X.—THE GREAT LAMP.
"NYCTERIS OPENED HER EYES AND LOOKED AFTER HER JUST IN TIME TO SEE HER VANISH THROUGH A PICTURE."
It was some time before she had a second opportunity of going out, for Falca, since the fall of the lamp, had been a little more careful, and seldom left her for long. But one night, having a little headache, Nycteris lay down upon her bed, and was lying with her eyes closed, when she heard Falca come to her, and felt she was bending over her. Disinclined to talk, she did not open her eyes, and lay quite still. Satisfied that she was asleep, Falca left her, moving so softly that her very caution made Nycteris open her eyes and look after her—just in time to see her vanish—through a picture, as it seemed, that hung on the wall a long way from the usual place of issue. She jumped up, her headache forgotten, and ran in the opposite direction; got out, groped her way to the stair, climbed, and reached the top of the wall.—Alas! the great room was not so light as the little one she had left. Why? Sorrow of sorrows! the great lamp was gone! Had its globe fallen? and its lovely light gone out upon great wings, a resplendent fire-fly, soaring itself through a yet grander and lovelier room? She looked down to see if it lay anywhere broken to pieces on the carpet below, but she could not even see the carpet. But surely nothing very dreadful could have happened—no rumbling or shaking, for there were all the little lamps shining brighter than before, not one of them looking as if any unusual matter had befallen. What if each of those little lamps was growing into a big lamp, and after being a big lamp for a while, had to go out and grow a bigger lamp still—out there, beyond this out?—Ah! here was the living thing that would not be seen, come to her again—bigger to-night!—with such loving kisses, and such liquid strokings of her cheeks and forehead, gently tossing her hair, and delicately toying with it! But it ceased, and all was still. Had it gone out? What would happen next? Perhaps the little lamps had not to grow great lamps, but to fall one by one and go out first?—With that came from below a sweet scent, then another, and another. Ah, how delicious! Perhaps they were all coming to her only on their way out after the great lamp!—Then came the music of the river, which she had been too absorbed in the sky to note the first time. What was it? Alas! alas! another sweet living thing on its way out. They were all marching slowly out in long lovely file, one after the other, each taking its leave of her as it passed! It must be so: here were more and more sweet sounds, following and fading! The whole of the Out was going out again; it was all going after the great lovely lamp! She would be left the only creature in the solitary day! Was there nobody to hang up a new lamp for the old one, and keep the creatures from going?—She crept back to her rock very sad. She tried to comfort herself by saying that anyhow there would be room out there; but as she said it she shuddered at the thought of empty room.
When next she succeeded in getting out, a half-moon hung in the east: a new lamp had come, she thought, and all would be well.
It would be endless to describe the phases of feeling through which Nycteris passed, more numerous and delicate than those of a thousand changing moons. A fresh bliss bloomed in her soul with every varying aspect of infinite nature. Ere long she began to suspect that the new moon was the old moon, gone out and come in again, like herself; also that, unlike herself, it wasted and grew again; that it was indeed a live thing, subject like herself to caverns, and keepers, and solitudes, escaping and shining when it could. Was it a prison like hers it was shut in? and did it grow dark when the lamp left it? Where could be the way into it?—With that, first she began to look below, as well as above and around her, and then first noted the tops of the trees between her and the floor. There were palms with their red-fingered hands full of fruit, eucalyptus-trees crowded with little boxes of powder puffs, oleanders with their half-caste roses, and orange-trees with their clouds of young silver stars and their aged balls of gold. Her eyes could see colors invisible to ours in the moonlight, and all these she could distinguish well, though at first she took them for the shapes and colors of the carpet of the great room. She longed to get down among them, now she saw they were real creatures, but she did not know how. She went along the whole length of the wall to the end that crossed the river, but found no way of going down. Above the river she stopped to gaze with awe upon the rushing water. She knew nothing of water but from what she drank and what she bathed in; and as the moon shone on the dark, swift stream, singing lustily as it flowed, she did not doubt the river was alive, a swift rushing serpent of life, going—out?—whither? And then she wondered if what was brought into her rooms had been killed that she might drink it, and have her bath in it.
