Chapter VII…

Chapter VII

Three days passed, and Charlie and Ping Wang were still on board the coper, no boat bound for Grimsby having been met. During that time Charlie and his friend had seen many things which filled them with loathing for the boat on which circumstances had placed them.

On the third evening, when the coper's boat returned from a trip around the trawlers, Charlie and Ping Wang were surprised to see that the passengers were two men who had been sent away early on the previous evening, because their money was spent.

'How can they have got money since last night?' Charlie said to Ping Wang.

'They've borrowed from their mates,' Ping Wang suggested, but they soon discovered that his explanation was not the right one. As the boat bobbed up and down by the side of the Lily, the men took from the bottom of it a fishing-net, and handed it up to the skipper, who was leaning over the gunwale.

'They have stolen that net,' Charlie remarked, guessing the truth, 'and the skipper is going to buy it from them.'

'It's a new one, skipper,' one of the thieves exclaimed, as he jumped on board.

'All right,' the receiver of stolen property answered, 'Go down below and enjoy yourselves.'

The two men descended at once into the saloon, while the skipper, after examining the net, dragged it aft, and removing a hatchway dropped the net into the hold. As he did so Charlie stepped forward, and looking down, saw, by the light of the wire-guarded lamp, that the hold was half full of nets, oars, buckets, ropes, cooking utensils, brass fittings, mops, oilies, and other things too numerous to mention.

'All that is stolen property, I suppose?' Charlie said to the skipper.

'Well, it wasn't stolen from you,' the skipper answered, 'so you have no cause to grumble.'

He closed the hatchway, and then turned to Charlie to abuse him more freely, but just as he began a seaman came up and told him that a mission ship had joined the fleet of trawlers.

Forgetting all about Charlie, the skipper hurried away to look at the new craft, and found that the news was true. Very bad news he considered it, for he knew that the North Sea fishermen never came aboard a coper if there was a mission ship with the fleet. Tobacco is sold cheaper on a mission ship than on a coper, and naturally the fishermen, who have very little money to spend, buy in the cheapest market. Moreover, every man aboard a mission ship is a friend of the fishermen, and there is not a trawler in the North Sea on which it is not possible to find two or three men who have good reasons for blessing mission ships. Hundreds of men have been carried aboard these floating hospitals and nursed back to health.

When the mission ship was about half a mile from the Lily, Charlie said to the coper skipper: 'Now is your chance to get rid of Ping Wang and me. Hail that boat and send us aboard her.'

'Hail a craft like that?' the skipper answered roughly. 'I'd sink her with pleasure if I had the chance; but as for hailing her----I'd rather die!'

'I'll give you a sovereign to take us aboard her.'

'Wouldn't do it for ten sovereigns.'

Charlie went back to Ping Wang and told him of the skipper's decision.

'I'm not surprised,' Ping Wang declared. 'He will sail off as quickly as possible, I fancy.'

That, indeed, was the coper skipper's intention. He wished to start immediately, and would have done so had it not been for the two thieves who were drinking in the saloon.

'Now then,' said the skipper, coming down to the saloon and addressing the thieves, 'if you won't leave, I shall have to sail off with you.'

'Right you are; I don't care,' one of them declared, and the other added that he would thoroughly enjoy a cruise in a coper.

The skipper, however, had no intention of keeping on board two men without money, and was compelled to wait about for their departure. But just as he expected them to go, one man had a heated argument with his companion, which ended in a fight. The skipper, fearing that his saloon might be damaged, tried to stop the fight by seizing hold of the smaller man, who, however, promptly freed himself, and with two quick-following blows with his fist knocked the skipper down. The other man had in the meanwhile jumped across the counter and seized a bottle, which he put in his pocket.

'Come on, Jack,' he shouted to the man whom he had been fighting, and hurried up on deck. Jack, seeing that the skipper was not likely to interfere with him, followed his shipmate quickly on deck, and they made for the coper's boat, but none of the ship's crew were in it.

'Cut the painter, Jack,' the taller man commanded, and Jack, using his knife, soon did so. Then they grasped the oars and rowed away. It was the only boat that the coper possessed, and when the skipper discovered what the two fishermen had done he hurried on deck and shouted abuse at them. The men took no notice, and soon arrived safely at their own ship. Before they climbed aboard, the taller man said, 'Now let us sink the coper's boat. Cut a hole in her.'

The other man was delighted with the idea, and without delay removed the bottom boards and let in the water. That done, he followed his mate aboard the trawler, sending the small boat adrift.

The skipper of the coper had, in the meanwhile, by tacking, made an effort to keep his stolen boat in sight, but the night was dark, and the fear of a collision with a trawler made his endeavour a fruitless one, and he was compelled to lay to until daybreak would give him an opportunity of renewing his search. But, of course, when morning came he could see no signs of his boat, and after several hours' search he sailed away. About six hours later he sighted another fleet. He at once made for it, but finding on approaching nearer that there was a mission ship with it, he sailed off in another direction.

The skipper was now in a very bad temper, and his ill-humour spread to his men, who were mostly foreigners. It was evident to Charlie and Ping Wang, although they did not understand Dutch, that the latter were relieving their feelings by making insulting remarks concerning them.

While the coper's men were speaking about Charlie and Ping Wang, the Chinaman, innocent of any intention to be rude, made some gesture which one of the crew took for an insult. Instantly he rushed at Ping Wang and struck him a heavy blow in the face with his fist. He was about to strike him again, but Charlie pushed him roughly aside and faced him with clenched fists.

The sailor struck viciously at Charlie, who warded off two blows and then landed his opponent a heavy one full in the mouth. This he followed up with a blow between the eyes, knocking the man down. For a moment the sailor lay still; then, seeing that he was likely to get the worst of the encounter, he quickly ran to the galley, and, seizing a big shovel, prepared to continue to fight with it. But the skipper, hearing a disturbance, hurried aft to see what was taking place. He met the man with the shovel, and, hearing his threat, drew his revolver and pointed it at him.

'Take it back!' he commanded, and the man obeyed reluctantly. 'I don't want murder done aboard my ship,' the skipper added, turning to Charlie and Ping Wang, 'so don't annoy my men.'

'We have done nothing whatever to annoy them,' Charlie declared, 'and the assault upon Ping Wang was quite unprovoked.'

'There must have been some reason for the fellow hitting him,' the skipper declared, and at once questioned his men, who, of course, made known the nature of the insult which they had received from the Chinaman. He explained the matter to Charlie and Ping Wang, and afterwards assured his men that no insult had been intended. The sailor who had assaulted Ping Wang then made an apology, and the whole incident was concluded by his shaking hands with Charlie. But in the middle of the night Charlie had an experience that was far more unpleasant than his brief fight. He was sleeping, as usual, on the cushioned seat in the saloon when he woke suddenly, feeling some one tampering with the belt which he wore, and which contained the whole of his money.

'You scoundrel!' he shouted, as he gripped the thief's hand. The next moment Charlie uttered a cry of pain, for the thief, who was under the table, drew a knife across his hand. Charlie released his hold of the thief instantly, and then jumped up in the hope of catching the man before he could escape. But the thief was too quick for him. The room was in darkness, and, before Charlie could make his way out of his cramped quarters at the side of the table, the thief had climbed up the ladder and closed the iron door behind him.

Ping Wang was now awake, and, finding the place in semi-darkness, struck a light.

'Turn up the lamp,' Charlie said, and, when the Chinaman had done as he desired, he told him what had happened.

'How much has he taken?' Ping Wang inquired.

'Half a sovereign,' Charlie replied, after counting his money. 'Evidently the scoundrel had only tried one of the little pockets when I woke. It is a good thing that I distributed my money all round my belt.'

'It is, indeed,' Ping Wang answered. 'Now let me bind up your hand.'

The cut was not very severe, the thief apparently having had no desire to inflict a deep wound.

'Let us go and complain to the skipper at once,' Ping Wang suggested, and, after putting on a few clothes, they went on deck, where, somewhat to their surprise, they found the skipper at the wheel.

'Hallo!' he sung out. 'What's up? Going to try another midnight swim?'

In as few words as possible Charlie told him what had happened.

'You've been dreaming,' the skipper declared, with a laugh. 'I've been at the wheel for the last three-quarters of an hour, and you are the first person I have seen come out of the saloon. No one could come out without me seeing him. Get down below again, and don't lie on your back; you are sure to dream if you do.'

'Dreams do not cut a man's fingers,' Charlie observed, sharply.

'Well, I'll make inquiries, but it is not likely that the man who did rob you--if you were robbed--will confess. Now get below, or you'll catch cold.'

Charlie and Ping Wang returned to the saloon, very dissatisfied with this conversation.

'I believe,' Ping Wang said, 'that it was the skipper himself who robbed you.'

'So do I,' Charlie replied; 'but how can I prove it? And if I could prove it, what good would it be while we are on his ship? All we can do is to take extra precautions against being robbed.'

After talking for about half an hour, they fell asleep, and were not again disturbed.

When they went on deck, shortly after breakfast, the skipper summoned all hands on deck, and questioned each man as to whether he had been into the saloon during the night. Each one denied having done so, and Charlie believed them.

'It is my opinion,' the skipper said to Charlie an hour or two later, 'that it was that Chinaman who robbed you.'

'If you knew Ping Wang as well as I do, such a foolish idea would never have entered your head.'

'All Chinamen are very crafty. You had better let me make him sleep in the foc's'le.'

'So that it would be easier for me to be robbed.'

'What do you mean? Do you accuse me of robbing you?'

'I do not accuse any one unless I can prove my charges. At any rate, I shouldn't be doing you an injustice if I did call you a thief, knowing, as I do, what a collection of stolen property you have in the hold. A receiver of stolen goods is not an atom better than a thief.'

With this parting shot Charlie walked away.

(Continued on page 258.)

OUTWITTING HIMSELF.

A celebrated physician once attended the child of a wealthy French lady, who was so grateful for the recovery of her boy that she determined to give a larger fee than usual for his attendance. As he was taking leave on his final visit, the grateful mother handed to the doctor a handsome pocket-book, which she said she had worked with her own hands. The doctor bowed stiffly, and said, 'Madam, the pocket-book is quite a work of art, and I admire it exceedingly, but my fee is two thousand francs.'

'Not more?' she replied; and taking the pocket-book back, she removed from it five one-thousand franc-notes, and handed two of them to the doctor, bowing stiffly in her turn, and, replacing the other three notes in the rejected pocket-book, she retired.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 255.)

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Chapter VIII

From the coper skipper's point of view the two following days were very unsatisfactory. Not an ounce of tobacco nor a drop of drink was sold, in spite of the fact that several fishing-boats were met. Growing reckless, the skipper determined to approach the English coast, so as to meet the boats coming out of the Humber.

'Now you will soon be able to transfer us to a Grimsby-bound boat,' Charlie said to the skipper, when they were about two miles from land.

'I have come here to look after outward-bound boats,' the skipper answered, sharply, 'and I can't bother about you. I have quite enough to think about.'

A few minutes later, Charlie understood what the skipper meant. He was in British waters, and to sell tobacco or drink there would render him liable to be seized by a cruiser or revenue cutter. Every sailing ship that came out of the Humber the captain watched closely through his marine glasses, and not until he had satisfied himself that she was harmless did he approach her.

The skipper was well pleased with his work at the end of the day, and when darkness came on he sailed out of British waters, with the intention of returning at daybreak. Charlie and Ping Wang, however, considered that the day had been a most unsatisfactory one.

'I can't stand another day of this,' Charlie said to Ping Wang, when the two were alone. 'I mean to get ashore to-morrow somehow or other. Shall we jump overboard, and swim to the nearest ship making for the Humber?'

'I have lost confidence in my swimming powers,' Ping Wang answered.

'But there will be no necessity for us to have such a long swim as our last one. Besides, there will be plenty of boats about, and some of them are sure to come to our help.'

'When do you mean to start?'

'As soon as we are again in British waters. That will be to-morrow morning. To-morrow night we shall be in Grimsby, or perhaps at my home. You agree, don't you?'

'Oh, yes. But now let us get to sleep. We ought to start as fresh as possible.'

They lay down almost immediately, and slept soundly until about six o'clock. Then they were awakened rather suddenly by hearing a gun fired.

'What's the meaning of that?' Charlie asked, as he sat up and listened.

Ping Wang shook his head, and in a few minutes was again asleep. Charlie, a little later, lay down and slept; but in about a quarter of an hour they were again awakened, this time by men descending into the saloon. Looking up over the saloon table, they saw two bluejackets, with cutlasses in their hands, at the foot of the ladder. An officer ran down the ladder and joined them.

As soon as Charlie and Ping Wang saw the sailors, they guessed that the coper had been captured in British waters, and in their delight they jumped off the seat on which they had been sleeping and stood up on the cushions. In a moment the officer covered Charlie with his revolver.

'All right,' Charlie exclaimed, 'we are not Dutchmen.'

'I didn't suspect your mate of being one,' the officer replied, smiling, but still covering Charlie. 'Come over here and surrender.'

'With pleasure,' Charlie said. 'We are jolly glad you have boarded this wretched coper.'

'The skipper denies that she is a coper. Possibly you can save us the trouble of hunting for his liquor and tobacco?'

'That is where it is kept,' Charlie declared, pointing to the cupboard. 'The skipper has the key.'

'Throw down the skipper's keys,' Lieutenant Williams sang out to his men on deck.

For two or three minutes the revenue officer sat on the saloon table, dangling his legs and whistling cheerfully.

'The skipper says he hasn't any keys, sir,' a sailor called down. 'We have searched him, and can't find any, sir.'

'Very well, then,' the officer said; 'we must do without them. Force open that cupboard.'

One of the two sailors pulled out his knife and forced the lock with little difficulty; then he slid back the shutter and displayed the coper's stock of spirits, wines, tobacco, and cigars.

'A very nice collection indeed,' the revenue officer declared. 'I am very much obliged to you for your assistance,' he continued, addressing Charlie; 'but I must ask you to explain why you are on board this boat. You are my prisoner, although you do not appear to be in league with the skipper.'

Charlie related all that had happened to him. The story of his and Ping Wang's adventures amused the revenue officer highly.

'Well,' he said, at the end of the story, 'I'm very glad to have met both of you. After I have had a peep in the hold, I will take you aboard my cutter.'

The hold, with its stock of nets and other stolen property, added to the revenue officer's satisfaction at the capture he had made. Leaving five men on the coper, to man it--three on deck and two in the saloon--he returned to his cutter, taking Charlie and Ping Wang with him. As soon as they were aboard, the cutter started, escorting the coper into Grimsby.

'How did you manage to catch the coper?' Charlie asked the lieutenant, as they were watching the land coming nearer and nearer.

'I discovered her yesterday, but could not get close to her while she was in British waters. I saw that the chances of catching her were against me, so did not make the attempt. At night I went out to sea with covered lights, and kept my eye on her. Just before daybreak she went back into British waters, and I followed her. When there was light enough for her to see me, she fancied, as I intended she should, that I was a fishing-boat returning to Grimsby. While she had two trawlers' boats alongside I made for her. Then she guessed who I was, and tried to escape, but when I sent a shot across her bows she lay to, and the skipper demanded to know what I meant. I soon told him.'

'I fancy,' Charlie said, 'that the coper skipper is an old hand at the game.'

'I am certain of it,' the revenue officer replied, 'and that makes me all the more pleased. Now, I must be off.'

With that he went on deck, and Charlie and Ping Wang followed him. They were now in the Humber, creating some excitement among the vessels in the river. All hands mustered on every ship to see the coper, and frequently, when the nature of the boat was known, loud cheers were given for the captor.

The news of the capture had reached Grimsby before the two boats arrived, and, consequently, there was a large crowd waiting to see the prisoners brought in. Among the people was the former cook of the Sparrow-hawk, whose astonishment at beholding Charlie and Ping Wang on a revenue cutter highly amused his two acquaintances. Charlie nodded to him, but there was no opportunity to settle up with him just then, as the prisoners were immediately marched off to the magistrate.

To the revenue officials' surprise, the coper skipper pleaded guilty to selling spirits and tobacco in British waters. He did so because, seeing Charlie and Ping Wang in court, he knew that they would give evidence against him. On his pleading guilty, the stock-in-trade, together with the stolen property which he had purchased, was confiscated. As Charlie and Ping Wang came out of the court they found the bow-legged cook waiting for them, anxious to get the balance of money due to him from Charlie, and also to hear how he had fared on the Sparrow-hawk. They went to the Fisherman's Home, and there the cook was paid.

Charlie then related, in as few words as possible, all that had happened to him from the time he went aboard the Sparrow-hawk, and concluded by asking the bow-legged cook not to mention to Skipper Drummond, if he met him during the next few days, that he had seen him and Ping Wang.

Charlie and Ping Wang shook hands with the cook and left him.

'Now,' Charlie said, 'we must go to a cheap tailor's. I think that I have enough money to buy a ready-made suit for each of us.'

'Perhaps the tailor will give us something for the coper's things,' Ping Wang remarked. 'You paid enough for them.'

'I did, and if I tell a tailor, or any one else, what I gave for them, I shall be thought a madman.'

Half-a-crown was the value which the Grimsby tailor placed upon the clothes which Charlie and Ping Wang were wearing. The new clothes which they purchased were rather loud in pattern, and by no means a good fit, but they were cheap, and a great improvement on the things which they had taken off.

After surveying themselves in the glass--and immediately wishing that they had not done so--they quitted the shop and made their way to the railway station, to start for Charlie's home.

(Continued on page 266.)

JACK'S WISH.

