
Father and mother, Solomon and Isaac, Elias and John, with Philemon in
the rear--into the room they all rushed, winking and blinking, candles
in their hands.
There, in his red night-gown, hopping up and down in front of the clock,
was Master Romeo Augustus.
"Ha! ha! Hurrah! It's nothing but the _pen'lum_ and the two _weights_.
Ha! ha! ha!"
Nobody could guess what he meant. If Elias knew, he kept his own
counsel. But a gleam of intelligence broke over Solomon's face.
"It's a wise fellow who wrenches forth the serpent's fang," shouted he.
"Three cheers for Romeo Augustus!"
The cheers were given with a will.
But mother caught her little son in her arms. "He's been walking in his
sleep," she cried, "and it all comes from eating plum-cake for tea."
But the clock knew better. So did the clock-moon. It wagged its head at
Romeo Augustus. "Brave boy! brave boy!"
And Romeo Augustus nodded back. "Good-night, old fellow!"
He could say that now with the rest. He was not afraid of the clock any
longer.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: SCENES ON AND ABOUT THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL ASSEMBLY GROUNDS AT
CHATAUQUA LAKE, NEW YORK.--FROM SKETCHES BY FRANK BEARD.--[SEE PAGE
626.]]
YOUNG PEOPLE AT CHAUTAUQUA.
A BOY'S LETTER.
Dear Tom,--I last saw you waving your cap as our train rolled out of the
station. That night I slept on a shelf in the sleeping-car, and the next
morning we got breakfast at Hornellsville; and it was a good one, I tell
you. About noon we got off the cars at Jamestown, and after dinner rode
over the hill in a stage, and came to what looked like a narrow river
winding among the trees.
This they said was the outlet of Chautauqua Lake. You would suppose that
the water runs into Lake Erie, which is only seven miles away from Lake
Chautauqua. But instead it goes into the Ohio River, and then down the
Mississippi into the Gulf of Mexico.
We went on board a steamboat three stories high, with a big paddle-box
fastened on the stern, and steamed up the outlet for about three miles
through the wildest swamp I ever saw, until all at once the lake opened
before us. I thought that we would be at Chautauqua in a few minutes,
but the old stern-wheel kept pushing us on for a couple of hours. At
last I began to catch glimpses of cottages among the trees. Then we drew
up to a little wharf, and almost everybody went ashore. We followed the
crowd through the gate, and so we found ourselves at Chautauqua.
The first thing that I saw was a park, with flowers and fountains and
statues under the great trees. Then I came upon the model of a city,
with all its houses and churches. This was Jerusalem. A man was
explaining it to a crowd of people, and pointing out the places with a
long pole. There is an Oriental house, and a park laid out to look like
Palestine, with the top of Mount Hermon white-washed, and the Jordan
with real water. A frog winked his eye at me, and then jumped into the
Dead Sea. (That makes poetry, don't it?)
There are any number of streets laid out in the woods, and lined with
all sorts of cottages. We all asked uncle to let us live in a tent, and
you don't know how airy and pleasant it is. Cousin Jennie says she can't
find any places to hang up "her things"; but I put mine on the floor,
which is always handy.
I happened to be awake early the next morning after we came. Everything
was quiet and still until the bell rang for six o'clock. Then there was
a noise, as if all the boys in our school were hollering at once. I
jumped up, wondering if the Fourth of July had come again. But pretty
soon I found that it was only the newsboys (which means most of the boys
here) selling the morning paper, _The Assembly Herald_. I went out and
got a lot of papers, and made ten cents profit on them before breakfast.
There is a big bell on the upper part of the grounds. An old man rang it
while I was standing by, and all at once I saw dozens and dozens of boys
and girls running from all directions toward the corner where I stood. I
asked one fellow what it all meant, and he said, "Why, don't you
know?--it's the _children's hour_." So I just dropped into the stream,
and went up the street to a large building with a dome and some wings.
They call it "The Children's Temple." It was so full of young people
that I had hard work to crowd myself into the corner of a seat. There
was a platform in front, and a big black-board, and two gentlemen, both
with foreheads that went clear over to the back of their heads. There
was singing, and then one gentleman talked to us, and got us all to
answer and repeat, and we never knew that he was teaching us a lesson
until we had learned it. The other gentleman then came forward and drew
a picture so fast that it seemed like magic, and so funny that we all
laughed and laughed again. It's the jolliest "children's hour" I ever
saw, and I'm going every day.
I can't begin to tell you of the good times here for boys. When you read
in the papers about the big meetings and the long lectures, you might
suppose that young people don't have much chance; but you'd be mistaken.