Once when she stepped out upon the wall, it was into the midst of a fierce wind. The trees were all roaring. Great clouds were rushing along the skies, and tumbling over the little lamps: the great lamp had not come yet. All was in tumult. The wind seized her garments and hair, and shook them as if it would tear them from her. What could she have done to make the gentle creature so angry? Or was this another creature altogether—of the same kind, but hugely bigger, and of a very different temper and behavior? But the whole place was angry! Or was it that the creatures dwelling in it, the wind, and the trees, and the clouds, and the river, had all quarrelled, each with all the rest? Would the whole come to confusion and disorder? But as she gazed, wondering and disquieted, the moon, larger than ever she had seen her, came lifting herself above the horizon to look, broad and red as if she too were swollen with anger that she had been roused from her rest by their noise, and compelled to hurry up to see what her children were about, thus rioting in her absence, lest they should rack the whole frame of things. And as she rose, the loud wind grew quieter, and scolded less fiercely, the trees grew stiller, and moaned with a lower complaint, and the clouds hunted and hurled themselves less wildly across the sky. And as if she were pleased that her children obeyed her very presence, the moon grew smaller as she ascended the heavenly stair; her puffed cheeks sank, her complexion grew clearer, and a sweet smile spread over her countenance, as peacefully she rose and rose. But there was treason and rebellion in her court; for ere she reached the top of her great stairs the clouds had assembled, forgetting their late wars, and very still they were as they laid their heads together and conspired. Then combining, and lying silently in wait until she came near, they threw themselves upon her, and swallowed her up. Down from the roof came spots of wet, faster and faster, and they wetted the cheeks of Nycteris; and what could they be but the tears of the moon, crying because her children were smothering her? Nycteris wept too, and not knowing what to think, stole back in dismay to her room.
The next time she came out in fear and trembling. There was the moon still! away in the west—poor, indeed, and old, and looking dreadfully worn, as if all the wild beasts in the sky had been gnawing at her; but there she was, alive still, and able to shine.
[to be continued.]
The Royal Fern.—A legend has been handed down from the time of the Danish invasions of Britain, explanatory of the generic name of Osmunda—an island, covered with large specimens of this fern, figuring prominently in the story. Osmund, the ferryman of Loch Tyne, had a beautiful child, who was the pride of his life and the joy of his heart. In those days, when the merciless Danes were making their terrible descents upon the coasts of Great Britain, slaughtering the peaceful inhabitants, and pillaging wherever they went, no man could say how long he would be free from molestation and outrage. But Osmund, throughout the troublous times, had lived quietly in his country home with his wife and beautiful daughter.
The peaceful calm of his life was, however, destined to be broken. One evening the ferryman was sitting, with his wife and child, on the margin of the lake, after his day's work. The setting sun was tingeing with roseate glory the fleecy banks of cloud, piled up against the horizon, silvering the surface of the rippling lake, and adding a richer hue to the golden locks of Osmund's darling child. Suddenly the sound of hurrying footsteps startled the quiet group. Men, women, and children came hastening from the neighboring village, and breathlessly, as they passed, they told the ferryman that the terrible Danes were coming. Quick as thought Osmund sprang to his feet, seized his wife and child, and hurried them into his ferry-boat. Away he rowed with them pulling for very life—in the direction of a small island in the loch, densely covered with the tall and stately fronds of the royal fern. He quickly hid his precious charges amongst the clustering fronds, and then rowed rapidly back to his ferry place. He had rightly divined that the Danes needed his assistance, and would not hurt him.
For many hours of the ensuing night he worked with might and main to carry the fierce invaders across the ferry. When they had all disappeared on the opposite bank, Osmund returned to his trembling wife and child, and brought them safely back to his cottage. In commemoration, it is said, of this event, the fair daughter of Osmund gave the great island fern her father's name. Those who care not to accept this fanciful origin of the name Osmunda, will perhaps incline to another suggestion which has been made, that the generic name had been derived from an old Saxon word signifying strength, the specific name indicating its royal or stately habit of growth.
TRAVELLING BAG FOR PETS.