'Oh, how I wish,' cried Jack, one day, 'That I was grown up quite, For then I should not go to school, Or have to keep some silly rule. I'm sure they're made in spite. Why should I go to bed at eight, If I desire to sit up late?'

'Oh, very well,' his father said; 'Go to the Bank for me, And sit, as I do, all day long-- I think you soon would change your song, And long at school to be. Just try to be content, my boy, And then your life you will enjoy.'

A TIMELY RESCUE.

'It looks just as if we were going to have a thunder-shower,' Mrs. Marston said. 'I wish, George, you would find Rose and Elsie, and tell them to come home.'

'But I don't know where to look for them,' George said.

'They are certain to be somewhere in the fields. And take an umbrella with you. Elsie has such a bad cold, I shall be vexed if she gets wet.'

'Oh, Mother, I don't believe it will rain, and I do want to finish painting this rabbit-hutch! It is such a nuisance to leave things half done.'

'My boy, it is not right to argue with your mother when she asks you to do something for her.'

'Bother those kids,' George muttered crossly, as he went off, grumbling, to hunt for an umbrella.

It was a hot, thundery day, and he was feeling still more cross after searching through three fields and finding no trace of the children.

'The clouds are clearing away, and blue sky is showing everywhere,' he said to himself. 'It is perfectly idiotic to go on with this wild-goose chase.'

Then he climbed a stile for a look into the next field, and what he saw almost made his heart stand still.

Rose and Elsie were sitting on the grass, busily arranging some flowers they had been gathering to make a nice bunch for their mother.

Behind them was a large freshly made gap in the hedge, and coming through it was a fierce bull belonging to a neighbouring farmer.

George was horror-struck. What should he do? If he shouted and alarmed the children, they would be too frightened to know what to do, and should the bull give chase, they might be overtaken before they could reach the stile.

In a moment his mind was made up. He jumped over into the field, and ran as fast as he could to try and get between the bull and the children.

He was only just in time. Rose and Elsie started up when they saw him, but when they realised their danger, they were almost too scared to move.

'Get to the stile as quickly as you can,' George called to them; and then he ran towards the bull, and opened his umbrella quickly before the astonished animal.

The fierce creature lowered his horns and seemed uncertain whether to charge his enemy or to flee before him.

Again George fired off his umbrella as if it were a gun, and this time the bull decided it would be better to retreat in a dignified way to his own domain. You may be sure George lost no time in getting out of the field.

'My brave boy!' his mother whispered when the breathless children had arrived home and had told their story. 'How thankful I am that I have an obedient son!'

'But, Mother, I nearly disobeyed,' George confessed, and he grew pale when he thought what it would have meant if he had not arrived in time.

M. H.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

VIII.--HOW INSECTS MAKE MUSIC.

Though the sounds made by insects may not in themselves be musical, according to our standard of music, yet many insect performers give us great pleasure, perhaps because of the pleasant memories which they call up. Who among us does not love the hum of the bee? How delightful is the lazy drone of the great steely-blue dor-beetle, as he rambles along in the twilight of a summer night! The lively chirping of the cricket, too, has inspired more than one poet, and the great novelist, Charles Dickens, used it in a well-known story.

The simplest means of making a noise is that used by the beetle known by the grim name of the 'death-watch.' In our own houses this little beetle often causes great alarm by the ticking or tapping sound which it makes by striking its head against the wall. Ignorant people look upon this noise as a warning of approaching death; but, really, it is meant to charm and attract any other beetles of the kind which may be within hearing!

But many insects, like the crickets and grasshoppers, have a specially constructed instrument on which they play. Fig. 1 shows a part of the instrument used by an American grasshopper. It is formed by a row of tiny teeth, marked T, placed along the inner side of the thigh of the great leaping leg. When this creature feels very happy, or wants to charm his mate, he produces a shrill sound by rubbing these teeth across the hard 'nervures,' or wing 'veins.' What these teeth are really like can be seen in the lower part of the illustration, which shows eight little spear-heads set in sockets. These are 'teeth,' which act much as a comb would do if drawn lightly over a tightly stretched wire.

The 'stridulation,' as this form of musical production is called, in some locusts is so loud that it can be heard on a still night for a distance of a mile. Some South American locusts are such wonderful performers that the Indians keep them in wicker cages, in order that they may enjoy the playing. There is a North American locust which is quite famous as a musician. It is known as the Katydid, on account of its peculiar notes, which resemble the words Katy-did-she-did. This note is kept up throughout the night. Our field-cricket plays by rubbing a row of teeth, about one hundred and thirty in number, placed on the under side of one of the supporting rods, or 'veins,' of the wings, against another rod very like it, but without teeth, in the upper surface of the opposite wing. First one wing is rubbed over the other, and then the process is reversed.

A near relative of the grasshopper, the cicada of North America and of Southern Europe (fig. 2), has a really wonderful instrument, rather like a kettle-drum. But it is an unusual sort of kettle-drum, for it is played from within. The drum-heads are shown in fig. 3, marked D, one on each side of the creature, like the drums on a cavalry horse, except that they are underneath the animal in the case of the cicada. If the 'skin' of the drum be removed, a very complicated instrument is seen, and this, by causing vibrations, increased by the tightly stretched drum-head, gives rise to the sounds for which these insects have long been famous.

The great traveller-naturalist, Fritz Müller, tells us that musical contests between two or three rival cicadas--only the males play--often take place. As soon as one had finished his song, another immediately began, then another, and so on all through the night. Another naturalist, Bates, tells that when in the Amazons he used to listen to the cicadas, which began with sunset. The tune began with a jarring sound, and ended in a long loud note, like 'the steam-whistle of a locomotive engine!'

In insects which hum the sound mainly comes from the abdomen. In flies and humble-bees, for example, the 'voice' is caused by air rushing out from the mouths of the air or breathing-tubes. But these sounds are deepened by the vibration of the wings. Those who know something of music will understand what is meant when they are told that the note of the honey-bee on the wing is A; its ordinary 'voice,' however, is an octave higher, and often goes to B and C. From the note produced by the wing, the speed with which it is vibrated can be reckoned. Thus, the house-fly, which produces the sound F, vibrates its wings 21,120 times a minute, or 335 times a second; the bee, which makes the note A, 26,400 times a minute, or 440 times a second!

But, besides insects, there are many spiders and scorpions which may claim to be musical. The instrument of the spider is formed on the same principle as that of the grasshopper--that is to say, by a raised tooth-like edge, which can produce vibrations. Beneath the front of a spider's head there is, on each side, a stout jaw, ending in a long, movable fang, like a claw. Behind this jaw is a short leg, formed like a walking leg, and known as the 'palp.' It is never used, however, for walking, but is carried straight forwards, so that the inner surfaces of its joints are close to the outer surface of the jaw. Now, whenever the 'palp' is moved, it is rubbed against the 'teeth' in the jaw, and this consequently, in many spiders, produces a sound like the humming of a bee! In some spiders which have this apparatus, the sound produced cannot be heard by human ears.

It is to be noted that, whatever the sound produced, its purpose is to serve one of two very different ends. It may be used, as in some spiders, when it is found only in the males, to charm its mate in courting; for she has a very bad temper, and must be approached most cautiously. But in the case of the huge bird-eating spiders, this curious buzzing sound appears to be made for the purpose of frightening its enemies, which, connecting the buzzing sound with the power of stinging, give the spider a wide berth as soon as the buzzing begins! To make itself appear more terrible, the spider raises the fore part of the body and legs high in the air, and thus, partly by this threatening attitude, and partly by the sound, persuades those about to attack that 'discretion is the better part of valour!'

The scorpion hisses. Some describe the noise as like that produced by rubbing the finger-nail over the hairs of a stiff tooth-brush. The vibrating instruments are found in different places, according to the species of scorpion. But the plan of its construction is the same in all, and is like that of the spider. Thus, in some species (as in fig. 4) there are, at the outer side of the base of the great pair of pincers, a number of sharp spinelets, shaped like a tiger's 'fang.' These make up the 'scraper.' Against it the scorpion rubs a number of tubercles, or little rounded bodies, which are seated on the base of the first pair of walking-legs; these form the 'rasp.' The movement of the rasp on the scraper produces the hissing sound. Sometimes the hissing is produced by a similar rasp and scraper placed on the inner surface of the little pincers which project in front of the body, between the two great pincers. In other cases the rasp and scraper are found, the rasp on the top of the base of the little pincer, the scraper on the under surface of the overhanging shield of the body. But, however formed, the noise produced is similar, and appears to be meant to terrify enemies. This purpose is further aided by the habit the creature has, when angry, of turning the poisonous sting at the end of the tail over the back.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

A TRIFLING OFFENCE.

Noucherivan, King of Persia, had a very violent temper. One day he condemned a page to death for having by accident spilled a little sauce over him while waiting at table. The page, knowing that he had no hope of pardon, proceeded to pour the whole contents of the plate over his master. Nouchirevan, almost forgetting his anger in his surprise, asked the reason of this outrageous act.

'Prince,' explained the page, 'I am desirous that my death should not injure your renown by being undeserved. All nations esteem you as the most just of sovereigns, but you would lose that glorious title were it to become known that you had condemned one of your slaves to die for so trifling a fault as the one which I first committed.'

This answer made such an impression upon the king that, ashamed of his passion, he pardoned the slave, and also tried by his bounty to atone for his contemplated cruelty and injustice.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

12.--CURTAILMENTS.

1. Curtail stiff and strict, and leave a Swiss mountain. 2. Curtail a large country in Asia, and leave the point of the under jaw. 3. Curtail a scooping instrument, and leave to push. 4. Curtail acute and discerning, and leave a kind of mouse. 5. Curtail a raised floor or platform, and leave a horned animal. 6. Curtail an island on the Kentish coast, and leave a Saxon nobleman.

C. J. B.

13.--CONICAL PUZZLE.

The middle letters of each word read downwards give the name of a well-known English poet.

1. A consonant. 2. A price fixed after all deductions have been made. 3. To gaze, to look with fixed eyes. 4. To disperse, to throw loosely about. 5. Kindnesses, good wishes, benefits, favours.

C. J. B.

[Answers on page 290.]

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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES ON PAGE 230.

10.--Valparaiso.

1. V eneration. 2. A nimosity. 3. L inoleum. 4. P aragon. 5. A melia. 6. R azor. 7. A rch. 8. I ce. 9. S o. 10. O

11.--Tar-tar.

THE POTATO.

Amongst our English vegetables, the potato is the most abundant and useful. It is liked by nearly all, and it is indeed a chief article of food in some districts. Other vegetables are largely eaten--cabbages and turnips, for instance--but the potato is in the greatest demand.

We have in the potato an illustration of a plant which belongs to a poisonous family, but has roots (or tubers) very nourishing and agreeable to eat. But if anybody was to eat the berries which follow the showy flowers of the potato, they would most likely be made ill, nor are the leaves wholesome to us, though they furnish food to the big caterpillar of the Death's-head moth.

We have to thank the Romans for bringing into Britain many fruits and vegetables; others, later on, came from France and Germany, or some other part of Europe; but the potato we owe to America. The potato first known in these islands, however, was not the one familiar now; it was the sweet potato, or Batatus, cultivated by the Spanish and Portuguese; it is supposed to have been brought over from the Continent early in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It was a vegetable much liked by those who could get it, and this is the potato of which one of Shakespeare's characters says, 'Let it rain potatoes and hail kissing comforts.'

No one can tell positively who, of the voyagers to America, towards the end of the sixteenth century, it was who came upon the true potato and brought it back to his own country, more as a curious plant than for any other reason. Some have given the credit to the great Sir Walter Raleigh, but it seems more likely that he himself was not the discoverer, but one of his followers, named Heriot. In a book Heriot wrote he exactly describes the potato amongst his finds, calling it 'open-awk,' a name he had heard in America. 'There are roundish roots,' he says, 'some the size of a walnut, some much bigger; these hang together on the other roots, and are good either boiled or roasted.' By roasting he no doubt meant putting them in the hot ashes of a fire. The question of how potatoes should be cooked seems to have been troublesome at first. People dipped them in hot water, and then complained that they were hard, or sticky like glue. Potatoes brought to the table of King James I. are said to have cost two shillings a pound, and for a long while the vegetable remained scarce, perhaps because people did not know the best way to raise a crop as we do now, by planting slices of the tubers. Several of the old books only refer to it as an ornamental garden plant.

Sir Walter Raleigh does appear to have introduced this vegetable into Ireland, at least. Going one spring to his estate at Youghal, Cork, he took some potatoes, and gave them to his gardener, who planted them. Fine specimens had grown up in August, but the gardener did not think the berries were of any good, and told Sir Walter he did not admire the wonderful American plant. 'Then pull it up and throw it away,' said Sir Walter; but when the man saw the potatoes on the roots, he thought differently.

The first place in England where the potato was grown in fields was North Meols, Lancashire, about 1694. For many years the Scotch only grew it as a curiosity, till Thomas Prentice, of Kilsyth, stocked his garden with potatoes in 1728, and distributed them amongst the villages near. Early in the reign of Queen Victoria, it had become abundant, especially in Ireland; but the potato disease or murrain caused great distress in 1845 and later, nor has it ever been got rid of entirely. The potato has been introduced to our Indian Empire, and though it was unpopular at first, the people have since become partial to it.

J. R. S. C.

DOCTOR ABERNETHY'S ADVICE.

Doctor Abernethy, the great surgeon, was famous for his short, pointed sayings and good advice, as well as for his skill as a doctor. One day a gentleman who was accustomed to live in great luxury, and who suffered from gout in consequence of this easy life, came to consult him. He told the great surgeon all his ailments, and how he usually lived, and asked what he ought to do.

'Live on sixpence a day--and earn it!' was the reply of Dr. Abernethy.

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

VIII.--THE HIGHEST FLIGHT--SEPTEMBER 5, 1862.

The frequent and successful voyages in balloons at last led scientific men to wonder if the ascents might not be used for solving some of nature's riddles, and so conferring benefits on mankind, instead of being undertaken only as pleasure trips. It was to help answer this question that, in 1862, Mr. James Glaisher began a series of balloon voyages. He was by no means the pioneer in this class of enterprise, for many others--both French and English--had been up with the same object some years before. But as Mr. James Glaisher, with his captain, Mr. Coxwell, went higher than any one before or after, his flight ought to be given special attention.

In order to make careful observations, it was necessary to take a large number of delicate instruments, and these were arranged on a board, which rested its ends on either side of the car. Seated before this narrow table, Mr. Glaisher meant to read the secret of the skies. When all was ready, Mr. Coxwell weighed anchor, and a few moments later the city of Wolverhampton, from which they rose, was almost lost in the vast tract of country upon which their eyes rested.

It was the third ascent these gentlemen had made together, and the wonders Mr. Glaisher had witnessed on the two previous occasions must have been more than enough to lead him to seek for more. He had pierced the densest rain-clouds, and had seen the shadow of the balloon on the white upper surface of the clouds surrounded by lovely circular rainbows. He had peeped through holes in these clouds on to the world beneath, which looked more like a misty picture than real meadows and towns and rivers. Such experiences were more beautiful than any tales of fairyland--because they were true.

But to-day he was to have a new and strange journey. At five thousand feet above ground the balloon entered a mass of rain-clouds, one thousand feet thick, and four minutes later they broke through into sunshine. Mr. Glaisher tried to take a photograph of these clouds from above, but the balloon rose too rapidly and kept turning round. At twenty-one thousand feet (or four miles high) Mr. Coxwell found it difficult to breathe, while it needed a great effort to tilt more sand over the edge of the car. Up and up they sailed--four and a half, five, five and a half miles--and the sky grew more and more intensely blue till it became, at last, almost black.

Even now, at a height of twenty-nine thousand feet, when hoar-frost was forming on the sides of the balloon, and the daring travellers were stung with a cold more severe than that of the coldest winter day, the instruments went on observing the wonders of the atmosphere without themselves being observed. Mr. Glaisher, who had for some minutes found a difficulty in seeing the small marks on his instruments, lay back quite insensible against the side of the car. He had not fainted suddenly. First, he tells us, his arms refused to move when he tried to reach the various instruments. Then, as his eyes fell on Mr. Coxwell, who had climbed into the ring to reach the valve-rope, he tried to speak; but the power of speech was gone, and a moment later he lost all consciousness.

The balloon was still ascending, and, to Mr. Coxwell's horror, he found that the terrible cold had turned his hands black, and robbed them of all muscular power. His position was one of great danger, seated as he was in that slender car miles above the earth, and so numbed by the cold that he could not hold the ropes. He reached the valve-cord at last, however, and, seizing it between his teeth, gave it two or three vigorous jerks. The balloon stopped ascending. Hooking his numbed arms over the ring, he dropped safely into the car. As he did so, he noticed that the blue hand of the barometer stood perpendicular. The balloon had ceased to climb at seven miles high!

His efforts to restore Mr. Glaisher were soon successful, and, by the time the earth was again reached, no ill effects from the wonderful adventure were to be felt.

We must mention six other passengers that took part in the journey: these were pigeons. One was liberated at three miles high, but dropped with wide-open wings like a sheet of paper until denser air was reached. A second, at four miles, was evidently a stronger bird, for it flew vigorously round and round, gradually descending. A third, dropped a little higher, fell like a stone; and another, thrown out at four miles, on the way down, took a comfortable perch on the top of the balloon.

This famous flight of Messrs. Coxwell and Glaisher is still a record. No other balloon has ever ascended to so great a height, and, when a similar attempt was made in France by three celebrated aeronauts, two of them lost their lives at a height of five miles, owing to the rarity of the atmosphere they had to breathe.