We go boating on the lake, and fishing down at the Point, and bathing in
a safe place along the shore. This afternoon all the boys and girls are
going pilgriming through Palestine in a procession. Last evening I went
out with little Susie for a walk. We came upon an immense telescope. The
gentleman let me take a peek through it, and I saw the ring around the
planet Saturn. Then he held little Susie up in his arms, and let her see
it too.
There is a tent with a lot of microscopes, and two young ladies who show
people how to use them. I looked at a drop of water through one, and saw
in it an animal fierce enough and almost big enough to bite off your
head.
And then there were the fire-works last night. I can't tell you how
gorgeous they were: fountains lit up with bright colors; Roman candles
flashing, and rockets soaring to the stars; the steamers all hung with
Chinese lanterns, and sailing round and round upon the lake; the woods
bright with the blazing electric lights overhead. Oh, it was grand!
I can't stop to write about the squirrels that run up and down the
trees, nor the big tent where we get our dinners, nor the little tent
where we sleep, nor the pictures at evening in the Amphitheatre (that's
a great hall where they hold meetings), nor lots of other things. Next
year I hope you'll come with us, and have a good time.
Your friend,
BOB.
MIMIR'S WELL.
A SCANDINAVIAN MYTH.
BY JULIA CLINTON JONES.
In the north of Europe there is a rugged land, where the winters are
long and dark, with short bright summers. Nine hundred years ago the
people there were pagans, believing in gods and giants, and their
mythology is full of wonderful stories. As these myths, or sacred
fables, tell of strange adventures, I think you will like them quite as
well as even the _Arabian Nights_.
Take your maps now, and find this wild north land. It is called
Scandinavia, and comprises Norway and Sweden. The home of these Northern
gods was a city called Asgard, built above the clouds, in the midst of
which stood Valhalla, the hall of the chief god, Odin. Such a marvellous
place as this was! It had a golden roof that reflected light over all
the earth, just like the sun, and its ceiling was supported by spears,
while millions of shields formed its walls, over which were draped coats
of mail. A huge wolf stood before its immense gates, through which eight
hundred men could march abreast. Around the walls flowed a deep river,
through whose waves Odin's guests were forced to wade. But I can not
tell you now of Odin's feast, which was always being held in Valhalla,
nor of his guests, the heroes, whom the beautiful Battle Maidens brought
there on bloody shields from the earth. Asgard was overshadowed by the
mighty tree Igdrasil. This tree was more marvellous than any of which
you ever heard; no cork, nor India rubber, nor banyan tree could begin
to compare with it; for this was the Life-Tree, and had been growing
before creation. The horrible dragon, Death, gnawed constantly at its
roots, but three sisters, the Nornas, watering them daily from the
Life-Spring, kept the tree flourishing. Seated under its shade, the
elder sisters (Past and Present) spun away briskly at the wonderful web
of Time, which the youngest (the Future) amused herself by tearing to
pieces. Far down in Giant-land, where the roots began to shoot, was an
ancient well, guarded by the good giant Mimir (Memory). There the gods
always went for a morning draught that should make them wise in their
daily tasks, since this was the well of wisdom.
On one occasion there was a disturbance in Asgard. Loki, a bad spirit,
living there in disguise, had been playing tricks on the goddesses, and
setting the gods by the ears through his mischief-making pranks, while
leading them into many dangerous scrapes, though as yet he had not been
found out. His children, too, were just as bad as himself, his son
Fenris (Pain), a hideous howling wolf, being the terror of Asgard, while
Hela, his daughter (Death), was more horrible than I can describe.
Besides these, Loki had brought in other bad spirits, and altogether
Asgard was greatly disturbed. Odin himself did not know what to do. He
asked the Nornas, but they could not answer, although the youngest
hinted that if her lips had not been sealed she could have told
something. At last he determined to see Mimir, and take a drink from his
well. Saddling his eight-footed horse Sleipnir, away he rode in the
night, all alone, over the Rainbow Bridge that joins Asgard with Earth,
down to dark Giant-land. He had often before been there to consult
Mimir; for although Odin was very wise, Mimir was wiser still, since he
guarded the source of wisdom.
The giant was sitting deep in thought by the well, his white beard
flowing down far below his waist, which was clasped by a girdle graven
with curious characters, as old as the world. He heard Odin coming, and
rising to meet him, said this was just what he had known must happen;
for what else could have been expected with such a set as Loki and his
family living in Asgard? The first thing to be done, he said, was to
cast them out from among the gods, then bind them fast in some safe
place far away.
What do you suppose this advice cost? Giant-land, you know, was very
dark, and although the well was full of wisdom, Mimir had not always
light enough to read its secrets. Odin's eye was the sun; so Mimir was
glad enough to give his horn of water for a daily loan of Odin's glowing
eye, while Odin was willing thus to buy the advice that should make
Asgard happy again.
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 37, July 13.]
THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.
BY BENSON J. LOSSING.