Little girls who like to carry their pets with them on a journey will be glad to know how to make this pretty and convenient bag, by means of which Fido and Mutt can travel like princes. The bag is made of black leather, and is closed on the side with a lock and key and clamps. The pocket for holding the dog is fifteen inches wide and nine inches and a half high. The front is cut out, leaving a margin on the edges an inch and a half wide, and the opening is filled with a wire screen, through which the little prisoner can see and breathe freely. For protection, the screen is covered by two leather flaps, fastened one at the bottom and one at the top of the bag, which overlap each other, and are secured by steel clasps.
TRAVELLING BAG FOR PETS.
We do not print all letters received, as some are too long, and others simply ask a question, to which we give an answer. Here is a pretty letter which needs no comments:
I am a little boy eleven years old, and have been living in South Carolina, but last summer I got hurt while playing with the boys, and have been sick ever since. I have not walked for five months. My parents have brought me to Salem, Massachusetts, where I could have good doctor's care. My cousin, who lives in New York, very kindly sends me Harper's Young People, and I want to tell you how much I enjoy it. I am very lonely lying still all the time, but the boys come to see me, and one of them has two rabbits for me when I am able to take care of them. I wish all the little boys and girls could have your paper, it is so nice.
Horace F. Hutchinson.
"Fred," of Montclair, New Jersey, writes:
I have a handsome yellow cat named Goldy. My cousins Howard and Charlie have a cat named Blacky, and a dog named Jack. Papa reads us Harper's Young People every Sunday, and I like it very much.
Here are some very pleasant words from J. E. Woodbridge, Duluth, Minnesota:
I wish to tell you how I like your paper. I do really like it. I wish you would put boys' pieces in the paper for speaking in school. I live in Duluth, on the shore of a very big lake—the biggest in the world, I think. I am seven years old. I have a little yellow dog, and he grins when he is pleased.
James Long.—The examinations for admission to the school-ship St. Mary's are easily passed by any school-boy of moderate ability, but it is indispensable that the applicant be physically sound, and of good moral character. Neither money nor influence is needed to gain admission, and the expense on entering is confined to the cost of outfit and uniform. You can make fuller inquiries of David R. Wetmore, Esq., chairman of the Committee on Nautical School, of the New York City Board of Education, or on board the St. Mary's, which is now in winter-quarters at the foot of East Twenty-third Street, New York city.
C. D. F.—The measurement of glasses for "Boy's Telescope" refers to the focus, not to the size of glass. Any reliable optician will supply you with the lenses.
Agnes P.—Your answers to puzzles are correct. We do not know the address of Lulu W., but will print it if she will send it to us.
"Louise," Dubuque.—Your account of Sir Rowland Hill is correct, and very neatly written, but as it is almost the same as those we have already printed, we do not give it.
"Max."—Your numerical charade is very good, but contains too many repetitions of the same letter to be perfect; therefore we do not print it.
Answers sent by R. Dunlop Foster, Chicago, to mathematical puzzles are correct, with the exception of No. 2, which is not carried back to the original amount possessed by the poor old man when the water-spirit made his first offer.
M. A. C., Rochester, writes: I have commenced taking your little paper, and I write now to tell you that I am delighted with it. I read it to my brothers and sisters, who are very much interested in the story of "The Brave Swiss Boy."
J. E. B., another bright little girl, gives us a scolding, which we hope she will retract before long.
H. A. T.—We can not give any puzzles not accompanied by full name and address of the sender, as well as the answers.
The following communication from a youthful reader in Washington, D. C., will be of interest to young bicyclists in other cities:
Here in the City of Magnificent Distances, where many of the streets are 100 feet wide and the avenues 160, the speed of the bicycle surpasses even that of the horse.
Many of the streets are "concrete," and a run over them is sure to be attended with boundless pleasure, and often a race.
There are about thirty bicyclists in the city, twenty of whom have formed a club. To see them, with their blue caps and leather leggings, six abreast, coming down the Avenue with their arms folded, causes many an equestrian to spur up his horse in vain.
Through the surrounding villages it is a common occurrence to see eight or ten bicyclists pass, especially on public holidays.
