No. 6.
"How old are your children?" asked a lady who was visiting a friend, the mother of three beautiful daughters. "My oldest daughter is just double the age of my youngest daughter," replied the mother, "and the age of my other child is that of her youngest sister and one-third more. Their three combined ages make exactly the sum of my age, and I shall be sixty-six one year from to-day." What was the age of each of the three daughters?
THE OLDEST ROSE-BUSH IN THE WORLD.
They say it is the oldest, and who knows that it is not? I will tell you the story as it was told to me, and you shall see what you think of it.
There is a funny old town in Germany called Hildesheim, a little out of the way of travellers, but full of curious and interesting things, and over its fine cathedral walls climbs a rose-bush so large and strong that it may well be a thousand years old, as they say it is.
"A thousand years ago," said the sacristan, "the country all about here was a forest."
If you have studied history, you will see the story may be true so far, for you know Charlemagne became Emperor of Germany in A.D. 800, and that Germany was little better than a wilderness then.
"One day," continued the sacristan, "Louis the Gentle, the son of Charlemagne, went hunting with all his retinue in this forest. They had with them a box of relics."
Relics, you must know, were pieces of the dress of martyrs and saints, or something that martyrs and saints had touched in their lifetime, or perhaps even the bones of martyrs and saints.
"When they encamped for dinner, the gentle Louis wished to put this box of relics away very carefully, and looking about, he saw a beautiful blooming rose-bush, which must have been quite large even then, as he concealed the box in its branches.
"Perhaps they hurried away in pursuit of game after dinner, or perhaps they ate too much, and, as often happens in such a case, they forgot to be as religious as they were before dinner. However it was, at all events they rode away without the relics, and never missed them till the next day.
"Then Louis was full of shame, and declared they must ride back again, and never give up searching till they found the box.
"So they rode for many a weary hour, searching the by-ways of the forest—for there were few roads—till at last they all suddenly stopped, full of awe and wonder.
"It was a beautiful June day, and the birds were singing, and the flowers were blooming; but, lo! just before them they saw a glade in the forest where the fresh white snow lay like a soft thick carpet over everything.
"And yet it did not cover everything either. For in the centre of the glade grew a lovely rose-bush, with hundreds of bright blossoms upon it, and this was the bush in which the box had been hidden. Louis hastened forward, and grasped the box; but, lo! here was another miracle: it had grown into the wood of the rose-bush so firmly that it could not be taken away.
"Then Louis fell on his knees, and said he would receive this as a sign, and he vowed to build a cathedral on the spot.
"They called the snow 'holy snow,' because it had hidden the ugly remnants of their feast with its purity, but had left the rose-bush free, and they named the cathedral and the town which sprang up about it Hildesheim, which in old, old German meant 'holy snow.'"
It is certainly an enormous rose-bush, and its roots grow wide under the cathedral. Over them, in the crypt, is an altar said to be of pure silver, and it looks as if it might be. On the altar are heaped great bunches of artificial roses, which they persuade the ignorant peasants are actual blossoms of the rose-bush itself, even when it is leafless and bare in the winter.
I can not say that all the sacristan's story is true, but I know that the rose-bush of Hildesheim is the largest one I ever saw, and that the town is a very old place. Indeed, a few years ago, some wonderful gold and silver vessels were dug up there, which must have been used by an almost forgotten race. If any of you live near Washington, you can see copies of them in the Smithsonian Institution.
CROCHET PURSE.