The illustration of the scene in the balloon, on page 265, is copied from Mr. Glaisher's Travels in the Air, published by Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd., who have kindly given leave for its reproduction.

JOHN LEA.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 259.)

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter IX

When Charlie arrived at his home, in an unmistakably ill-fitting suit of clothes and accompanied by a Chinaman, equally badly dressed, he caused great surprise to his family. If he had returned dressed in 'fear-noughts' and a jersey, or even in 'oilies,' they would not have been surprised, but there was nothing nautical about his present attire.

'Well, my boy,' Charlie's father said to him, after Ping Wang had been introduced, 'have you had a good time?'

'Well, not exactly,' Charlie answered, 'but I have discovered that Skipper Drummond is an old rascal, and that he believes he will have no difficulty in swindling you.'

'He is not the first person who has thought that and has lived to find that he has made a mistake. However, you can tell me all about it after dinner. You had better run upstairs and change your clothes.'

After dinner, Charlie related all that had happened to him, from the time he met the bow-legged cook until he came back to Grimsby.

'I suspected that you would have a rough time,' Mr. Page said, when Charlie had finished his story, 'but I never thought that you would meet with so many unpleasant adventures. However, as you have discovered that Skipper Drummond is a dishonourable man, I am not sorry that you went to sea. I don't suppose you will be in a hurry to go again.'

'I want to go very soon,' Charlie replied. 'I want to go to China with Ping Wang.'

'To settle there?'

'Oh, no; simply to recover Ping Wang's family riches.'

Mr. Page and Fred, not knowing whether Charlie was serious or not, made no remark.

'I'm quite sane,' Charlie declared, seeing that they were surprised; 'Ping Wang will tell you about it.'

Ping Wang, thus called upon, repeated the story of his father's death and the seizure of all his property by Chin Choo.

'But how do you know that Chin Choo still possesses the idol with the secret drawer?' Mr. Page inquired, when Ping Wang finished speaking. 'He may have sold it?'

'That is not at all likely,' Ping Wang declared. 'I know that he has had it fixed up in his chief room, and there it will remain as long as the house stands, or until Chin Choo moves somewhere else.'

'And you think that Chin Choo cannot discover that the idol contains precious stones?'

'I am certain of it. My father was a richer man than Chin Choo imagined, and the wealth that the murderer found in our house was more than he had expected. He is quite certain that he has found all my father's wealth. If he were not, he would never think of looking for it in the image.'

'But do you think it possible to get into Chin Choo's house and remove the idol without being discovered?'

'I am certain of it; of course, I shall watch for a favourable opportunity.'

'Well,' Mr. Page said, after a few moments' thought, 'I must think over the matter for a few days before deciding whether I can permit Charlie to accompany you.'

'I wish I could go with them,' Fred joined in. 'I don't desire a share of the treasure. I simply want to go for the experience.'

'But how about your studies?' Mr. Page asked.

'I wouldn't neglect them. I would read hard on board, and as my next examination does not come on for nearly two years, I shall have plenty of time. And when I'm in China I shall be able to study tropical diseases. Medical men are very keen on that, nowadays.'

'Well, if Charlie goes, I see no reason why you should not; but it requires serious consideration.'

'I will share my portion of the treasure with you,' Charlie said to his brother, but Ping Wang objected to that arrangement.

'We will each have a third of what the rubies realise,' he declared, and, in spite of all protests, he insisted that the division of the treasure, if they ever got it, should be made in that way.

Mr. Page listened in silence to their conversation. He was by no means convinced that Ping Wang's story was not an Oriental fiction, invented to arouse sympathy and obtain a free passage home. Now, as it happened, Mr. Page had a friend who was the senior partner of a large firm of Chinese merchants, and had himself resided in China for many years, and he decided, therefore, to question him as to the probability of Ping Wang's story. A day or two later Mr. Page went to London and had an interview with this friend, who confirmed many details of Ping Wang's story, and even came down to Lincolnshire to see the Chinaman in person.

Ping Wang was delighted when he found that the merchant had lived in his country for many years, and could speak his language fluently.

'Ping Wang's story is, I am convinced, quite true,' the merchant said to Mr. Page, when they were alone, 'but his plan is a very risky one.'

'I know, but that has only made them more anxious to go. It is another case of "like father like son." If I had not travelled while young, I am sure I should never have settled down. And the fact that in every place I visited I found scores of Englishmen yearning to return home made me feel that I was a fortunate man to see our distant possessions without being doomed to pass my life in exile. I have sufficient money to keep a home for my children, but I want my sons to be able to earn a living and hold their own by themselves; and I think that, as I have the means to permit them to travel before settling down, they will do well to learn as much as they can of the world outside England. They shall go with Ping Wang. If they help Ping Wang to secure his inheritance, I shall of course be pleased, but I shall be glad for both the lads to gain experience, and I hope they will return in good health.'

A little later Mr. Page told Charlie and Fred that he had decided to allow them to go to China, an announcement which was received with great delight. The next day he went to the shipping agent's, and finding that a boat would start from Liverpool to Hong-kong in twelve days' time, booked saloon passages for Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang.

'To-morrow,' Mr. Page said to his sons and Ping Wang after he had returned from the shipping agent's, 'you must see about your outfit. The time is very short.'

'I think, sir,' Ping Wang said, 'that the clothes I have will be good enough.'

'Would you not like to go in your native dress?'

Ping Wang's eyes brightened.

'Yes,' he answered, 'but you have paid my passage.'

'Don't let that thought trouble you. When you have got back your jewels, you will be able to offer to repay me.'

'You are very generous, sir,' Ping Wang declared.

'Nonsense,' Mr. Page answered. 'You have been a good friend to my boy and have had a rough time since you have been in England. If you carry away a better impression of our country than you would otherwise have done, I shall consider myself repaid for what I have been able to do for you.'

(Continued on page 277.)

THE PARKS OF LONDON.--III.

Happiest of little Londoners are those who are so fortunate as to live near enough to the Regent's Park for it to form their daily playground. To them the wooded shores of the winding lake, with its three long arms crossed by bridges that rock delightfully, must seem like a little world, with mountains, bays, capes, forests, and many more wonderful things, just as in the great world itself. It is filled with so many living things that dwell round the banks of the lake--the stately swans, the many varieties of the duck family that swim and fly and chase each other all day long, the gentle moorhens gliding in and out of the rushes, and the mother vole or water-rat nibbling a juicy bit of grass in the sunshine, or swimming to cover with her babies on her back; and now and again the peace of this little world is rudely broken by the distant roar of a real lion or the shriek of a hungry hyena, which frightens all the smaller animals into silence.

Perhaps no greater benefit ever befell the good folk of London town than when, early in the nineteenth century, it occurred to the authorities to turn the old Royal Park of St. Mary-le-bone into a real people's park. A great many plans were suggested for laying out the ground. One very ornamental scheme was probably rejected because of its expense; in it a fine church was to form a central point, with avenues running from it like spokes of a wheel. The design which was accepted and carried out consists of four oval drives lying like rings inside one another; in the centre of the inside one are the Royal Botanical Gardens. Rare and wonderful treasures of vegetable life are kept there--flowering plants and shrubs, palms, ferns, mosses, water-plants, and trees from many lands, each the object of deep thought and care. From time to time grand floral fêtes are held in the gardens, and often on summer evenings Shakespeare's plays are acted in the open air.

The northern side of the park is chiefly given up to the Zoological Gardens; and, indeed, to the world at large, apart from Londoners, Regent's Park often means nothing but 'the Zoo.' Probably it is safe to say that no other park in the world annually attracts so many visitors.

The collection at the Zoological Gardens was begun in 1828, and amongst the first arrivals were the lions from the Tower, for, from ancient days, lions and bears kept the old royal fortress lively. Great sums of money have been spent in securing fine specimens, and now Britons have the satisfaction of knowing that our Zoo is second to none. Amongst recent arrivals at the gardens were two young gorillas from Western Africa, who reached the Zoo in apparent health, but, as has happened on former occasions, after a few weeks the poor things sickened and died. Whether they suffer from the effects of the voyage, or whether the shock of their capture is too great for them, the fact remains that gorillas seem unable to endure the altered conditions of life which most of the other members of the great ape family can put up with.

But, with all the attractions of the Zoo, it would not do to be dependent on it for amusement, for even on Monday, 'the people's day,' it costs sixpence, and many of the park's most frequent visitors find pennies hard to come by. Pleasure has to be sought and found on the various recreation grounds, and, in fine weather, cricket and other games are usually in full swing.

A very favourite walk with many visitors is to Primrose Hill, north-west of the Zoo, which rises two hundred and nineteen feet above sea-level, where the air is usually clear and bright, whilst the view over London is very fine. The hill is the property of Eton College, and is separated from the Zoo by the Regent's Canal, as well as by the Albert Road. Beneath the slope is a fine gymnasium, which still further adds to the attractions of the park, and many fine terraces of houses line the outer circles.

The park takes its name from the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.

HELENA HEATH.

NEVER CAUGHT IT.

'He is always very busy,' said one man to another.

'Yes,' answered a gentleman who knew the person in question. 'He is so lazy in getting up that he loses an hour every morning, and spends all the rest of the day in running after it.'

An hour lost means an hour which can only be regained by neglecting other work.

RAT-SKINS.

The Japanese are a wonderful people, and their foresight in even the smallest matters is really marvellous. Here is a case in point.

Late in 1904, when the time came to forward the winter outfits for their soldiers fighting in Manchuria, amongst the wadded overcoats and thick blankets were some hundreds of thousands of ear-protectors made out of rats' skins.

Even the military authorities were surprised by these, and wondered where the Government could have found so many rats as to be able to supply their soldiers with such soft and comfortable coverings for their ears.

It seems that two years ago plague was raging along the China coast, and, to keep the disease out of Japan, the quarantine authorities made war against the rats. In all the seaports and larger cities rewards were offered for each rat brought; small boys found this a delightful way of earning money, and the competition at once became very keen.

Every rat was duly registered, and the place where it was caught noted, and if any suspicious germs were found, the building from which the rat came was raided, all the rats in it hunted down, and the place disinfected. So the plague was kept out of Japan.

Meanwhile the rat-skins had not been thrown away; war was even then threatening, and ear-protectors might be wanted.

So the rat-skins were all thoroughly cleansed and disinfected, and made into ear-protectors, and now have proved a great blessing to the soldiers in the field.

THE OLD CLOCK.

None of my early recollections of our pretty little home in England is so clear as that of the old grandfather's clock that stood in the hall. I remember that my mother and father were very fond of it, and when my brother and I once grumbled, saying, 'That old clock is always slow,' my mother reproved us with the words: 'Oh, children, you must not say that, for the fact that it often goes slow when the big hand is going up towards the hour was the very thing that once saved your great-grandfather's life.'

That was the curious thing about the clock. Every now and then, for some reason, the minute-hand seemed to work loose, soon after the half-hour, and, before it reached the three-quarters, it lost five minutes. It might manage to go a whole day without doing this; but sooner or later it always happened, so that the clock could not be relied upon for time.

Of course, we were very eager to hear the story, and, as we sat round the fire that evening, my mother told us the following tale:--

'You know, children, that we have not always lived in England; my ancestors were French, and lived at Château Roquefort, in the province of La Vendée. When the great insurrection broke out in the year 1792, my grandfather, Philippe de Roquefort, was one of the leading insurgents against the Republic. For a time the insurrection was successful, and the Republican generals were driven across the Loire. But at last there came a time when Philippe de Roquefort saw that to resist any longer was hopeless, and, as he had a wife and a little son, he resolved that, for their sakes, it was prudent to flee to England.

'They had abandoned Roquefort itself three days before, but the evening before their leaving France, Philippe was obliged to ride over to the château (five miles or so from the little town where he and his family, with about a dozen trusty followers, had taken refuge) to fetch some important papers.

'The whole neighbourhood swarmed with Republicans, but, with his knowledge of the country, he reached the deserted château safely.

'The whole place had a forsaken air as Philippe entered the hall he knew so well, where all his happy boyhood had been spent; but one familiar object caught his eye--the old clock, which had been too cumbersome to take with them in their flight, and which was still ticking in its accustomed manner. Philippe secured his papers, and was just leaving the château, taking a last fond look at his home, when a heavy hand pulled him backwards, and, before he could reach his sword, he was bound hand and foot.

'"We have caught the bird in his own nest," said a loud voice--and the boisterous laughter of several men made the rafters in the old hall ring.

'Philippe saw that he had been captured by five rough Republicans, who dragged him into the middle of the hall and then sat round him, consulting as to his fate. At last they decided that, at a quarter to six by the old clock, he should be shot. They had some time to wait before going back to their camp.

'Philippe gave himself up for lost. The ruffians soon began to jeer at him, and asked if he had any messages for his friends. Then my grandfather lost all his patience, and throwing aside all prudence, cried: "Yes, you villains, if I had my faithful followers here, they would soon make an end of you."

'The men laughed at this, but suddenly a cruel idea struck one of them.

'"Yes," he said, "Monsieur shall have his way"--and, looking up at the clock, he continued: "It is now five o'clock; Pierre, the peasant's son, who lives yonder, shall ride with a message to these devoted followers. Monsieur shall be shot at a quarter to six; but he can write and tell his friends to be here at ten minutes to the hour; they will come and find Monsieur--five minutes too late. We can get away easily enough before they arrive."

'His comrades agreed to this plan, which gave an adventurous tone to their enterprise, and inflicted, as well, extra misery upon their prisoner.

'A scrap of paper and a pencil were given to my grandfather; but, as he was writing, Philippe remembered with joy that the old clock on which his captors were relying had not yet lost its five minutes that day; he had noticed this as he glanced round the hall before his capture; and, therefore, at a quarter to six--the time when, by the clock, he was going to be put to death--it might be ten minutes to the hour by the proper time--if the clock only went wrong for once at a convenient time!

'The peasant-boy, Pierre, was sent with the message, and the men settled themselves down to ransacking the house, exulting over the trick they were going to play.

'The time crept by. As a quarter to six drew near Philippe was bound to a tree, and the men set to work to load their muskets! Had the clock lost five minutes, or not? Every minute of waiting seemed like an hour, and Philippe could not be sure whether the hand had stuck still too long, or not. He thought it had, but could he trust his eyes in such a terrible situation?

'You can imagine my grandfather's feelings during those last few awful minutes! A hundred conjectures flashed through his mind. Suppose the boy never gave the message! or suppose the men were late! or suppose the clock was not slow after all!

'At last the Republicans were ready, and Philippe gave himself up for lost. Suddenly the sound of horses' hoofs was heard breaking through the undergrowth. The Republicans hesitated, and, as they stood undecided, ten or a dozen men rode up hastily. They were only just in time; the Republicans fought for a few minutes, but they were taken by surprise, and soon surrendered. Philippe was saved!'

* * * * *

'What a narrow escape, Mother,' we cried, 'and if it had not been for the old clock's habit of losing time----'

'Well, my dear, the story would have ended very differently.'

HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

III.--GARTH AND HIS FRIENDS.[4]

This striking story belongs to the days of the Great French Revolution of 1792. The hero is a young Englishman, the son of Colonel Mainwaring, of the 2nd Dragoon Guards, and at the time the story opens he is on a visit to Paris to his uncle and aunt. Before we narrate one or two striking incidents of his life in France, however, we must say something, very briefly, about the French Revolution, during which so many terrible things were done that it was known as the Reign of Terror. One of the grievances of the people in France was that the power of the nobles had greatly increased, so that they did as they liked. Though they claimed unlimited privileges, yet they refused to take up the responsibilities of their position, and even evaded the taxes which they laid on the shoulders of the people. One unpopular tax was the gabelle, or salt tax, which compelled every person to bring a fixed quantity of salt every year, and made them buy it of certain people who alone had the right to sell, and charged enormous prices. The peasants, too, had to work on the roads for nothing, leaving their farms and little plots of ground whenever they were ordered. They could not earn enough to live on, and what with heavy dues to their lords, and the State interference with trade, they were in a wretched plight, and discontent was widespread. Then famous writers, moved by what was going on around them, wrote strongly against the abuse of power by the nobles and the King, teaching that kings were but the servants of the people. The poor, ignorant, downtrodden peasantry, urged by the selfish trading classes who used them for their own ends, united in a great movement to take away the privileges of the nobles. The serfs flung off the heavy yoke, and went to the worst excesses, burning and wrecking the palaces of their former masters, utterly ruining them and driving them out of the country.

The Commons, or National Assembly as they styled themselves, did not stop when they had introduced reforms that were really needed, but did just as their passion against the aristocrats and the rich dictated. Things passed from bad to worse when the King, who had the right of refusing the proposals of the National Assembly, exercised his right and vetoed (from veto, I forbid) two of their decrees. This made the people furious. All this was new to Garth Mainwaring, as also was the procession of noisy people, marching through the streets to the beating of drums, carrying banners, and howling and shouting at any well-dressed people they met. Garth saw the mob battering at the doors of the King's palace, calling for his Majesty to come out, and when the King, in quiet dignity, stood before them, they ordered him to put on the red cap of liberty, and grossly insulted him and his beautiful Queen and their children.

Garth had felt his blood leap up as he witnessed this, and in his young enthusiasm he longed to fight on the side of the royal prisoner and his nobles. On the evening of one dreadful day, during which the mob had done wild things, as Garth was passing on towards the Rue Saint Honoré, he heard a faint voice on his left hand. It came from the figure of a man huddled in a doorway, who had been mortally wounded and was rapidly dying.