Many riders have a small bell attached to the handle, which is rung as an alarm to pedestrians, for the approach of the bicycle is as devoid of noise as that of the tiger. In the evening a lantern also is hung on the axle of the driving-wheel between the spokes, and the noiseless and rapid approach of such a red light might suggest to a stranger thoughts of the infernal regions.
In conclusion, I will say that bicycling is the most exhilarating and invigorating pastime for boys ever yet discovered.
N. L. C.
THE CAT SHOW.
A THANKSGIVING EPISODE.
By MRS. W. J. HAYS,
Author of "The Princess Idleways."
"Yes, next month comes that old, everlasting Thanksgiving-day. I wonder why we have to spend more than half of it at the dinner table!"
"Suppose we don't? Let us strike out on a new lead."
"What can we do? Grandmother's pumpkin pies must be eaten, and grandfather's great turkey must be carved."
"Well, Charlie, I like originality."
"What is that, Sue?—anything in the candy shop?"
"You dreadful boy! You are just too—"
"Sweet for anything," put in Charlie.
Sue jumped up and tried to box his ears; but she chased him out into the hall, and tripped over the mats, and away he went up the stairs, and stood laughing at her as she gathered up her worsted-work.
"If I were a gentleman," said Sue, in her haughtiest manner, "I would assist my friends when misfortune overtook them."
"Hear! hear!" cried Charlie.
"I had the nicest little plan to propose," she went on.
"What was it, Sue?" said Charlie, whose curiosity was aroused.
"Not a word more to one so ungallant, so very rude."
"Ah, Sue dear," coaxed Charlie, coming down and putting his arm around her, "you are the nicest little sister in the world, if you did want to box my ears. Now tell us the plan, that's a darling."
"Well, it isn't much, after all; it is only that I want to make Thanksgiving a little more of a reality, and I thought—now, Charlie, don't laugh at me—that if we could do something for somebody, which would make him thankful, wouldn't it be nicer."
"And who did you think of?"
"I thought of old black Betsey and her husband, they both are so old and so poor. Suppose we give them a dinner?"
"All by ourselves? Where would we get the money?"
"We will have an exhibition of cats. I will borrow Aunt May's old tabby, and John's big Tom, and Lulie Bell's five white kittens, and we have our own, and you can get others, and we will rig up a room in the barn, and put placards up, and I will tie bright ribbons on all their necks, and we'll charge ten cents for grown people and five cents for children, and—oh, I don't know what else."
"Splendid!"
The idea suited Charlie, and no time must be lost. Every day was valuable. Mother was consulted, and had no objections. Father gave permission to use the harness-room. The cats were borrowed: big cats and little cats, sleepy old pussies and lively young kits, gray cats, white cats, and "cherry-colored cats," as the placard read. "For one day only," was also on the placard. Charlie was door-keeper, and a busy time had Sue in keeping peace among the pussies. They screamed and scratched, and kept up a perfect Pinafore chorus, until the child wished she was deaf, or could give them all opium; but the day wore on, and all the children of their acquaintance enjoyed the sport, and not a few of the elders looked in upon them. By evening Charlie was rejoicing in the possession of a full money-box, but his face grew long as he counted the pennies. In reply to Sue's eager query of "How much?"
"Only two dollars and a half," was his dejected reply.
"Well, we can buy lots of things with that," said Sue, whose knowledge of marketing was limited.
"I am afraid it will take all for the turkey."
"Then we'll get chickens," said Sue.
"And how about cranberry jelly?"
"Mother will give us apples from her barrel."
"And celery, and sweet-potatoes, and all the other goodies?"
"We must make it all do. I will go to Mr. Scott, the grocer, and tell him we want everything at the very lowest price."
"Well, I leave it all to you," said Charlie, with masculine disdain of details, and scorn for so small a sum.
"That is right. You'll see how I will manage," said Sue, confidently.
And manage she did.
Thanksgiving was a cold, bleak day, and old black Betsey had no idea of leaving her fireside for church.
"I can give my tanks jist as well one place as anodder," said she, in reply to a sweet coaxing voice which was urging her to go out.
