Phrase Exercise.
1. Settled as a missionary.—2. Terminated his earthly career.—3. Attacked the herds.—4. Feeble and faint-hearted.—5. To watch the manœuvres.—6. A terrific roar echoed from the hill.—7. Quaked with fear.—8. Streaming manes.—9. Wavering ranks.—10. Bewailing their want of success.—11. Steady aim.—12. Discharged both barrels.—13. A shout of terror.—14. Momentary anguish.—15. Dreadful encounter.
XLIII.—THE FAIRIES OF CALDON-LOW. A MIDSUMMER LEGEND.
Mary Howitt.
“And where have you been, my Mary.
And where have you been from me?”
“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,
The Midsummer night to see!”
“And what did you see, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon-Low?”
“I saw the blithe sunshine come down,
And I saw the merry winds blow.”
“And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon Hill?”
“I heard the drops of the water made,
And the green corn ears to fill.”
“Oh, tell me all, my Mary—
All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,
Last night on the Caldon-Low.”
“Then take me on your knee, mother,
And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine.
“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
And their dancing feet so small;
But, oh, the sound of their talking
Was merrier far than all!”
“And what were the words, my Mary,
That you did hear them say?”
“I’ll tell you all, my mother—
But let me have my way!
“And some they played with the water,
And rolled it down the hill;
‘And this’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn
The poor old miller’s mill;
“‘For there has been no water
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be
By the dawning of the day!
“‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,
Till the tears fill both his eyes!’
“And some they seized the little winds,
That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill:—
“‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go,
Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow’s corn:
“‘Oh, the poor, blind old widow—
Though she has been blind so long,
She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone,
And the corn stands stiff and strong!’
“And some they brought the brown lintseed,
And flung it down from the Low—
‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise,
In the weaver’s croft shall grow!
“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,
How he will laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!’
“And then upspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin—
‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,
‘And I want some more to spin.
“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another—
A little sheet for Mary’s bed,
And an apron for her mother!’
“And with that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low
There was no one left but me.
“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,
The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.
“But, as I came down from the hill-top,
I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
And how merry the wheel did go!
“And I peeped into the widow’s field;
And sure enough were seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
All standing stiff and green.
“And down by the weaver’s croft I stole,
To see if the flax were high;
But I saw the weaver at his gate
With the good news in his eye!
“Now, this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
For I’m tired as I can be!”
XLIV.—VOLCANOES.
In various parts of the earth, there are mountains that send out from their highest peaks, smoke, ashes, and fire. Mountains of this class are called volcanoes, and they present a striking contrast to other mountains, on account of their conical form and the character of the rocks of which they are composed. All volcanoes have at their summits what are called craters. These are large, hollow, circular openings, from which the smoke and fire escape.
Nearly all volcanoes emit smoke constantly. This smoke proceeds from fires that are burning far down in the depths of the earth. Sometimes these fires burst forth from the crater of the volcano with tremendous force. The smoke becomes thick and black, and lurid flames shoot up to a height of hundreds of feet, making a scene of amazing grandeur. With the flames there are thrown out stones, ashes, and streams of melted rock called lava. This lava flows down the sides of the mountain, and, being red hot, destroys everything with which it comes in contact. At such times, a volcano is said to be in eruption. Such is the force of some of these eruptions, that large rocks have been hurled to great distances from the crater, and towns and cities have been buried under a vast covering of ashes and lava.
The quantity of lava and ashes which sometimes escapes from volcanoes during an eruption, is almost beyond comprehension. In 1772, a volcano in the island of Java, threw out ashes and cinders that covered the ground fifty feet deep, for a distance of seven miles all around the mountain. This eruption destroyed nearly forty towns and villages. In 1783, a volcano in Iceland sent out two streams of lava; one forty miles long and seven miles wide, and the other fifty miles long and fifteen miles wide. These streams were from one hundred to six hundred feet deep.
Near the city of Naples, in Italy, is situated the volcano Mt. Vesuvius. This fiery monster has probably caused more destruction than any other volcano known. In the year 79, A.D., it suddenly burst forth in a violent eruption, that resulted in one of the most appalling disasters that ever happened. Such immense quantities of ashes, stones, and lava were poured forth from its crater, that within twenty hours, two large cities were completely destroyed. These cities were Herculaneum and Pompeii.
At this eruption of Vesuvius, the stream of lava flowed directly through and over the city of Herculaneum into the sea. The quantity was so great that, as it cooled and became hardened, it gradually filled up all the streets and ran over the tops of the houses. While the lava was thus turning the city into a mass of solid stone, the inhabitants were fleeing from it along the shore toward Naples, and in boats on the sea. At the same time, too, the wind carried the ashes and cinders in such a direction as to deluge the city of Pompeii. Slowly and steadily the immense volume of ashes and small stones, blocked up the streets and settled on the roofs of the houses. The light of the flames that burst out from the awful crater, aided the people in their escape; but many who for some reason could not get away, perished.