'Sir,' gasped the man, in English, 'Sir, save my daughter. Go to her, sir, and give her her father's dying blessing.'

'I will go, sir,' said Garth. 'Will you tell me your name?'

'The Baron de Méricourt. I was in the palace. I got away as by a miracle, but I fell among the ruffians here, and they have done for me. Waste no more time, I implore you. Save my darling Lucile, and tell her her father----' But here, with one more gasp, he died.

Another striking adventure befell our hero at Nantes. It was after he had offered to throw in his lot with Bonchamps, a leader of the loyalists, and donned the white cockade of those whose watch-word was 'for God and the King.' He was asked whether he would make an attempt, as they were to attack Nantes, a stronghold of the 'Blues,' to find out the enemy's position. Of course he agreed; there were no dangers in the path of duty that could deter Garth. He was disguised in a peasant's dress, and carried a basket full of live pigeons, which he was to offer for sale as he journeyed. Nantes was a strong position, strongly fortified and manned by the enemy, yet the brave peasants and loyalists of the Vendée determined to endeavour to take it for the young King (for the unhappy Louis XVI. and his beautiful Queen had been put to death by the influence of the more savage leaders of the Revolutionary party). It was late in the evening when Garth started. It would be nearly midnight before he could reach the city. When he came within two miles of the town he saw a barge, laden with wood, moving slowly down the river. Hailing the old man on board, who was holding the rudder, and allowing the laden craft to drift down with the tide, 'Holà,' cried Garth, 'Hé! can you give me a lift down to the quay?'

'Who are you?' asked the bargeman, Jules Viard by name.

'A poor chap with a pair of pigeons to sell.'

The man agreed to the request, and Garth sprang on to the barge as soon as it came within jumping distance, and it resumed its slow passage down the river. Presently the vessel was steered alongside the quay, where the good-natured boatman made her fast for the night, sleeping in her himself to save the few sous he would otherwise have had to pay for his bed; but Garth went along on the riverside, as he wished to look about him to learn what he could of the strength and position of the enemy.

As his wooden shoes clicked on the stone paving, he stripped them off and strung them round his neck. The cathedral clock struck the hour of midnight. On and on he went, using his eyes well. He had reached the Paris road, up which his friends of the Vendean army would probably approach, when he saw an immense obstruction. Climbing a tree, the better to look about him, he found that the obstruction was a big redoubt, very solidly constructed. Scaling garden walls and getting behind the redoubt, he satisfied himself that it could be taken from the rear, and being by this time very tired, he lay down under a hedge to sleep till daylight.

The next morning he sold his pigeons to a lieutenant of the National Guard for forty sous, and spent the rest of the day walking about the town with his friend, Viard the bargeman, leaving him at nightfall to begin his return journey. Turning down a narrow passage leading to the river, between two high warehouses, he saw three men, and, as it turned out, men whom he had met before, all enemies to the King's cause. One of them, the Mayor, stopped him.

'Well, my man, where are you going?'

Garth turned his head aside.

'Where are you going?' repeated the Mayor.

'Down to the river, citizen. Came in last night on a barge to sell pigeons.'

'On a barge, eh? Were you molested by the brigands?'

'No, citizen; I joined the barge some two miles up, and saw nothing of brigands.'

The man standing to the left of the Mayor started as he heard the tone of Garth's voice. He looked closely into Garth's face, suddenly pulled off his hat, and with a quick cry, ''Tis the very man!' tried to seize him. Quick as thought, Garth slipped aside, then, before the other two had recovered from their surprise at their companion's strange action, he rushed at the Mayor, threw him over backwards, turned and flung his basket in the face of the other, then wheeled round and ran as fast as the clumsy sabots would allow him, clattering down the passage towards the river, the man behind him shouting, 'Help! a spy--a brigand--help!' Two of his enemies dashed after him, and the Mayor picked himself up and toddled off as fast as his short legs would carry him to call up the nearest guard, two hundred yards away. The National Guard was soon aroused, and the whole garrison was under arms. The dauntless Englishman reached the river. He did not hesitate; pulling off his shoes and flinging them at his pursuers, now only ten yards away, he plunged into the river. A soldier with his gun arrived, pointed his musket at Garth's head, and fired; Garth twisted over and dived, and the bullet hit the water just behind him. Others of the guard came up, fired at his bobbing head, but missed it. On he swam boldly, determinedly; and now the firing has ceased, although he can hear the clamour. His courage and presence of mind had saved him; he was now in a friendly country, and the first man he met was wearing the King's cockade!

But here we must leave our hero, proud that he was an Englishman, and that he afterwards distinguished himself by many deeds of valour, passing unhurt through many dangers, from the worst of which he was rescued by his old friend, Viard the bargeman. How he presently married Lucile de Méricourt, and accepted an appointment at Lisbon, and what became of his friends and foes, is all told by Mr. Rendel in his fine and stirring book, which every British boy who is ready to cheer pluck should read for himself.

JAMES CASSIDY.

FOOTNOTE:

[4] The King's Cockade, by H. Rendel. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Limited, London.)

ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.

True Anecdotes.

III.--TALKS WITHOUT WORDS.

Anybody watching a chance meeting in the street between two animals must see that they hold some sort of conversation. By sounds, signs, or both, they 'pass the time of day,' and make remarks. After settling affairs in their own language, they part, either as the best of friends, or, more frankly than politely, saying, 'Well, I hope I shall never see you again!'

Out in the fields, what horse can bear to see another horse, or even a donkey, turned into the next paddock without running up to have a chat with him? Horses that work together are always on speaking terms. Much rubbing of soft noses, pricking backwards and forwards of the ears, with a snort, playful bite, or whinny, is their talk. After much talk of this sort between two splendid cart-horses, standing in harness, I once saw a fine plan carried out. They had been drawing a heavy load, and were quietly enjoying their feed, each from the nosebag dangling at his head. But the corn dwindled and the last grains of it were hard to reach. It was then that a brilliant idea struck horse number one. He lifted his bag to the middle pole, which he used as a prop; but then there was no room for his companion's bag on it. Horse number two, apparently after asking leave, hoisted his own bag even higher still, and, balancing it on his friend's head, fed in comfort. The pair munched peacefully on, and next day I saw them doing the same thing again.

All animals have a language of sound and sign, which they use as intelligently as deaf and dumb men use the means of expressing thought invented for them. Creatures that live in troops are always under the control of a leader, who manages them by word of mouth or by gestures.

Lieutenant Shipp, in his memoirs, tells of a Cape baboon who was so dishonest as to bring his companions to the barracks, to carry off the soldiers' clothes. The thefts became serious, and a party of soldiers were told off to march against the robbers, and to bring back the booty hidden in the caves of the baboons. But the animal warriors were too cunning. They sent out scouts, to watch the enemy's movements, told off about fifty of their number to guard the entrance to the caves, and posted the rest at various points. The soldiers saw the baboons collecting large stones, and the old grey-headed rascal, who had been ring-leader in raiding the camp, was seen giving orders like a real general. At a scream from him they rolled down great stones upon the men, who were forced to retreat.

Comic as the monkey-folk sometimes are, they can make very touching appeals; they plead very earnestly in their wordless way for their own lives, and still more tenderly on behalf of their helpless young. A letter from Demarara thus describes a meeting between a mother baboon and two men with guns. Mr. S---- levelled his gun to shoot her. The animal seemed at once to understand what would probably take place, and appealingly held out in each hand a baby baboon. His friend said, 'Don't shoot.' 'No, I was not going to,' said Mr. S----. So Mrs. Baboon and her family escaped unhurt, the mother showing, it will be agreed, something greater than ordinary instinct.

Something greater? Yes, love; the greatest of all instincts, higher than reason itself. It is when filled with love for her defenceless babe that the animal-mother learns, by many a wonderful makeshift, to appeal to our pity, and forgets herself for its sake. A beautiful instance of this was lately given in the Daily News.

A labourer, going along a lane, met a little robin redbreast. She flew boldly within reach of his hand, almost dashing against his face, and as he passed on tried to hinder him, uttering all the while piercing cries. At last he stopped at a hole to which she kept flying, and found a rat in the act of carrying off one of her nestlings. The labourer was able to kill the enemy by a blow of his stick as it darted across the lane, and the small mother, after hovering with a different and triumphant note over the poor little dead bird, went gladly home.

In countries where snakes abound, the shriek of a bird whose nest is threatened serves as a signal to its winged neighbours, who throng to the spot and drive away, or often kill, the enemy. Sometimes the ways in which creatures communicate are altogether mysterious. An old goose, who had spent a fortnight hatching eggs in a farmer's kitchen, was suddenly taken ill. She left her nest, waddled to a neighbouring outhouse, and persuaded a young goose to go back with her. The young one instantly scrambled into the vacant nest, and hatched and afterwards brought up the brood. The old goose sat down by the side of the nest to die. As the young goose had never reared a brood before, nor been inside the kitchen, the elder must somehow have explained the duties to her, and the younger have understood and accepted the charge.

It seems, then, that want of understanding on our part, rather than stupidity on theirs, prevents a closer understanding between ourselves and the animal creation. Though we are not able to bridge over the gulf separating speechless animals and men, we may at least take care that the dumb prayers of the 'lower brethren' never fall on wilfully deaf ears, or on unkind hearts.

EDITH CARRINGTON.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 269.)

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Chapter X

The result of Mr. Page's generosity was that when Fred and Charlie went to a tailor's, Ping Wang ordered a Chinese costume. A week later it was sent home, and when Ping Wang put it on, and permitted his pigtail to hang down, he looked quite a different man. That day the family were sitting talking over the coming voyage when a maid came in.

'A man wants to see you, sir,' she said to Mr. Page. 'He says his name is Skipper Drummond.'

'What a lark!' Charlie exclaimed to Ping Wang. 'Shall we carry him down the garden, and pitch him in the duck-pond?'

'Show Skipper Drummond in,' Mr. Page said to the maid, and as she departed he continued, 'Now, you boys and Ping Wang, go into the conservatory, and wait there until I call you.'

Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang stepped into the conservatory, and seated themselves on a rustic bench, so that they could hear what the skipper said without being seen by him.

'Skipper Drummond, sir,' the maid said, as she reopened the door.

The bullying little skipper had evidently made a strong effort to look respectable. He was attired in a shiny black frock-coat, and had it not been for his brightly-coloured tie, one would have imagined that he was going to a funeral. In one hand he held a tall hat; in the other he carried two stiff-looking black gloves.

'Good evening, sir,' he said, as he stepped gingerly across the room, showing as much respect for the carpet as if it was newly-sown grass.

'Take a seat,' Mr. Page said, and he did so.

'I've come about the Sparrow-hawk, sir,' he said, endeavouring to appear more comfortable than he felt.

'Yes.'

'We've had a grand time, sir. Every voyage the Sparrow-hawk makes she improves. There is not a trawler in the North Sea catches more fish than the Sparrow-hawk. She's a beauty, sir; and every one in Grimsby and Hull knows it. Two of the big fleet-owners want to buy her.'

'I suppose that they did not offer so much for her as you are asking from me?'

'They offered more, sir.'

'Then why did you not accept one of the offers?'

'Because it wouldn't have been acting square with you, sir. I am a straightforward man, I am; and having offered the Sparrow-hawk to you at a certain price, I bide by my word.'

'That is very good of you--very good, indeed. It is not often that I meet with such an honourable business man.'

Skipper Drummond sighed deeply, as if he was sincerely sorry for the fact that there were some men who were very dishonourable.

'My idea was,' Mr. Page said, after a few moments' silence, 'to purchase the Sparrow-hawk for my son, and start him in business as a steam-trawler owner. Perhaps it would be well if I introduced you to him at once.'

'I shall be proud to make the young gentleman's acquaintance. I am not a man to boast, sir; but if any one can produce a man that knows more about North Sea fishing than I do, I'm a Dutchman.'

'Charlie!' Mr. Page called out loudly, and in walked from the conservatory Charlie, Ping Wang, and Fred.

'Good evening, skipper!' Charlie exclaimed, cheerfully.

'Good evening, skipper!' Ping Wang added, equally cheerfully.

Skipper Drummond dropped his hat and gloves, and almost started out of his chair. Evidently he had never expected to see either Charlie or Ping Wang again.

'Have you brought us the clothes which we left on the Sparrow-hawk?' Charlie inquired.

'And the pay which you owe me?' Ping Wang added.

'I thought that you were both drowned,' the skipper gasped.

'And no doubt you are almost sorry that we were not,' Charlie remarked. 'However, we have told my father what a wretched old tub the Sparrow-hawk is. We have told him that she is rotten; that her boilers are worn out; that her gear is not up-to-date; that she has the smallest catches of any Grimsby trawler. We have told him also that you have been keeping down expenses by half-starving your men, and that you are the vilest little bully that ever held a captain's certificate.'

'And they also told me,' Mr. Page joined in, 'that you confessed to one of your men that you were about to sell the Sparrow-hawk for half as much again as she was worth. Let me assure you that you will do nothing of the kind. I would not give half the sum which you ask for her. From the first I suspected that you were a swindler, and it was to obtain proof of it that my son shipped with you as a cook. Have you anything that you wish to say in your defence, or will you go at once?'

Skipper Drummond picked up his hat and gloves, and without uttering a word walked out of the room. He was white with rage, but he dared not express his anger in words such as he would have used on the Sparrow-hawk, for Charlie accompanied him to the hall door, and stood in the porch watching him until he had passed into the main road.

'We have seen the last of him, I think,' said Charlie, when the captain was out of sight; 'and I hope that I never meet another man like him.'

On the following evening the Pages had a much more welcome visitor in Lieutenant Williams, who availed himself of Charlie's earnest invitation to come and see him and Ping Wang before they started for China. In private life he was just as cheery, amusing, and good-tempered as on board ship. He told many interesting stories of his work in coper-catching and arrests for illegal fishing. He quite envied Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang their trip to China.

'Perhaps you will be sent to South Africa,' Charlie remarked. 'That would be much better than going with us.'

'Certainly it would,' Williams declared. 'Active service is the best thing that a man in the navy can desire, but I am afraid that there is no chance of my getting to South Africa. At any rate, I shall go on hoping for foreign service of some sort.'

'If he has an opportunity,' Fred declared, after Lieutenant Williams had departed, 'he will make the most of it, I am sure. He is just the kind of man to do something big, and then laugh and pretend that it was a very easy thing to do. I wish that he was coming with us. However, it's no good wishing. I'm going to have a good long sleep for my last night in the old home. Good night, all.'

Charlie and Ping Wang followed Fred's example and went to bed as quickly as possible. They awoke early, and later in the day reached Liverpool and went aboard the Twilight, which was to be their home for five or six weeks.

* * * * *

The Twilight was a cargo boat which had accommodation for twenty saloon passengers, but she rarely carried that number, as, her speed being but ten knots an hour, most people proceeding to China travelled by a faster and, consequently, more expensive steamer.

Soon after she had left Liverpool, Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang began to wonder where the other passengers were.

'They can't possibly be sea-sick already,' Charlie declared, and then seeing the chief steward he inquired how many passengers they had aboard.

'Only you three gentlemen,' the steward answered.

Fred and Charlie looked at each other in amazement. They had fully expected that there would be all sorts of amusements to break the monotony of their long voyage, and their disappointment was great. However, when they found that in consequence of their being the only passengers each might have a cabin to himself, their discontent quickly passed away. And when they got well out to sea they had plenty of amusements, for the captain had the shuffle-board, deck quoits, and other games brought out, and with the second officer and chief engineer played the passengers.

When the three passengers wearied of deck games, they sat on the poop reading some of the books which they had borrowed from the ship's library. Fred sometimes brought out his medical books, but he obtained more practical than theoretical knowledge that voyage, for the ship's doctor--a young fellow who had been recently qualified and was taking a sea voyage, and small pay in return for his medical services--was completely prostrated by sea-sickness, and utterly useless as a doctor. Fred attended to him, doctored such of the crew as needed it, and successfully set a stoker's dislocated forefinger.

(Continued on page 285.)

MICE ON A SUBMARINE.

The sailors in our submarines have found out a simple device to protect their lives whilst on their 'under-sea' trips. Every submarine that goes to sea takes out a couple of mice. If one of these mice shows symptoms of distress, it is a sure sign that the time for coming to the surface has arrived, and that the air of the closed box needs replenishing from the fresh air.

X.

THE FATHER OF ALL.

Little flower, in meadow bright, With thy raiment sweet and white, Knowest thou who set thee there, Gave to thee a dress so fair, Caused thee from the ground to spring, Such a sweet and tender thing, Sent the rain and sent the sun, Sent the stars when day is done?

Little flower, dost thou not know It was God Who made thee grow, Gave to thee thy lovely dress, Such as kings can ne'er possess; Set thee in thy little bed, Gave thee petals, white and red; Sent for thee the dewdrop bright, Shuts thy blossom up at night?

Little bird, high in the air, Flying here and everywhere, Dost thou know who made thy wing, Gave thee thy sweet song to sing; Brought thee o'er the ocean track, Guided thee in safety back, Caused thee with the spring to come To thy green and shady home?

Little bird, God made thy wing, Gave thee all thy songs to sing; Set thee in the woods and trees, Fanned thy nest with gentle breeze. He it was who brought thee home, Safe across the ocean's foam, To the meadows green and bright, Gave thee songs of sweet delight.

ADVICE THAT SAVED A KING'S LIFE.

A certain Khan of Tartary, making a journey with his nobles, was met by a dervish, who cried with a loud voice: 'If any one will give me a piece of gold I will give him a piece of advice.' The Khan ordered the sum to be given him, upon which the dervish said, 'Begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the end.'