"Now please just go to oblige me, Aunt Betsey," said Sue; "Charlie and I want you and Uncle Jake to go to church for a very particular reason. You can not refuse me, I am sure."
The old woman grumbled and scolded and shuffled about in a discontented way, but the pleading little Sue stood firm, and gave an exulting shout as she finally closed the door upon both of them.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Charlie, and then they both went to work.
The poor little cabin had to be swept and dusted, and all the cracked crockery well wiped, but Sue had tied on a great big apron, and Charlie pinned on a huge towel, and declared himself head waiter. Then the market-basket, carefully concealed in the wood-shed, had to be unpacked, and Sue's mother had given a bright red table-cover, and all sorts of nice little things to fill up corners; and when at last everything was set out, and green boughs hung over the doors, and the ready-cooked turkey was fizzing over again in the oven, and the dinner was ready, Sue and Charlie hid themselves behind a door and waited for Aunt Betsey and Uncle Jake. Slowly the old people came grumbling home as they had grumbled out. They were old and stiff and poor, and what was there to be thankful for? For the rheumatism? Yes, if God willed it, said Aunt Betsey, who, however, was far from cheerful.
"WHAT DOSE CHILLEN BIN ABOUT?"
They pushed open the door, and the savory smell of cooking saluted them.
"Hi, Uncle Jake, what you tink o' dis? what's de meanin' of all dis yer?" said Aunt Betsey.
Uncle Jake's mouth opened wide, as if the better to inhale the rich odors.
"Who's bin hiyar? What dose chillen bin about? Good gracious me! if dis ain't a dinner fit fur a king."
Uncle Jake's grin burst into a laugh.
"Oh my! dey meant we should hab a Tanksgivin' in yearnest;" and the two old souls shook their sides with laughter.
"De good Lord bress dose chillen, an' give 'em as tankful hearts as we hab dis day!" said Aunt Betsey.
Sue and Charlie had meant to give a glorious war-whoop and shout, but their voices would not come, and when they looked at each other the tears came welling up from their tender little hearts.
"Come, Sue," said Charlie, "let us get away without their seeing us. Who ever thought a cat show would make two people so glad!"
They went home to their own dinner with a new idea of Thanksgiving-day; it seemed a better and a fresher feast; and after the day was done and the stars came out twinkling their thanks, and the children, tired with play and glad to rest, laid down their sleepy heads on their pillows, their angels whispered softly dreams of peace and joy.
The Hottest Spot on Earth.—One of the hottest regions on earth is along the Persian Gulf, where little or no rain falls. At Bahrein the arid shore has no fresh water, yet a comparatively numerous population contrive to live there, thanks to the copious springs which break forth from the bottom of the sea. The fresh water is got by diving. The diver, sitting in his boat, winds a great goat-skin bag around his left arm, the hand grasping its mouth; then takes in his right hand a heavy stone, to which is attached a strong line, and thus equipped he plunges in, and quickly reaches the bottom. Instantly opening the bag over the strong jet of fresh water, he springs up the ascending current, at the same time closing the bag, and is helped aboard. The stone is then hauled up, and the diver, after taking a breath, plunges again. The source of the copious submarine springs is thought to be in the green hills of Osman, some 500 or 600 miles distant.
Acres of Perfume.—Some idea of the magnitude of the business of raising sweet-scented flowers for their perfume may be gathered from the fact that Europe and British India alone consume about 150,000 gallons of handkerchief perfume yearly. There is one great perfume distillery at Cannes, in France, which uses yearly about 100,000 pounds of acacia flowers, 140,000 pounds of rare flower leaves, 32,000 pounds of jasmine blossoms, and 20,000 pounds of tuberose blossoms, together with an immense quantity of other material used for perfume. Victoria, in New South Wales, is a noted place for the production of perfume-yielding plants, because such plants as the mignonette, sweet verbena, jasmine, rose, lavender, acacia, heliotrope, rosemary, wallflower, laurel, orange, and the sweet-scented geraniums grow there in greater perfection than in any other part of the world. South Australia, it is believed, would also be a good place for the growing of perfume-producing plants, though at present not much cultivated.
PIGS DRAWN WITH YOUR EYES SHUT.