This pretty purse will make a nice gift for some of our young people. It is worked with red saddler's silk in open-work double crochet, and consists of an oblong bag pointed toward the bottom, and furnished with small slits at the top on both sides. The purse is closed with two metal bars, finished with knobs, and joined with a chain and ring. An ordinary steel slide may be substituted. A metal acorn finishes the bottom. Make a foundation of 96 st. (stitch), close these in a ring with 1 sl. (slip stitch), and crochet the 1st round.—4 ch. (chain stitch), the first 3 of which count as first dc. (double crochet), then always alternately 1 dc. on the second following st., 1 ch.; finally, 1 sl. on the third of the first 3 ch. in this round. 2d round.—1 sl. on the next st., 4 ch., the first 3 of which count as first dc., then always alternately 1 dc. on the next ch. in the preceding round, 1 ch.; finally, 1 sl. on the third of the first 3 ch. in this round. Next work 24 rounds like the preceding round, but in the last 10 rounds narrow at intervals, and instead of 1 dc. pass over 2 dc., so that in the last round only 8 dc. are worked. Run the working thread through the st. of the last round, draw it tight, and set on the acorn. Then finish the purse in two parts, working on the upper side of the foundation st. 3 rounds in the preceding design, going back and forth, and in the last round fasten in the bars as follows: * 7 ch., pass over 2 dc., lay on the bar from the wrong side, carry the ch. across the bar to the wrong side, 1 sc. on the next ch., 7 ch., carry these over the bar to the front, pass over 2 dc., 1 sc. on the next ch., and repeat from *.
"ONT DAYKUMBOA."
In the parlor of a dear old-fashioned country house two elderly ladies are seated, one knitting, the other reading the report of yesterday's sermons, giving bits aloud now and then; on the carpet a little boy about three years of age is sprawling, apparently trying to swim on dry land.
The lady knitting is Miss Helena Oakstead, the lady reading is Miss Judith Oakstead, and the small boy is Master Ralph Oakstead, the eldest son of the youngest brother. If you go to the other side of the hall you will find the eldest brother (Master Ralph's uncle) in his study, writing an essay full of great big words. He is Professor Oakstead.
Master Ralph is spending the day with his relatives, and has gotten on with them very well so far, as his sister Daisy, two years his senior, whom he rules right royally, has acted as court interpreter; but she has just departed for a drive with a neighboring friend, and the aunts are left in sole charge of his Highness.
He is very gracious at first, looks over a picture-book with Miss Helena, and makes eager but unintelligible remarks respecting the "bow-wows" and "moos," to which Miss Helena answers, "Um, dear," as being the safest thing to say. But now he is silent, and has been so for at least ten minutes.
"How good Ralph is!" half whispers Miss Helena.
His Highness pricks up his ears.
"Yes, dear little fellow; and he has no one to play with, either."
His Highness sits up—he speaks.
"ONT DAYKUMBOA."
"Ont daykumboa."
"What is it, dear?" says Miss Judith.
"Ont daykumboa," repeats Master Ralph.
"What does the child mean?" asks Miss Helena.
"I don't know. What do you want, Ralphie?"
Ralph, with a look of mingled contempt and pity at his stupid relatives, says, slowly but emphatically, "Ont daykumboa."
"Perhaps he is hungry. I'll go and get him a piece of cake," says Miss Helena.
The cake is brought, and promptly accepted; but it is evidently not the thing for which his soul longs, for after devouring half the slice he plaintively murmurs, "Ont daykumboa."
"Well, isn't that daykumboa?" says Miss Judith.
Ralph gives her a scornful look as sole answer, and finishes his cake in awful silence. As the last crumb disappears he sighs, "Ont daykumboa."
"What on earth and under the sun does the child want!" is the combined exclamation of the aunts.
"Perhaps Elijah can help us."
"Oh yes, he knows everything pretty nearly; but he may not like being disturbed now—he's writing, you know."
"Well, perhaps Victoria might be able to tell; she used to take care of children."
So Victoria is summoned from the kitchen. She is a tall majestic negress, who looks as if she had just stepped out of history. Her speech does not quite come up to her stately mien.
"Why, what's de matter wi' de chile?" she queries.
All of Ralph's reply is lost except "daykumboa."
"Well, come 'long wi' Victoria—she git you kumboa. What, ain't gwine to come? Oh laws! dat ain't bein' good bo'."