The courtiers, upon hearing his plain sentence, smiled, and said with a sneer, 'The dervish is well paid for his maxim.' But the king was so well satisfied with the answer, that he ordered it to be written in golden letters in several places of his palace, and engraved on all his plate.

Not long after, the king's surgeon was bribed to kill him with a poisoned lancet. One day, when the king needed bleeding, and the fatal lancet was ready, the surgeon read on the bowl which was close by: 'Begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the end.' He started, and let the lancet fall out of his hand. The king observed his confusion, and inquired the reason. The surgeon fell prostrate, and confessed the whole affair. The Khan, turning to his courtiers, told them: 'That counsel could not be too much valued which had saved the life of your king.'

W. Y.

LIFE IN BOHEMIA.

Bohemia is a land of rugged mountains and towering pine-forests, with other beauties of its own. Not many years ago it was, to most English people, an unknown land; but in these days, when travelling is so easy and rapid, year by year an ever-increasing number of our countrymen find their way to this beautiful country in search of health and pleasure. You have only to cross the strip of silver sea that rolls between our little island and sunny France or misty Holland, and you may then rush on, borne by the fastest of express trains, over the level plains that greet you on landing, on through the beautiful Rhineland and the quaint old towns of Bavaria, till at length you find yourself in this land of enchantment.

Here, surrounded by the mighty forests, and shut in by the mountains, stands the town of Marienbad. Not very long ago it was a lonely village, inhabited during the summer months by peasants tending their flocks and herds on the pasture of the table-land. In winter it was almost deserted, given over to the wild storms that swept the mountain slopes and to the wolves and bears that roamed through the forests.

Gradually the wonderful qualities of its mineral springs became known, and now a crowd of fashionable folk pour into it during the summer, and in every direction trees are being cut down to make way for villas, and buildings of all kinds, which are springing up like mushrooms.

The peasant-life of the people continues wonderfully simple, and it is very amusing to watch this mixing of modern fashionable life with the primitive ways of the villagers.

English boys and girls would, perhaps, not care to go for a ride in the Bohemian waggons, as they are so fond of doing in ours during harvest-time. These waggons are made of a few long, wide planks, nailed together so as to form a kind of huge trough, and strengthened on the outside by cross-pieces of wood. This is placed upon the framework with which the wheels are connected, and then roughly fastened to it. These clumsy vehicles are drawn over the rough mountain roads by teams of patient oxen. On fête days the cattle look very gay, for then they are decked out with ribbons of many colours.

The women of Bohemia work very hard indeed; they help their husbands in all kinds of work. Among other occupations they act as bricklayers' labourers. They run up and down the tall ladders with heavy loads of bricks or mortar, chattering gaily all the while as if life were one long holiday.

The houses are built in quite a different way from ours. First of all a complete skeleton house is set up, made of wood, and, when this is finished, the spaces between the wooden structure are filled in with bricks and mortar. Before the roof is put on, a large green bush is hoisted up as far as the eaves, and there tied to the scaffolding poles. This is supposed to drive away the pixies or wicked fairies, and no one would dare to put the roof on without the protection of the green bush.

The women also do the work of journeymen bakers. The loaves are of the long kind, sometimes jokingly called 'half-yards of bread.' These are carried on the backs of the women. They look very droll with their huge burdens, the loaves poking out in all directions above their shoulders, making a kind of background to their stooping figures.

Most of the people who visit Bohemia in order to take the mineral waters are very stout. They drink them to make themselves thinner, and the difference in their appearance when they arrive and when they leave is very great. They have sometimes to take mud baths, and it is very amusing to watch them going and returning from these. It does not seem to be a very pleasant way of spending a fine summer morning, but they appear to enjoy it all the same.

The Bohemians are very fond of music, and they never fail to greet any new-comers of importance with a serenade on the evening of their arrival.

HOW TOM DRESSES.

AT HOME.

A grimy face, A muddy boot, A broken lace, And shabby suit; With threadbare knee, And dusty coat, And dirty collar Round his throat.

OUT VISITING.

Now see! his face is All aglow; He's tied both laces In a bow; He's combed his hair, He's brushed his suit-- There's not a speck On either boot; His collar now Is new and clean-- A neater boy I've never seen.

Yet Tom should be, Beyond a doubt, As clean at home As when he's out; For those who dress 'Mid friends to roam, Should dress as well For those at home.

JOHN LEA.

READY!

'What is the use of fagging like that on a hot day?' asked Harold Lock of his brother Frank, who came and flung himself panting on the grass beside him.

'I must keep in training: a fellow so soon gets slack and out of practice if he is lazy,' was the answer.

'Well, being lazy is good enough for me in the holidays,' the elder boy said. 'I should think it pretty hard lines to have to run a mile in this sun.'

'It makes all the difference, though, if you are keen,' Frank told him. 'I want to be the fastest runner in the school, and I don't want to go back and find I am easily beaten in the sports.'

'I don't see the good of it myself,' said Harold, rather scornfully, but Frank only laughed good-temperedly, and began to swing himself on a branch of the tree for change of exercise. If there was one thing he hated more than another, it was sitting still for too long a time.

The same evening the boys were on the platform of the little village station, watching some trucks being shunted from the main line on to a siding. Suddenly there was a loud cry from one of the men engaged in the work as a heavy truck got off the rails, turned over, and dragged another with it. No one was seriously hurt, but the station-master, who was soon on the scene of the accident, turned pale as he saw the obstruction on the line.

'Stop the down express!' he shouted. But the signal-box was a quarter of a mile away, and precious minutes would have passed before he could be near enough for his voice to reach the signal-man. By that time it might be too late to stop the express.

Then, like an arrow, a nimble little figure flew past him. It was Frank, his running powers put to some practical use at last. The station-master followed as quickly as he could. But when at last he came up breathless, he found that Frank had already done his work, and the signal was against the train.

'It's touch-and-go whether we have caught her,' muttered the signal-man, and they all held their breath as the rumble of the train was heard in the distance.

'She's slowing down--she's safe!' gasped the station-master, and he hurried down again, followed by Frank and the signal-man.

But it was only a few yards off the overturned trucks that the express was finally brought to a standstill. The few seconds gained by Frank's speed had saved her. Nothing could have prevented a terrible accident if the signal had not caused the train to slow down just in time.

The passengers crowded round Frank, and thanked him warmly when they heard the story, and a few days later came a more practical expression of their gratitude in the shape of a handsome gold watch.

'So your running was some good after all,' Harold said, and he no longer laughed at his small brother's hobby, but learned to admire the nimbleness of body which, with his ready wit, made him of so much use in an emergency.

M. H.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

IX.--THE EARS AND NOSES OF INSECTS.

Most of us have a vague idea that what we call the 'ear' is only partly concerned with the work of hearing; but only a few know exactly what a complicated organ the ear, as a whole, really is. The external 'ear' only serves as an aid to the collection of sounds, and the real work of hearing is performed by a delicate organ inside the head. Seals, moles, whales, and porpoises, birds, reptiles, and fishes have no visible ear; yet we know that they are not deaf, though in many the hearing must be dull. In all these creatures the sense of hearing lies inside the head.

But the ears of insects must be looked for in strange places indeed, and, when found, they seem to bear no sort of likeness to what most of us call ears. They may be on the antennæ, on the trunk, or on the legs! In the grasshopper, for example (fig. 1), the ear is placed on the abdomen, just above the base of the great hind-leg, so that this leg must be pulled down before the ear can be seen. When this has been done, there will be found an oval drumhead-like spot (figs. 2 and 3); this is the outer surface of the ear. If you had sufficient skill to take away this part of the body, so as to show the inside of this drum, you would find two horn-like stalks, to each of which is fastened a small and very delicate flask, with a long neck. This is filled with a clear fluid, and corresponds to a similar structure within our own ears.

In the green grasshoppers--those delightful sprites of hot summer days--'ears' of a precisely similar structure are found on the fore-leg instead of on the body.

In a little gnat-like insect known as Corethra, common in England during the summer months, the 'ear' takes the form of delicate hairs growing out from the body on a stem, like the teeth of a comb; the base of what corresponds to the back of the comb is connected with a delicate nerve, and this, as in the case of the similar nerve in the grasshopper and locust, makes hearing possible.

Only in some ants and bees, and in some mosquitoes, is the organ of hearing placed on the head. We say on, rather than in, the head, because it is formed by a modification of part of the antennæ. A German naturalist, named Mayer, performed an experiment to prove that the hairs on these antennæ can be made to vibrate by means of a tuning-fork. Only those hairs which have to do with the production of sound answered to the notes of the tuning-fork, and these vibrated at the rate of five hundred and twelve vibrations per second. Other hairs vibrated to other notes, which were those of the middle octave of the piano and the next above it. Mayer also found that certain of these vibrations corresponded with the notes produced by the 'song' of the female mosquito. Consequently, when she begins to 'sing,' her tune, like the tuning-fork, sets in motion those hairs on the antennæ of the male which are tuned to these vibrations. Having once found, by the movement of his antennæ, much as a horse moves his ears, from which direction the sound is coming, the male is able to fly at once to his mate. From the accuracy of this flight, Professor Mayer believes that the perception of sound in these little creatures is more highly developed than in any other class of animals.

In our illustration some of these curious 'ears' are shown. Fig. 2 shows the ear of the grasshopper magnified. In fig. 3 this is further magnified to show the V-shaped mark which represents the horny stalks to which we referred, seen through the clear membrane of the drum. The dark border (B) around the drum represents a raised ridge. In fig. 4 we have the antennæ of a gnat, some of the hairs of which serve as sound-conductors to delicate nerves lying at their base.

* * * * *

The sense of smell in insects lies mainly in those wonderful organs, the antennæ or 'horns.' Scents of various kinds are perceived either through pits, or through peg- or spike-like teeth filled with fluid. The leaf-like plates of the antennæ of the cockchafer (fig. 5) have these pits very highly developed. On the outer surface of the first 'antennal' leaf, as also on the edges of the other leaves, only scattered bristles are seen; but on the inner surface of the first and seventh leaves, and on both surfaces of all the other leaves, there are close rows of shallow, irregularly shaped hollows. Their number is enormous--in the males as many as thirty-nine thousand, and, in the female, thirty-five thousand on each antenna. As some of the scent-laden air reaches the surface of these pits, it causes the nerves of smell to be roused, and so guides the beetle to its mate, or to its food, according to the nature of the smell. These pits are so tiny that they cannot be shown on the antennal leaves of the cockchafer shown in fig. 5, but they are there. On fig. 6 a highly magnified section of one of these 'leaves' of the antenna is shown: 'P' is the pit, 'N' is the nerve, and 'S. C.' the sense-bulb of the nerve in which it terminates--the point at which the smell is perceived.

It has been proved that insects which have lost their antennæ have no sense of smell.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 279.)

Fourteen days after leaving Liverpool the Twilight arrived at Port Said, and Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang at once went ashore. The Pages thoroughly enjoyed their first glimpse of the East, for Ping Wang, knowing the place, took care that they should see everything worth seeing. After sitting for a time in a big café which was crowded with men of almost every European nation, they wandered through the shop district, and out into the Arab portion of the town.

After they had looked at the sights for some little time, Ping Wang suggested that they should have a donkey ride. They had noticed the large, handsome donkeys soon after they landed, but as the passengers from a big P. & O. vessel had come ashore just before they arrived, all the animals were engaged. But when they returned to the busy part of the town they found three donkeys on hire, and the donkey 'boys,' two of whom were elderly men, at once shouted out the names of their animals.

A Port Said donkey sometimes has its name changed three or four times in a year, in consequence of its proprietor's desire that it shall always bear one which is just then popular with Englishmen. You may ride on 'W. G. Grace' in June, and on returning to Port Said in December will discover that the same animal is now called 'Mr. Chamberlain,' or 'Lord Charles Beresford.' The donkeys which Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang found on hire were named respectively 'Lord Roberts,' 'General Buller,' and 'Krüger.'

Charlie sprang on to 'Lord Roberts's' back; Fred made a rush for 'General Buller,' and left Ping Wang to mount 'Krüger.'

'Let us have a race,' Charlie suggested, when they were getting clear of the crowded narrow streets, and immediately all three urged on their donkeys; but, before they had gone many yards, 'Krüger' began to leave his companions behind.

'This will never do,' Charlie declared, and touched up 'Lord Roberts' with his stick. Fred tried to hurry up 'General Buller.' Neither of the animals, however, appeared to be at all anxious to exert themselves, and they would have lost the race had not the donkey-man, remembering that his English patrons always seemed pleased when 'Krüger' was last, caught hold of 'Krüger's' tail with both hands, and, throwing back his head, pulled as if he were engaged in a tug of war. 'Krüger,' not liking this strain upon his tail, slackened speed and stopped. 'Lord Roberts' and 'General Buller,' evidently fearing that if they continued running they would be treated in the same way as 'Krüger' had been, stopped with such suddenness that Fred was shot over his animal's head into the road, and Charlie only just escaped a similar fate by throwing his arms round his Jenny's neck.

'This is a nice thing!' Fred declared, ruefully, as he pointed to a big tear in his trousers. 'To-day is the first time I have worn this suit.'

Ping Wang condoled with him, but Charlie, who always maintained that his brother thought too much of dress, laughed at his mishap.

'If you had been wearing a serviceable suit like mine,' he said, 'your trousers would not have been torn.'

'May the day never come,' Fred answered, solemnly, 'when I have to take your advice on the matter of dress. And now I think it is about time that we returned to the Twilight.'

'Shall we have another race?' Ping Wang asked eagerly, somewhat disappointed at having been robbed of his victory.

'I've had quite enough racing, thank you,' Fred declared, placing his hand over his knee to conceal the rent in his trousers.

'I haven't,' Charlie joined in. 'Come along, Ping Wang.'

Charlie and Ping Wang whipped up their donkeys, but no sooner had they started than Fred's animal, in spite of its rider's efforts to restrain it, bolted after them, and, overtaking them, ran a dead heat with 'Lord Roberts.' 'Krüger' was last.

When, after a little further exploration of the town, they went back to the Twilight, they were thoroughly delighted to find that she had finished coaling, and that nearly all traces of that unpleasant job had been removed.

They went down to dinner at once, and when they came on deck again they were in the Suez Canal. Fred and Charlie found plenty to interest them in the Canal. They saw several thin brown pariah dogs wandering about the desert in search of food, and once a dead camel came floating by them. Towards evening the Twilight had to anchor for a time, and the three passengers, with the captain's permission, went ashore and gathered flowers and shells to send home.

In the Red Sea there was still more to see. All day long the seagulls--brown with white breasts--hovered around the Twilight. Many other birds came and rested on the ship for hours, and, as the weather was intensely hot, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang found it very entertaining to sit quietly in their long chairs and watch their pretty little feathered visitors.

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Chapter XI

Three days after leaving Suez they saw, for the first time, the Southern Cross, and, on the following morning, they steamed into what, at first sight, Fred and Charlie thought was land, but was simply a wide streak of floating sand which had been blown out to sea during a sand-storm.

At night they were now permitted to sleep on deck--a boon which all three appreciated highly. They took their blankets and pillows on to the poop, and slept with greater comfort than they had experienced for many days, though one night they were caught in a heavy thunder-shower.

One morning, when they went on deck, they found it literally strewn with flying fish. The ship's rats had evidently had a good feed, for many of the fish were gnawed and bitten.

'Would you like some flying fish for breakfast, gentlemen?' the cook said to the three passengers as they stood looking at the stranded fish.

'Are they good?' Charlie inquired, suspiciously.

'First class,' the cook declared; so Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang had flying fish for breakfast.

'I can't say that I consider them "first class,"' Fred said when he had eaten two of them, 'but I am glad that I shall be able to say that I have eaten one.'

'Eaten two,' Charlie said, but Fred ignored the interruption.

'I make a practice of tasting any new dish I come across,' he continued.

'When we get to China,' Charlie said, 'Ping Wang will have the pleasure of offering you puppy-dog pie.'

Ping Wang smiled serenely.

'I don't think that you will find Chinese food so bad as you imagine,' he said. 'Certainly it will be better than what we had to eat on the Sparrow-hawk.'

While they were looking at a heap of dead fish, the captain shouted to them to come over to the starboard side; and on doing so they beheld a shoal of small fish being chased by big ones. To escape their pursuers the small fish jumped out of the water, and were instantly seized by the gulls, a flock of which were hovering around. The gulls had a splendid feast, several hundred of small fish being eaten by them before the Twilight steamed away from the shoal.

It was not long before the Twilight arrived at Aden, where they all went ashore for a short time.

After they left Aden the days were extremely monotonous, for there was nothing to be seen but the ocean.

'I shall be jolly glad when the voyage is at an end,' Charlie declared when they had passed Ceylon without catching a glimpse of it.

'So shall I,' Fred answered, 'but it won't be much longer, and then the fun will begin.'

'I hope,' Ping Wang said, 'that you will not mind being dressed as Chinamen.'

'But, my dear fellow,' Fred replied, 'if we were dressed as Chinamen, we should not deceive any one. Our faces are not at all Chinese.'

'I can alter that by shaving your eyebrows.'

'Very likely, but Chinamen without pigtails would be as absurd as a wingless bird.'

'I will buy two pigtails,' Ping Wang declared, calmly.

'What! Surely Chinamen don't wear false pigtails?' Charlie exclaimed.

'Thousands of them do, but, of course they keep it as secret as do your English ladies who wear false hair.'