Pompeii was so completely covered that nothing could be seen of it. Thus it remained, buried under the ground, until the year 1748, when it was discovered by accident. Since that time much of the city has been uncovered, and now one can walk along the streets, look into the houses, and form some idea how the people lived there eighteen hundred years ago.
XLV.—A SMALL CATECHISM.
Thomas D’Arcy McGee.
Why are children’s eyes so bright?
Tell me why!
’Tis because the infinite
Which they’ve left, is still in sight,
And they know no earthly blight,—
Therefore ’tis their eyes are bright.
Why do children laugh so gay?
Tell me why!
’Tis because their hearts have play
In their bosoms, every day,
Free from sin and sorrow’s sway,—
Therefore ’tis they laugh so gay.
Why do children speak so free?
Tell me why!
’Tis because from fallacy,
Cant, and seeming, they are free;
Hearts, not lips, their organs be,—
Therefore ’tis they speak so free.
Why do children love so true?
Tell me why!
’Tis because they cleave unto
A familiar, favorite few,
Without art or self in view,—
Therefore children love so true.
XLVI.—CURIOUS BIRDS’ NESTS.
Among the most curious nests are those made by the birds called weavers. These feathered workmen serve no apprenticeship: their trade comes to them by nature; and how well they work at it! But then you must admit that Nature is a skilful teacher and birds are apt scholars.
The Baltimore oriole is a weaver, and it makes its nest out of bark, fine grass, moss, and wool, strengthening it, when circumstances permit, with pieces of string or horsehair. This nest, pouch-shaped, and open at the top, is fastened to the branch of a tree, and is sometimes interwoven with the twigs of a waving bough. The threads of grass and long fibres of moss, are woven together, in and out, as if by machinery; and it seems hard to believe that the little birds can do such work without help.
The long, slender boughs of the willow are the favorite resort of the oriole; and here, in the midst of a storm, the bird may sit in its swinging nest, fearing no danger. What is there to dread? The trees rock in the wind, but the oriole’s habitation is strong and well secured. Unless the branch from which the nest hangs be torn from the tree, the nest will endure the tempest and prove a safe shelter for the blithe little bird.
Many weaver-birds in Asia and Africa hang their nests from the ends of twigs and branches overhanging the water. This is to keep away monkeys and snakes, which abound in hot countries and are the greatest enemies birds have. The wise little weaver knows that the cunning monkey will not trust his precious life to a frail branch that may break, and drop him into the water; yet the same frail branch is strong enough for the bird and its nest. In this case, the monkey is obliged to admit that the bird’s wisdom is more than a match for his.
A very curious custom exists among a class of birds found in Africa, called “the social weavers.” They begin their work in companies, and build immense canopies, like umbrellas, in the tops of trees. These grassy structures are so closely woven that the rain cannot penetrate them. Under this shelter the birds build their nests, but no longer in company; the nest for each pair must be made by the pair without assistance from their neighbors.
The tailor-bird of India makes a still more curious nest than that of the weavers: it actually sews, using its long, slender bill as a needle. Birds that fly, birds that run, birds that swim, and birds that sing are by no means rare; but birds that sew seem like the wonderful birds in the fairy-tales.
Yet they really exist, and make their odd nests with great care and skill. They pick out a leaf large enough for their nest, and pierce rows of holes along the edges with their sharp bill; then, with the fibres of a plant or long threads of grass, they sew the leaf up into a bag. Sometimes it is necessary to sew two leaves together, that the space within may be large enough.
This kind of sewing resembles shoemakers’ or saddlers’ work; but, the leaf being like fine cloth and not like leather, perhaps the name “tailor-bird” is the most appropriate for the little worker. The bag is lined with soft, downy material, and in this the tiny eggs are laid—tiny indeed, for the tailor-bird is no larger than the humming-bird. The weight of the little creature does not even draw down the nest, and the leaf in which the eggs or young birds are hidden looks like the other leaves on the trees; so that there is nothing to attract the attention of the forest robbers.
Another bird, called the Indian sparrow, makes her nest of grass, woven like cloth and shaped like a bottle. The neck of the bottle hangs downward, and the bird enters from below. This structure, swinging from a high tree, over a river, is safe from the visits of mischievous animals.
If all the stories about this Indian sparrow are true, the inside of its nest is strangely adorned. Fire-flies are brought in by the bird and stuck to the walls with clay; whether they are placed there to light up the little home, or to dazzle the bats that infest the neighborhood, no one seems to know. Perhaps the truth is that the fire-flies are in the nest in imagination only. However that may be, the Indian sparrow is a clever workman.
Can you wonder that birds and their nests have always been a source of delight to the thoughtful enquirer?
“Mark it well—within, without.
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,
No glue to join: his little beak was all.
And yet how neatly finished! What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,
And twenty years’ apprenticeship to boot.
Could make me such another?”