'But how do they fix it to their head? Stick it on to their bald pates with gum?'

'Oh, no! Chinamen are never quite bald--at least, I have never met any who are--and the pigtail is fixed to what hair they have. My reason for advising you not to have your hair cut in Port Said was that I wanted you to have long hair by the time we reached Hongkong. I think that it is already long enough for pigtails to be attached.'

Charlie was delighted at the prospect of having to don Chinese attire, but Fred was far from pleased. He had provided himself with an excellent khaki campaigning suit, and did not at all like the idea of its lying idle. However, after some further conversation, Ping Wang succeeded in convincing him that, for the success of their plans for recovering the idol, it was necessary that he and Charlie should pass themselves off as Chinese.

'We shall have to eat our food with chop-sticks I suppose?' Charlie remarked.

'Certainly,' Ping Wang replied.

'Then lend me yours, and I'll start practising at once. I don't want to be starved when I get to China.'

Ping Wang lent his chop-sticks willingly, and having obtained some boiled rice from the cook, Charlie practised getting it into his mouth. It was an easier task than he had imagined, and when he had become proficient, he passed the chop-sticks on to Fred, who at once set to work to become as accomplished as his brother. Long before they arrived at Hongkong, Fred and Charlie found it as easy to eat with chop-sticks as with a knife and fork.

(Continued on page 291.)

ONE WAS MISSING.

Two men once stopped at a French inn, and gave in charge of the landlady, who was a widow, a bag of money, telling her to give it up to neither of them unless they were both together. A little while afterwards one of the men came alone and asked the landlady to give up the money under the pretence that his companion had to make an important payment immediately. The widow had paid little attention to what had been said to her before, and now, forgetting all about it, gave up the bag. The rogue disappeared with it so quickly that the landlady asked herself if she had not made a mistake.

The next day the other man turned up, and made the same request as his comrade had done the previous day, and when the widow told him what had happened, he went into a passion, and summoned her for the loss of his money.

Some one who heard of the poor woman's plight advised her to say that she was ready to bring forth the money on the original terms. She asked the plaintiff to produce his comrade. The argument was found plausible by the court, and as the thief took care not to come back, his comrade had to give up his claim.

W. YARWOOD.

PUSSY'S PLAYMATE.

Many instances of curious animal friendships have been recorded, but not many are stranger than that which a correspondent of the Field relates of a kitten and a peacock in his own grounds. The kitten was a half-wild one, living in the shrubberies near the house. All its brothers and sisters had been destroyed or taken away, and the kitten must have felt very lonely when there were none of its own kind to play with. Being very young and playful, it felt that it must have a friend and playmate of some kind, and it looked round to find one. There was a handsome peacock in the grounds, and pussy admired him very much, and thought she would like to play with him. So she tried to form an acquaintance, and, as the peacock was not half so vain as he looked, she succeeded very well. They were soon so friendly that pussy could rub against him and box his ears with impunity; she even tried to scramble upon his back. He took all her play in good part, and seemed to enjoy it quite as much as she did. Perhaps he was flattered by pussy's admiration, or perhaps he felt a true friendship for his strange companion. Whichever it was, he always looked out for his little playmate, and was evidently pleased to see her.

W. A. A.

STRANGE CHILDREN.

We have all seen instances of the affection and care which most animals give to their helpless or nearly helpless offspring. The cat spends nearly all her day coiled up in some quiet, cosy corner with her family of kittens, and when she leaves them for a few minutes, to stretch her limbs and seek some refreshment for herself, the least squeak of one of her children will bring her back to its side. The hen struts about the farmyard surrounded by her chickens, and at the least appearance of danger the brood runs for shelter under her wings. When the lamb in the field strays from its mother's side she is soon alarmed, and shows her fear by her anxious bleating, which does not cease until the lamb returns to her. And thus it is with nearly every animal, tame or wild. Each gives proofs, if we could only see and understand them, of a wonderful and beautiful love for her young.

This motherly care is not quite like the ordinary friendship which one animal may have for another. A cat and a dog may be good friends all their lives. But, though the cat loves her kittens before all things while they are young and weak, later on, when they are sufficiently grown in size and strength to take good care of themselves, her affection gradually dies away, and she becomes indifferent to their wants. Sometimes she will even drive them away from her.

Another feature of this parental love is what might almost be called its unthinking strength. The mother animal feels her affections so strong that she cannot restrain them, and she often bestows them upon the strangest animals, along with her own young ones, or when she has been deprived of her own offspring. A hen will hatch ducks' eggs, and take the same care of the ducklings which she would have taken of her own chickens. I have heard of a hen taking charge of three young ferrets for a fortnight. They were placed in her nest because their own mother had died, and she took to them at once, and nestled down over them just as if they had been chickens. They were too helpless to follow her about, as chickens would have done, and she had to sit with them almost the whole time. She combed out their hair with her bill, just as she would have preened the feathers of chickens. The ferrets were fed by their owner, and they were taken away from the nest before they were old enough to do the hen any harm.

An even stranger instance of this misplaced affection on the part of a parent has been seen at a railway station recently, according to the newspapers. A cat in the goods shed had three kittens, which she was bringing up in the usual way. Soon after the kittens were born, some of the railwaymen found a young jackdaw, and put it with them. The cat made no objection, but received the bird kindly, and gave just as much care to it as to the kittens. The workmen fed the bird, while the cat took every other care of it, and even washed it, in its turn, with the kittens. The rearing was quite successful, and the bird grew up strong and healthy.

W. A. ATKINSON.

A QUEER ADDRESS ON A POST-CARD.

On Coronation Day (August 9th, 1902), a number of balloons filled with natural gas were sent off from Heathfield, near Tunbridge Wells. One of these balloons was picked up on August 10th at Ulm, in Germany, having travelled the six hundred miles in less than twenty-four hours.

Notice of this fact was sent in German by the finder on a post-card, but he evidently did not understand English, for he copied the wording on the little medal fastened to the balloon: 'Natural gas carried me from Heathfield, Sussex.'

With these words for address, the post-card, after some delay, reached Heathfield, and was delivered to the manager of the Natural Gas Works.

S. CLARENDON.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

14.--DECAPITATIONS.

1. Behead weak, and leave a bar. 2. Behead kept too long, and leave an interesting narrative. 3. Behead a firm hard animal substance, and leave a single number. 4. Behead to agitate, and leave a sea-fish. 5. Behead sudden terror, and leave what we should all do. 6. Behead to melt, and leave a berry.

C. J. B.

[Answers on page 339.]

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES ON PAGE 263.

12.--1. Rigid. 2. China. 3. Shovel. 4. Shrewd. 5. Stage. 6. Thanet.

13.--

K NET STARE SCATTER BLESSINGS

THE KING OF THE 'PEELERS.'

About the year 1845, a 'Ragged School,' as it was called, was started in a very poor quarter of London, but so turbulent and noisy were the boys that at last the teachers found themselves obliged to engage the services of a policeman to keep order.

This policeman was himself a 'bit of a scholar,' and had also a love of boys, and he suggested that if he took a class in the school it might be the best way of maintaining order amongst the unruly crew.

The experiment was tried, and proved a great success. The worst and noisiest boys were drafted into the policeman's class, and he somehow tamed them all. More than that, his class was so popular that all the boys wanted to belong to it, and they gave their constable the title of 'King of the Peelers.'

'Peelers,' a name which has been nearly ousted by our slang word 'Bobby.' was derived from Sir Robert Peel, who instituted the police. 'Bobby,' of course, comes from Peel's Christian name.

X.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 287.)

It was early one morning when the Twilight arrived at Hongkong, and the Pages and Ping Wang at once went ashore in a sampan, or native boat, to present a letter of introduction which they had brought from England.

Although it was only half-past six when they arrived at the Hongkong merchant's office, they found the manager, to whom their letter was addressed, already hard at work. He had received, some days before, from the head of the firm in London, notification of the Pages being on their way to Hongkong, and greeted them very cordially.

'I had hoped,' he said, after a few minutes' conversation, 'that you would have been here a day or two ago, for there is a very decent boat starting for Tien-tsin this afternoon, on which you would have been very comfortable. The next one will not be leaving until to-day three weeks.'

'Then let us start this afternoon,' Charlie exclaimed.

'I am quite willing,' Ping Wang said, 'if we can get you and Fred disguised in time.--As we are going to my native village, which is a very anti-foreign place,' he continued, addressing the manager, 'I think that it will be wise to have my friends disguised as Chinamen.'

'If they can act up to their disguise the suggestion is an excellent one,' the manager declared, 'for there are rumours that the Boxers or Big Sword Society are threatening to drive out all the foreigners in the land. If you wish to go on by this afternoon's boat there should be no difficulty about getting your friends disguised in time. I will send for my barber and tailor at once.'

The manager sent for the barber and tailor, and also dispatched a message to the skipper of the boat which was sailing that afternoon, the Canton. The Pages and Ping Wang had breakfast when these orders had been given, and long before they had finished their meal the barber arrived, the tailor following him very quickly. After breakfast the manager took his guests up to his bedroom, and called to the barber and the tailor to follow them. The latter had brought with him an excellent assortment of Chinese garments, and from them Ping Wang speedily selected suitable clothes for his English friends. He also chose, with the aid of the barber, a couple of splendid pigtails. Charlie having paid for the goods, the tailor departed, leaving the barber to begin shaving the Englishmen's heads and eyebrows.

Fred was the first to be operated on, and Charlie laughed heartily when he saw the alteration which the loss of eyebrows made in the appearance of his brother. The barber was a quick worker, and turning his attention to Fred's head, speedily removed with scissors and razor a large portion of his hair. He found, however, that although Fred's hair had been allowed to grow during the voyage, it was not sufficiently long for a pigtail to be tied securely to it. Therefore he sewed the pigtail to the inside of a skull-cap, and placed the cap on Fred's head.

'It is very well done,' Ping Wang admitted, when Fred was fully dressed in Chinese garments. 'If I had glanced at you casually out of doors, I should not have suspected that you were not a Chinaman.'

'But I don't like the idea of wearing this little cap,' Fred protested; 'I shall get sunstroke.'

'When you go into the sun you can wear a beehive,' Ping Wang replied, pointing to several big Chinese hats which the tailor had left for inspection.

Charlie's disguise was completed with even more speed than Fred's had been.

'It's splendid,' Charlie declared, as he surveyed himself in the glass; 'don't you think so, Fred?'

A few minutes later the barber was dismissed, and the four of them returned to the sitting-room, where the skipper of the Canton was awaiting them. He shook hands with the manager and greeted the other three men in Chinese. Charlie was nearest to them, and feeling that politeness demanded that he should say something, blurted out, 'Je ne parle pas Chinese.'

The skipper looked puzzled, and the manager, who was already in a laughing humour, roared, but Ping Wang was very serious.

'I say, Charlie,' he exclaimed, 'do remember that you are not to answer any one who addresses you in Chinese, or we shall be discovered.'

The skipper looked at Charlie in surprise. It was the first time that he had heard a Chinaman called Charlie.

'Two of these gentlemen are Englishmen,' the manager explained. 'What do you think of their disguise?'

'It is excellent. If I had not heard you speak,' he added, addressing Ping Wang, 'I should never have believed that you were an Englishman.'

'I'm not one,' Ping Wang declared merrily; 'I'm a Chinaman.'

'Well, who am I to believe?' the skipper exclaimed in bewilderment.

'They are the Englishmen,' the manager answered, pointing to Fred and Charlie; 'the other gentleman is a Chinaman. But to come to the point, I want you to take my three friends to Tien-tsin. They wish to be undisturbed, and do not want it to be known that they are not Chinamen. Therefore let every one--even the mate--fancy that they are Celestials.'

'I understand. I will have the saloon berths got ready at once. What time will they come aboard? I shall sail about four.'

'Will half-past three be early enough?'

'Half-past three, sharp, will do.'

The skipper departed a few minutes later, leaving the three travellers alone with the manager.

'Let us sit in the verandah,' the manager suggested, and for fully two hours they sat in long chairs chatting together, and watching the busy scene in the street below.

'Would it not be a good idea if we went for a short stroll?' Fred asked, after a time. 'It would accustom us to appearing in public in our Chinese garb.'

'That is a good suggestion,' Charlie declared. 'Don't you think so, Ping Wang?'

'You would be safer here,' said Ping Wang, 'but if you wish to go out, I will come with pleasure. We must not go far. We needn't wear our beehives. We will keep in the shade.'

'We mustn't walk three abreast, I suppose?' Fred remarked, as they quitted the premises.

'No,' Ping Wang answered. 'It will be better to walk single file. I'll walk in the rear, so that I can keep watch on you, and hurry forward if any of my countrymen speak to you. Don't walk fast.'

Charlie stepped into the street, Fred followed, and Ping Wang brought up the rear. At first Charlie and Fred felt decidedly uncomfortable, and fancied that every one who glanced at them had discovered that they were not Chinamen.

(Continued on page 300.)

WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

VIII.--THE CAVERNS OF LURAY.

The United States of America, forming such a huge country, seem to have been provided by Nature with fittings on a similar scale. Niagara, the Rocky Mountains, the big trees of the Yosemite Valley, the wonders of Yellowstone Park and the Mammoth Cave are instances of this, and the caverns of Luray, some eighty miles from Washington, are both in size and beauty not unworthy of their mighty mother-land. They were only brought to light in 1878, although the existence of several small hollows in the neighbourhood had suggested that larger caverns might be found, and it was when actually looking for another entrance into one of the known grottoes that a Mr. Andrew Campbell accidentally came upon this wonder of the world. With an eye to business, the find was without delay turned to profit, and a Company formed which has lighted the caverns with electricity and put staircases and paths for the convenience of visitors, who flock there in great numbers. Some idea of the vast size of the caves may be gained from the fact that the electric wire is three and a half miles long, and that this only illuminates the chief halls and galleries. Each visitor carries a tin reflector to penetrate dark corners and smaller passages.

One curious cavern is called the Fish Market, from rows of fish-shaped stalactites hanging from the roof, looking exactly like bass or catfish hung on a string. Another is known as the Toyshop, from quantities of stalactites twisted into all possible shapes, many of which suggest some well-known plaything. In one place is a huge cascade of alabaster resembling a frozen waterfall, and frequently the walls appear to be hung with curtains and draperies of gleaming white, or tinted with all shades of beautiful colours. In one cavern six curious blade-shaped stalactites are called the Major Chimes. When struck by the hand they give out sweet musical tones, the vibrations of which last from a minute to a minute and a half, and resound to far-distant parts of the caverns. One enormous stalagmite bears the name of the Hollow Column, and measures one hundred feet round by forty feet high. This column shows plainly the overwhelming force of a current of water, as it is pierced from top to bottom, and visitors climb right up inside to explore the great galleries above the Giant's Hall. Learned people say that some time in the days of long ago, when the cave was filled with angry water trying to find a way of escape, the flood forced a passage right through the heart of this huge stalagmite, and on subsiding left a hollow column where it had found a solid one. The 'Tower of Babel' is another wonderful sight, with twenty-two rows of dwarf columns, and from it we pass into the Giant's Hall, where the colossal stalagmites look like monster chess kings and queens standing on pedestals. One of these is particularly beautiful, being white below and changing above to a delicate rose-pink, the colour of the inside of a shell.

One enormous stalactite was taken from the roof, and presented to the Smithsonian Institution at Washington. It weighed a thousand pounds, and was removed with great care. First it was wrapped all over in cotton cloth, every little point being separately packed. Then bits of wood were fitted exactly between the points, and, to prevent any jarring, a wooden case was built round it while it was still hanging from the roof of the cave. Then, resting on a scaffolding, it was sawn from the rock, cautiously lowered, and sent off to its new home.

From marks of claws on the stalagmites, as well as of teeth, it is clear that some of the caverns have been used by huge animals in former times, and many impressions of smaller animals are also found, such as wolves, panthers, rats, and rabbits. These marks are perfectly clear, and they must be of great age, as the stalagmites on which they are found have grown into huge pillars carrying the records of their visitors up with them far out of reach.

In one cavern, known as the Round Room, arrow and spear heads have been found, proving that human beings formerly made use of the caves.

One peculiar feature of these caves are what appear to be limpid pools, though really they are quite dry now. An unfortunate traveller slipped into one of these many years ago, when the pool was not fully hardened, and the impression of his form is still quite clearly seen, whilst the pool, in honour of him, is known as Chapman's Lake.

THE SONG OF THE BROOM.

Dust! dust! dust! dust! Carpet, curtain, window, floor; Right, left, thrust, thrust-- Clouds are rising more and more! Sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep-- Kitchen, parlour, passage, stair; Sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep-- That's what I'm obliged to bear! Dust, dust, dust, dust, In the lofty attic found; Dust, dust, dust, dust, In the cellar underground.

Cobwebs, spiders, beetles, flies, Nooks and corners dark and drear, That is where my pathway lies, Month by month and year by year; Buckets, boxes, brushes, boots, Near to me for ever dwell; No one lets me share the fruits Of the work I do so well; Boys and girls will often play In some clean and pleasant room, Making litter all the day, For the poor unhappy broom.

No one shows me gratitude; No one cares a jot for me, For when work is done I'm stood In some gloomy scullery. But no matter! time will come-- When my hair is worn away, I shall rest, while some new broom Does what I must do to-day.

ONE MORE CHANCE.

'I want you to look after the new boy, Angus,' said Mrs. Macdonald, the wife of the head master, to her son.

'Oh, Mother, I know that means he is either a molly-coddle or a black sheep. I remember the time I had when you set me on to look after young Smith.'

'My boy, I want your help. I am sure you will not refuse it.'

'Well, fire away, Mother. Let me know the worst,' and Angus put on a resigned look.

'It is Andrews, the boy who has been sent home from India,' Mrs. Macdonald explained. 'He has been brought up so badly. His mother died when he was a baby, and he has been quite neglected, and left to native servants. His father writes that he hopes English school-life will break him of the bad habits he has formed, but I am afraid it will be no easy matter. Of course, I am telling you this in confidence, Angus, but I cannot help thinking of the fight the poor boy has before him, and I want you to understand it and to befriend him.'

'Well, this is a nice treat for me,' Angus said. 'But you know, Mother, you always get your own way, and so I suppose I must do the best I can for him.'

'Thank you, my boy; I knew I could count on you. I want Andrews to have a real chance.'

'How about me, though?' asked Angus, with a smile. 'Perhaps I shall learn his bad habits, instead of breaking him of them!'

'I am not afraid,' said his mother, proudly, as she left him.

A month later Angus Macdonald told himself he had not done much towards fulfilling his promise, although he had faithfully tried.

Andrews was a most difficult boy to deal with. He was untruthful, and seemed to have no idea of honour, and he had a hot, passionate temper. On the other hand, he could evidently be led by his affections to some extent. He liked Macdonald, who had taken his part once or twice when the other boys were bullying him, and he would have done anything to show his gratitude.

'But I cannot stick up for you if you are not straight, Andrews,' Macdonald had told him plainly. 'And you will never get on here unless you act on the square and tell the truth always.'

'Indeed, I will try,' Andrews would say, and within an hour or so he would very likely be detected in some mean, deceitful act, which would make Macdonald inclined to throw up his charge and let him go his own way. Then he would remember he was the boy's only friend, and would make up his mind to give him another chance.

Howard, one of the bigger boys, lost no opportunity of bullying Andrews. He was no friend of Macdonald's, and so he took a delight in making the younger boy show off his worst points.

'Hullo, nigger, keep your hair on!' he said tauntingly one day when Andrews was beginning to get angry about some trick that had been played on him. The words made Andrews furious.

'I am as English as you are; how dare you call me that name?' he cried, and flew at his tormentor, who of course made short work of him. In a moment Andrews was lying on the floor, with Howard ready to upset him if he got up again. But after a time Howard let him go, and he walked away, vowing vengeance in his heart.

The same evening he was in the play-room alone, and he remembered that Howard had received a hamper the day before, the contents of which were packed away in his cupboard.

The temptation was too great. First, there was his love of sweet things; then his long-accustomed habit of never denying himself anything he wanted, if he could get it by fair means or foul. And his lessons in honour had been learnt such a little time that the disgrace and wrong of stealing scarcely troubled him. Finally, he would be doing his enemy an injury, and the thought of revenge was sweet to him.

He had cut some rich plum-cake, and was eagerly devouring it, when Howard came suddenly into the room and caught him in the act.

'You young rascal!' he cried, catching hold of the younger boy and tweaking his ear so unmercifully that he cried out with pain. 'I shall just make you pay for this.'

At the same moment Macdonald appeared in the doorway.

'What's the row?' he asked.

'Why, your precious friend is the row,' Howard said. 'I hope you are proud of him--the little thief! I will leave you to enjoy one another's company,' and he turned away, not sorry to have such a story to tell the other boys.

'Now you see what you have done!' Macdonald said to the culprit, who was hanging his head, remorse having overtaken him. 'How can you hope to keep your friends if you bring disgrace on them?'

'I didn't think,' murmured the unhappy boy. 'Oh, yes, I see now! Of course, you can never speak again to a boy who is a thief. It doesn't matter. I don't care what becomes of me now,' and he turned miserably away.

There was such a forlorn look about him that Macdonald was touched in spite of his anger. There flashed into his mind his mother's words, and also those others from an even Higher Authority--'until seventy times seven.'

'Hold hard, Andrews,' he said. 'I will give you one more chance.'

Then the boy broke down and promised he would never forget his friend's kindness, but would fight hard to win the victory over his faults.

And although he did not succeed without some more falls, he did, to the best of his ability, keep his word, and in the end took an honourable place in the school.

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

IX.--HERR ANDRÉE AND HIS BALLOON.

On the 7th June, 1896, the steam-ship Virgo sailed from the port of Gothenburg in Sweden with a very distinguished company on board. Rising young engineers, students of the Stockholm Polytechnic, and gentlemen of scientific fame, had engaged themselves as common sailors, so deep was their interest in the object for which the Virgo sailed. The principal person on board was Herr Solomon Auguste Andrée, who, with two companions, Dr. Erkholm and Dr. Strindberg, was bent on making an adventurous attempt to reach the North Pole by means of a balloon. The Virgo was therefore steering for the lonely shores of Spitzbergen, six hundred miles south of the Pole. Here the balloon would be inflated to carry Herr Andrée and his companions (it was hoped) over the rest of that pathless, snowbound journey. The balloon itself, at present, lay carefully packed in its berth, together with the car and the apparatus for making the necessary gas. It had been manufactured in France a month before, and while on exhibition for four days at the Champ de Mars, had been seen by thirty thousand visitors.

But the very finest balloon in the world could not sail against the wind, and, though on the 27th July it was inflated and quite ready for flight, the north wind blew steadily down from the Pole as though to say, 'You are not wanted here! You are not wanted here!'

Herr Andrée and his friends waited patiently for three weeks, and then, as it still blew from the north, he ordered the gas to be let out and the silk bag packed for a return to the south. The captain of the Virgo said that he feared, if they stayed longer, his ship would be frozen in. The shed which they had erected on Dane's Island was left standing for use another time, together with the machinery for making the gas.

Nine months later, on May 30th, 1897, the Svensksund (a ship lent to the expedition by the King of Sweden) landed Andrée once more at Dane's Island, and once more he filled his air-ship with gas. This time it had been considerably increased in size, and measured sixty-six feet in diameter, with room for one hundred and seventy-six thousand cubic feet of gas. The globe was made of bands of silk eighteen inches wide, varying in thickness according to the strains it would have to bear. It was provided with two additional valves and an arrangement called a 'rending flap.' This flap was intended to avoid bumping, when, at the end of the voyage, the aeronauts would descend for the last time. A rope, carrying a small grapnel at one end, was at the other end attached to the 'flap.' The moment the grapnel was thrown out and caught in the ground, the tightened rope would tear a large opening in the balloon and let out all the gas instantaneously. If care in construction had been all that was necessary to make Herr Andrée's journey a success, then our story would surely have had a happier ending.

Again, as in 1896, the contrary wind delayed the start, but on July 11th it veered round to the south, and though it was by no means a settled wind, Herr Andrée decided to weigh anchor. All was ready. A hasty note to the King of Sweden was written by the leader. Farewells were spoken, and the captain leapt into his car.

'Strindberg! Frankel!'[5] he cried, 'we must be off!'

The next moment his two fellow-travellers stood at his side. Each held a knife with which to cut loose three bags of ballast that kept the balloon from rising. It was an impressive moment, and those who stood on that lonely shore to wish Godspeed to the tiny expedition are not likely to forget the smallest detail of the scene. The ballast fell, and the 'Ornen' (as the balloon was named) rose a little way, being still held by three strong ropes. Near each of these a sailor stood with a knife ready to cut the rope the moment Herr Andrée gave the word. A little more delay, till the great globe swayed to a favourable puff of wind, and then Herr Andrée called, 'One, two! Cut the ropes!'--and the balloon rose into the air, while the quiet shores of the lonely little island echoed the hearty cheers of the company left behind.

From the car of the balloon hung a long 'trailing' rope, which it was Andrée's intention to keep always in contact with the earth or water, and by so doing control the direction of the balloon. Between the car and the balloon itself was an arrangement of three sails, which could be trimmed to the wind against the resistance of the trailing rope. The great difficulty in steering balloons has always been that since they travel at exactly the same speed as the wind, there is nothing for sails to react against; but by checking the speed of the balloon (just as the speed of a ship is checked by the water) this difficulty may be got over to some extent.

So Herr Andrée dropped his trailing rope, and, as he left Dane's Island, those who had gone to see him off watched the little bubbling wake that was left behind by the rope. Narrower and narrower it grew in the distance till it was no more than a silver line, and the vast balloon above it moved like a grey shadow on the Arctic sky. The three explorers in the car were soon beyond the reach of sight, but the crew of the Svensksund never took their eyes from the air-ship till, sailing in a north-easterly direction at a height of about one hundred and fifty feet, it disappeared behind a range of low hills.

Eleven days later a message was received by carrier pigeon (the fourth dispatched by Herr Andrée). It stated that on July 13th, two days after the departure, all was going well. On August 31st a floating buoy was found in the Arctic seas, and contained another message, but as it was dated July 11th it was of less interest than the first.

Since then the explorer and his companions have passed from our knowledge as completely as the silver wake of his trailing rope has faded from the Arctic sea. The efforts made to follow its mysterious path have failed for eight years, and the traveller's fate is another secret locked in these frozen regions.

JOHN LEA.

FOOTNOTE:

[5] Herr Frankel had taken the place of Dr. Erkholm, who had retired from the enterprise.

A STRONG MOTIVE.

Robert Louis Stevenson tells of a Welsh blacksmith who, at the age of twenty-five, could neither read nor write. He then heard a chapter of Robinson Crusoe read aloud. It was the scene of the wreck, and he was so impressed by the thought of what he missed by his ignorance, that he set to work that very day, and was not satisfied until he had learned to read in Welsh. His disappointment was great when he found all his pains had been thrown away, for he could only obtain an English copy of the book. Nothing daunted, he began once more, and learned English, and at last had the joy and triumph of being able to read the delightful story for himself.

A strong motive and a steady purpose overcome the greatest difficulties.

M. H.

DIAMONDS.

A man named John O'Reilly died not long ago in a store near Taungs, in the Kimberley district of South Africa. Few people, perhaps, remember or know that this man began the great diamond trade of Africa.

The story is quite a romance. In 1867 the baby son of a Mrs. Jacobs found 'a pretty pebble' near the Orange River, and brought it to his mother. She showed it to a Boer, who offered to buy it. 'You may have it as a gift,' laughed the woman; 'there is no value in it.'

The Boer thought otherwise, and showed it to O'Reilly, who was then a travelling trader. He took it to Colesberg, and there cut his initials with it on the window of an inn, proving the stone to be a diamond.

It was then shown to the Clerk of the Peace, and finally it reached the Colonial Secretary, and was sent to the Paris Exhibition, where it was sold for five hundred pounds, and established the fact that diamonds could be found in the Colony.

But it was some years yet before people in Cape Colony at all realised the wealth of diamonds which lay scattered at their very feet. A Boer, living at Dutoitspan, found a diamond sticking in the mud walls of which his house was built, and in July, 1871, a man scratched the soil near Colesberg Kopje with his knife, and unearthed a diamond. A town was built round it, which has grown into the modern Kimberley.

So, from John O'Reilly's first diamond of five hundred pounds has grown a great trade, which last year produced diamonds valued at over four million pounds sterling.

There is little doubt that though Cape diamonds were 'discovered' first in 1867, they were known in Africa long ago. Stone and bronze instruments found beside skeletons in the Orange Free State show that pre-historic miners had been at work, and on an old map of 1750 the words, 'Here be diamonds' are written across what is now Griqualand West.

SAD COMPANY IN THE NURSERY.

I found in a nursery corner, A pocket-knife, pen, and a ball, And this was the story they told me, If I can remember it all.

'My beautiful handle was broken,' The pocket-knife mournfully cried, 'When Alfred forced open the clock-face To see if old Time was inside.'

'And look,' said the ball with a shudder, 'I'm scratched in a horrible way, Because through the drawing-room window He carelessly flung me to-day.'

'And worse,' cried the pen in a passion, 'Worse, worse than their troubles a lot! I've been in disgrace, since he used me, For making a terrible blot.'

And then they all cried in a chorus: 'In sorrow we're ending our days, Because Master Alfred is careless, And walks in such mischievous ways.'

THE JUMPING MOUSE.

New Jersey, in the United States of America, still has the name given it when British explorers paid their first visit, but it does not look new at present, and we can hardly believe that a few hundred years ago savages roamed in its forests and woods. Many of its old trees have been cut down, yet some remain to make a pleasant shade, and some curious wild animals are found in its woodlands, which are very plentiful; there is the dull-coloured wood-mouse, which often escapes notice amongst the herbage; the lively, more conspicuous white-footed species; and especially the jumping mouse, the briskest and most amusing of all.

The jumping mouse is a lover of woods or copses, but it comes also to the open ground, where, probably, it is in more peril from bird-foes; and it will visit garden shrubberies, and build a nest for itself in the corner of some zigzag fence. Some people who have watched this mouse have told us how active it is by night, but it may often be seen on a summer's day running home to the nest, with the pouches in its cheeks full of food, to be hoarded up or given to the young ones. It can run with great speed, as well as leap. Now and then a mother mouse may be noticed basking in the sun, her little ones round her, generally keeping near the nest.

Usually, it is only when in danger or frightened that the little creature travels along in its peculiar jumping way. It appears that wherever a jumping mouse is, be it field or woodland, it takes to the thick grass or underbrush, probably because amongst these it finds the food required. But in these places it is in peril from enemies coming suddenly to seize it, and the mouse has a great advantage by being able to leap, and not run through tangled grass.

People have disagreed as to the distance these mice can jump; five or six feet has been stated, but that is beyond the fact. A gentleman who had a tame specimen found that on his parlour carpet it would jump about two feet, though very likely, if in danger, it would have covered a greater distance.

When the sharp frosts of autumn have begun, the jumping mouse looks out for a winter retreat. It is able to dig, and so it burrows down into the earth, when it is not too hard, and scoops itself a nest. Away from observation and sheltered from the cold, it curls round, head, tail, and feet together, eating occasionally from its store, till the spring days rouse it to fresh energy.

J. R. S. C.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 293.)

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Chapter XII

Before the three adventurers had gone many yards, a Chinese beggar sidled up to Charlie and begged his honourable brother to bestow a gift upon the degraded dog who addressed him.

At first Charlie did not know whether the man was asking what the time was, or whether he desired to be directed to some place. So he gave a glance round, and discovering that the man was begging he shook his head gravely. The beggar departed, and Charlie inwardly congratulated himself on having done very well. His self-satisfaction was, however, short-lived. He looked round to assure himself that Fred and Ping Wang were following him, and just as he did so a European lady stepped out of a shop, and her parasol, which she was in the act of opening, prodded him in the back. He turned sharply, and the lady, believing him to be a Chinaman, apologised in Chinese. Seeing that she was apologising Charlie quite forgot his disguise, and seizing his skull-cap, raised it. Of course the pigtail came off with it, to the amazement of the lady, who stepped quickly into her trap and drove off.

Fred had the greatest difficulty in preventing himself from laughing aloud, but Ping Wang hurried forward, and taking Charlie by the arm, said in an undertone, 'Come into this shop: you have put your cap on crooked.'

The Chinese shop assistant laughed heartily as he saw Ping Wang arrange Charlie's skull-cap. He saw that Charlie was a European, but, as Ping Wang said later, it was better that he should discover it than some of the street loafers, who would probably have set to work to find out the reason for an Englishman being disguised as a Chinaman.

'We had better go back at once,' Ping Wang said, as they quitted the shop, and they walked to their temporary home without further adventure.

The manager was highly amused on hearing of Charlie's mishap, but when his merriment had subsided he gave the brothers a few words of advice.

'You will have to be very careful indeed when you get away from the treaty ports,' he said earnestly, 'for if people discovered you in Chinese attire, they would think that you were disguised for some evil purpose. Of course, there are some missionaries who wear Chinese dress, but the people know them, and understand their reasons. But you, not being missionaries, would naturally be regarded with great suspicion, and would probably be punished severely--perhaps executed.'

'I will remember what you have said,' Fred answered, 'and I am very much obliged to you.'

'And so am I,' Charlie declared. 'My brother and I will be very careful after to-day.'

The conversation was now changed to home affairs, for the manager, being a thorough-bred Englishman, was anxious to hear the latest news of London.

Soon after lunch they went aboard the Canton, which they found to be a small and poky vessel. The saloon placed at their disposal was very similar to the after-saloons which Charlie and Ping had seen in the North Sea steam trawlers; that is to say, the bunks were round the table.

The trip to Tien-tsin occupied several days, and all on board, except the skipper and his mate, being Chinamen, Charlie and Fred were compelled to speak very little, and then only in an undertone, for fear that they should be overheard. However, they managed to enjoy themselves, as Ping Wang taught them several exciting Chinese games.

'In which direction do you intend to travel when we reach Tien-tsin?' the skipper of the Canton asked Ping Wang, shortly after they had passed Taku.

'Up the Pei-ho,' Ping Wang answered. 'By-the-bye, I suppose you know several boatmen who work up the river?'

'I have a slight acquaintance with a score or so of them, and if you wish to get a passage on one of their boats I dare say that I can manage to choose a fairly honest man.'

'That is just what I do want. Of course it can never do to let him know that my friends are Englishmen. He might refuse to take them.'

'He would take them readily enough; but he would demand an absurdly high price for it; and, possibly, when you reached your destination, he would make known that they were foreigners.'

'That is highly probable,' Ping Wang admitted. 'I am afraid that some one on board is certain to discover that our friends are not Chinamen.'

'Pretend that they are both ill, and that they must on no account be disturbed. Then they will be able to escape being spoken to.'

'That is a very good idea,' Ping Wang declared; but when they arrived at Tien-tsin, and he and the skipper started bargaining with a small cargo-boat owner for passages, it was found that the idea was not so good as he expected.

'I will not take them,' the boatman declared, when he heard that two of his proposed passengers were invalids. 'They will die on my boat, and then their spirits will haunt me.'

Neither Ping Wang nor the skipper of the Canton had thought of this objection--a very natural one from a Chinese point of view.

'But these men will not die,' the skipper declared, hurriedly. 'It is only bad eyes that they are suffering from. They have come from Hongkong with Ping Wang, and, if they are not worried, they will soon be well again.'

For a moment the Chinese boatman was silent.

'I will take them,' he said, at length, 'if my honourable brother, Ping Wang, will promise that if they become very ill he will throw them overboard, so that they shall not die in my boat.'

'I promise,' Ping Wang said, and he had no qualms about making that vow, for Fred and Charlie were in splendid health, and it was very unlikely that they would become seriously ill during the two days' journey up-river.

'It seems to me,' Charlie said, when he heard of the arrangement that had been made, 'that I shall never make a really enjoyable trip on water. My first voyage I made as a cook, and had a bullying skipper to worry me. Then I escaped to what I thought was a mission ship, but it turned out to be a rascally coper. On the Canton I had to pretend that I was a Chinaman, and now, if I get ill, I'm to be thrown overboard.'

'You have told the boatman that my brother and I are suffering from bad eyes,' Fred remarked to Ping Wang; 'but he will see at a glance that there is nothing the matter with them.'

'I have thought of that,' Ping Wang answered, 'and have bought a pair of Chinese goggles for each of you. I wonder that I didn't think of them when we were at Hongkong, for they will make your disguise much more complete. At present your eyes do not look at all like Chinamen's.'

Charles and Fred at once put on the goggles which Ping Wang gave them, and the skipper declared that now, if they did not speak aloud, no one would guess that they were not Chinamen.

'We ought to go at once,' said Ping Wang; and, after shaking hands with the skipper, the three travellers quitted the Canton, and made their way towards the boat.

In less than five minutes the three travellers reached the spot where it was moored. It was a long, heavy boat. The cargo was packed in the middle of the boat, and near the stern was a roughly-made awning, composed of mats and dirty-looking cloth, which had been erected for the comfort of Ping Wang's invalids.

Charlie and Fred walked aboard in silence, and assumed invalids' airs with so much success that the boatman, believing them to be seriously ill, said to Ping Wang, as he passed him, 'Honourable brother, do not forget the promise which you made to your worthless servant--that if the honourable lords with sore eyes get worse you will throw them into the river.'

'Have I not promised you?' Ping Wang asked, haughtily. 'Do you doubt my word?'

The boatman protested, humbly, that Ping Wang's word could not possibly be doubted by his disreputable servant, adding, moreover, that he lived simply to obey him.

The wooden seats under the awning were hard and uncomfortable, and Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were soon tired of sitting there, especially as they dared not talk, for fear of being overheard. Once Ping Wang caught the boatman peeping under the awning. He seized him quickly, and demanded his reason for prying on the sick travellers.

'Noble brother,' the boatman answered, trembling with fear, 'I wanted to see if they were dying.'

'They are getting better,' Ping Wang declared. 'It is a good thing for you that they are not dying, for their father is as rich as a mandarin; and if I had to throw them overboard he would certainly have you executed.'

Ping Wang's romancing had the desired effect. The boatman shook with fear, and, kowtowing before Ping Wang, groaned aloud.

'I shall be glad if they will die in my boat,' he declared, without the slightest intention of intimating that he hoped that Charlie and Fred would die. He was too excited to speak calmly: for, though he dreaded the spirits, he had a greater fear of mandarins.

From that minute Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were left undisturbed. The boatman's four assistants shunned the awning, as if it sheltered lepers, and were apparently greatly relieved when an opportunity occurred for them to go ashore and tow the boat. The boatman remained on board, but, except when Ping Wang addressed him, kept at a respectful distance from the passengers.

(Continued on page 308.)

WHAT KATIE HEARD.

'How very annoying!'

'It is really too bad to have this noisy creature foisted on us just now.'

Katie stood on the doorstep of her aunt's house in a very stiff, pink frock. Her cheeks were red and rosy, for it was a warm summer day, and her feelings were just those of any little girl who is paying her first real visit to an aunt in the country.

The speakers were Katie's two cousins, Janet and Clare, and the words came very clearly through the curtains and open windows, as Katie stood there, wondering whether the bell had really rung, or whether she had better give it another tug. She saw her own reflection in the shining bell-handle, and it had gone crimson all at once.

Poor Katie! Mother had told her she would be expected, and this was what her cousins thought about her!

Was it not a dreadful state of affairs for a small girl at the beginning of her first visit? Katie shut her mouth tight, and clenched her small, hot hands, in a desperate effort to look just ordinary. It was very hard to be brave. She would have liked to run away, but she knew that would be cowardly. Her cheeks kept growing hotter and hotter. It was mean, she had always heard, to listen to things that were not intended for one. Plainly, there was only one course: to go right on, and not let anybody know that she had overheard those dreadful, unkind words.

The waiting and the silence was almost too much. The girls' voices died away in the room; a bee was buzzing in a foxglove bell at her elbow, and some cows went quietly up the lane past the green garden-gate. Then, all at once, the door flew open, and tall Janet and fair-haired Clare stood before her.

'You dear child, have you come all alone? How tired she looks, Clare!'

'Katie, Katie, haven't you got a kiss for your own Clare?'

There was quite a chorus of greetings as they ushered puzzled Katie into a bright room where her invalid aunt, wrapped in a shawl, and rather pale, lay on a couch, holding out both hands to welcome the visitor.

'Oh, dear,' thought Katie, 'I don't know how they can pretend to be so kind!'

She stood there in the midst of them all, awkward and silent, an honest-hearted little girl, obliged to act a most untruthful part. Try as she might, her kisses were but cold ones. She would have liked to push them away, and to cry out: 'You don't love me, really; you said I was a noisy creature! Let me go home.'

It was worse when her kind, suffering aunt took her in her arms, and said she was 'Oh! so glad to have her to stay!' Katie felt such a mean, horrid little girl. She did not know which way to look or where to hide her hot cheeks.

In the middle of the window, a large green parrot was clawing at her perch.

'This is Polly,' said Janet, passing a hand under the great creature's wing. 'The people next door are going away, and they have sent her to us till they come back.'

Here Polly interrupted with a long, loud screech, so that everybody had to put their hands to their ears.

'We rather like her,' said Clare, when she had finished, 'but oh! she is so noisy! Come and stroke her, Katie!'

So that was the 'noisy creature!' Katie's troubles all vanished at a stroke; and before Clare and Janet could ask what was the matter, she was sobbing out all about the silly mistake to her kind aunt.

ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.

Tim Sullivan started from the town with a heavy heart, but as he left the smoke and noise behind him, the pleasant sunshine and fresh autumn breeze soon began to work a change in his spirits. It was good to see green fields again, and he wished he could walk on and on, and never return to the town life he disliked so much.

After all, what was to prevent him? His uncle had been reproaching him that very morning for his idleness at school, and had told him he would never be worth anything in the office.

'It is high time you were beginning to be of some use,' he had said. 'I did not bargain to keep you for nothing when I took you in on your father's death.'

And poor Tim knew it was hard on his uncle to have this addition to his large family. He really did try to get on at school, but it was no good. He could not learn, and the harder he tried the more stupid he seemed to grow.

Before the death of his parents, when he lived such a happy life on the little farm in Ireland, it was not so noticeable that he was not quite like other boys. Lessons were not held of much account there, and no boy of his age could have been more useful than Tim in all farm, field, or garden work; so that it was a new experience for the poor boy to be taunted with his uselessness and stupidity, and it caused him great unhappiness.

As he trudged along, a familiar grunt suddenly made him feel he must be in old Ireland again. He looked round and saw a pig rooting in the ditch by the side of the road.

'Has he got astray?' he asked a man who was breaking stones close by.

'Likely enough,' was the answer. 'Farmer Smale's man was driving home pigs from market yesterday, and I thought as he passed he was getting a bit old for work--and pigs are uncommon difficult to drive too.'

'Not if you know the right way to set about it,' said Tim. 'Instead of holloing and shouting and beating it with a stick, you should just stoop down and catch the eye of the cratur, and sure he will go the way you want.'

The man grinned. 'You're from the Ould Counthry--no need to tell me that, my broth of a boy!'

Tim nodded, with an answering twinkle in his eye.

'If you tell me where Farmer Smale lives, I will drive this pig there,' he said.

The directions were given. Tim soon had the pig before him, and all his troubles were forgotten in an occupation which reminded him of old times.

'Perhaps doing the farmer and the pig a good turn will bring me something good,' he thought.

There was a tremendous grunting in the farmyard when the wanderer rejoined his companions. Farmer Smale came out, followed by his wife, to see what was causing such a commotion.

'Well, you are a smart boy,' the farmer said. 'You must come in and rest and have some tea, for pig-driving is a tiring business.'

'It's not tired I am, sir. I only wish I had a chance to drive pigs every day. You will not be wanting a boy to help on your farm, will you, sir?'

'Why, my lad, you don't look cut out for hard work,' the farmer said, for Tim's stunted growth, and the large head, out of proportion to his small body, made him look less strong than other boys.

'I can work hard with my hands,' he said. 'It is only lessons and figures which bother me.'

'Well, I am afraid I have no berth here for you, my lad. Besides, I could not take a boy I knew nothing about, even if he was kind enough to bring home my pig.'

Tim's face fell. He looked bitterly disappointed.

'Have you no people of your own, my dear?' asked Mrs. Smale, and Tim thought she had the kindest face he had ever seen.

'Now, missus, you go in and get tea ready for this little chap,' her husband said.

He wanted to have her out of the way, for he knew how soft-hearted his wife was. She never could turn away a tramp or a beggar from her door; she gave food and shelter to all stray dogs and cats, and a blackbird in a cage outside the window bore witness to her kind nature. She had rescued a nest full of fledglings from some cruel boys and had tried to bring them up by hand. Only one survived, and although she had set it free when it was old enough to take care of itself, it often flew back to its old home, the door of which was always left open.

While they were having tea, Mrs. Smale drew from the boy all his sad little story, and of course she wanted the farmer to give him a home.

'Will Ford is getting old, and needs some help in attending to the animals,' she said.

'I had a lot to do with cattle on Father's farm,' Tim broke in eagerly, 'and I know all there is to know about pigs, though I am no scholar.'

The farmer smiled. 'I suppose I shall have to give you a chance, sonny, as the missus has set her heart on it. But I must see this uncle of yours. Perhaps he may object.'

'He will be glad to get rid of me,' Tim said.

His words proved true, and before a week had passed Tim was settled in his new home. He worked with a will, and liked his work, because he felt he was at last of some use in the world instead of being a burden to others.

And the pig that had led him to such a happy position received such a special share of attention that he grew fatter and bigger than any of his fellows.

'One good turn deserves another,' Tim would think. 'The pig got me this job, and sure and I am paying him back for it.'

THE FOX'S SERENADE.

Little Goose, I love thee, little Goose. All the stars are flinging Bright blue beams above me, As I'm sweetly singing How I dearly love thee. Here I'm waiting; is it any use? Little Goose, More than words can tell I love thee dearly, More than tongue can tell--or very nearly.

Little Goose, I love thee, little Goose. The shadows cling together, The moonbeams give sweet kisses; How I wonder whether We shall know such blisses. To my mother you I'll introduce, Little Goose. She will greet you with a smile so cheery, Like a mother kind--or very nearly.

Little Goose, I love thee, little Goose. Hark, the farmer's coming With his ugly rifle; So I must be roaming, For I dare not trifle: And the watch-dog he will now unloose, Little Goose. Some night in the future I'll come really, Make you all my own--or very nearly.

THE COW-TREE.

One of the very remarkable trees of South America--a region notable for its natural-history wonders--is that called the cow-tree. It receives that name, not because in its shape it is at all like a cow, but because, at certain seasons, it yields an abundant supply of milk. It grows in hilly districts, usually where very little moisture is to be had for several months of the year. This makes it more singular that a plentiful flow of milky fluid will come from the trunk, on boring into it deeply, though the branches look dried. It is believed that most milk is got when the tree is tapped about sunrise, or when the moon is nearly full. If the milk is put aside for a time, a thick cake forms upon it, under which is a clear liquid. Some of it kept in a bottle, well corked up, was once preserved for several months. The cork, on being extracted, came out with a loud report, followed by a bluish smoke; the milk was a little acid, but not disagreeable to taste.

A grove of cow-trees is a grand sight, for the species grows to a great height, and the trunk may be fifty or more feet without a branch; near the top the branches cluster together, displaying tough and ribbed leaves. Many of these leaves are ten or twelve inches long. The tree bears fruits of moderate size, each containing one or two nuts, which are said to have the flavour of strawberries and cream. From the bark of the tree, soaked in water, a bread has been made, which proved nearly as nourishing as wheaten bread.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

X.--HOW INSECTS MAKE SILK.

Of all the marvellous things of which the lower creatures are capable, certainly one of the most wonderful is their power of spinning threads of the most beautiful fineness, some of which we know as 'silk,' while for others we have no special name.

Though insects are--at least, from our point of view--the most important of the world's spinners, yet they are not the only creatures who possess this secret, for the spiders and mussels and the pearl oyster have also shown themselves very wonderful spinners.

The purposes for which the fine thread is spun are very different. Caterpillars use it chiefly as a means of providing a warm covering while in the chrysalis stage: so also do some beetles. The spider uses its silk to build cunning traps for unwary flies. The mussel lying below the surface of the sea employs its power as a spinner to construct a cable, which, being fastened to the rocks on the sea-bed, prevents the otherwise helpless mussel from being washed away.

In the silkworm (fig. 1) the silk is produced by certain peculiar structures, tube-like in shape, known as the silk-glands. The silk is created in a liquid form in the inside of the silk-gland, and, becoming mixed with a kind of gum, is forced through a sort of mechanical press, from which it comes through the mouth in the form of the delicate threads which we know as 'silk.'

This silk is used by caterpillars for various purposes, and varies much in quality: that spun by silkworm caterpillars is much prized by man. The caterpillar uses it to form a case for the protection of its body when turning into a chrysalis, from which it will emerge later a full-grown moth.

When spinning, the caterpillar begins by sending out the end of a thread which is quite soft and sticky. This immediately sticks to the object to which it is attached. This done, every movement of the caterpillar's head draws a fresh piece of the silk thread from its mouth. When spinning a cocoon, the thread is made to form a long, oval, egg-shaped case around the body of the caterpillar. But sometimes, as in the case of those caterpillars which live in companies, it is used to form a sheet or tent within which the tent-makers dwell. Other caterpillars use the power of weaving silk as a means of escape from enemies. When in danger they let themselves down on to the ground by attaching the end of a thread to a leaf or twig, and then dropping off, leaving the thread to be drawn from the mouth by the weight of the body as it falls.

Under the microscope each thread of silk is seen to be double: the total length of the thread when unwound from the cocoon is over a thousand feet. Over four hundred different kinds of silk-producing caterpillars are known.

The spinning glands of the spider are placed at the tail end of the body, but the threads spun therefrom, though strong, are of little use for commercial purposes. Silk fabrics have, however, been made from spider webs, but these are only curiosities.

The silk, or, as we may call them, the spinning glands, consist of from two to four pairs of organs, or 'spinnerets,' placed together in a small cluster. The threads which they form are made, as in the case of the silk of the caterpillar, of a sticky fluid, which, when drawn out through the tiny holes of the spinnerets, and exposed to the air, form fine threads, and these combining together form the silky thread with which we are familiar.

One of the principal uses of the silk threads is to form nets to catch small insects. These nets are often--as is the case of the garden spider, for example--very beautiful. In their construction the greatest skill is shown. The method is briefly as follows: First of all a large five-sided frame is formed; then long threads, which are rather like the spokes of a wheel, are added. These harden at once, and to them are attached the cross-threads, which form the delicate network of the complete web. But if the web be examined with a strong magnifying glass, there will be found, among the network, a number of threads bearing little drops of a sticky substance (fig. 2). These are made by special glands, and differ from the ordinary threads in that they do not dry on being exposed to the air. They serve the purpose of bird-lime--that is to say, they are there to aid in entangling insects which fly up against the web. Having spread his net, the spider returns to a little shelter woven on the under side of a leaf. Here he waits for his victims, holding in one of his claws a long, delicate thread attached to the web, so as to serve as a means of communication with the trap, the vibrations set up by the struggles of the captive giving warning by shaking the communication cord! He then rushes out, if the victim be small, and throwing himself upon the wretched prisoner, sucks him dry and cuts away the web so as to release the empty carcase. Should a wasp or bee happen to be caught, the proceedings are much more cautious, and the spider himself often proves the victim.

Spiders when small often use their spinnerets much as the witches of old were supposed to use a broom-stick--that is to say, as a means of travelling through the air. Turning the end of the body upwards they force out a few threads, which, caught by the breeze, are blown away, and so a number of long threads are rapidly drawn out, sufficiently long at last to carry the spider itself with them. When too heavy to fly, they sometimes send a thread adrift and wait until it catches in some projecting bough; this done, they make fast the end to the bough or leaf on which they may be resting, and climb along this tight-rope to build a new home.

The floating threads formed by broods of small spiders are sometimes very numerous, and cover everything: they are especially noticeable in hedges, and are one of the causes of what is called in the country 'Gossamer.'

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 303.)

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