For Master Ralph has seated himself flatly on a footstool, and with his back against the wall, refuses in the dumbest of dumb-show to be entrapped into "gwine" anywhere.
Miss Helena suggests that they bring to him whatever they find that is at all likely to be "daykumboa."
So at the feet of his Royal Highness is laid such a queer collection of articles as never before appeared in that trim sitting-room: a Child's History of England, a bottle of mucilage, a pair of scissors, a coal shovel, a comb and brush, a bunch of flowers, a photograph album, a bottle of ink, and goodness knows what besides. Miss Helena ransacks her brains and her bureau, Miss Judith brings every portable in the room, and Victoria literally squanders the contents of her larder, but all to no purpose, and what is worse, his Highness, becoming alarmed at such unusual behavior, begins to moan "Ont daykumboa" in a way that draws tears to the eyes of his aunts.
"Judith," exclaims Miss Helena, "the case is getting desperate. We must send for Elijah, no matter if he does get angry.—Victoria, just go to the study, and tell the Professor that he must come here for a few minutes. Do you hear—must!"
Victoria, looking as scared as only a solemn-natured darky can look, departs, and returns speedily with the Professor.
"Is anything the matter with Alcibiades?" he asks. Alcibiades, be it known, is what the Professor always calls Ralph—"for short," he says.
"He is in a most peculiar condition, Elijah—persists in calling for daykumboa, and we can not understand what he means."
"What is it that you want, my boy?" inquires the Professor, bending his dignified back and knees, so as to bring his gray head on a level with Ralph's "curly pow."
Ralph turns to him with an expression of relief, as much as to say, "Well, here's a reasonable being at last," and explains, "Ont daykumboa."
"And what is daykumboa?" says the Professor.
"Daykumboa," repeats Ralph, with a lingering hope that perhaps he is going to get some satisfaction; but this creature is just as dull as the rest, and his Highness, with great want of dignity, begins to whimper.
"The child seems to be in pain," says the Professor, standing up, and regarding his nephew with concern. "Perhaps he has hurt himself."
"I never thought of that," cries Miss Judith.—"Have you hurt yourself, Ralphie?"
"Ont daykumboa," is the only response.
"Looks like he gwine to hab a fit. I gib de chile a good warm bath, if I's you," suggests Victoria.
Miss Helena eagerly catches at the straw.
"That's a good idea, Victoria. Just fill the little foot-tub with hot water, and bring it right in here."
Victoria hurries off to get the bath, and the Professor, seized with a new idea for the explanation of the mystery, goes to his study to search his dictionary for "daykumboa" in some dead or living language.
The foot-tub is brought, and the aunts proceed to undress his Highness, whereat he waxes wroth. They persist; there is a frightful howl, a struggle, and the tub of hot water is very vigorously overturned among the photographs, scissors, and eatables that strew the floor. The Professor, in alarm, comes tearing in, a book in each hand. At that moment a patter as of small feet is heard in the hall, and a little figure with flying golden locks darts into the room.
Ralph rushes into her arms in a kind of ecstasy, crying, "Oh, daykumboa! daykumboa!"
"What is it that Ralph is saying, Daisy?" eagerly asks Miss Helena, in the lull that follows. "He has been wanting daykumboa all the afternoon."
"He says, 'Daisy come back,'" answers the little girl. "That's what you wanted—wasn't it, Ralphie?"
"Es, me ont daykumboa," assents his Highness.
The Professor regards his niece with humble admiration not unmixed with awe, and retires to his study to lay his dictionaries by. Victoria rolls her eyes ceilingward, and says, "Well, I declar'!" then falls to work picking up the ruins of their various offerings, and the two ladies turn to help her after a little silent astonishment.
Ten minutes after, his Highness is seen in the garden pouring sand down his sister's neck, and sternly ordering her to "fit 'till," when she objects, in a tone that makes his aunts wonder if this can be the same boy who spent the greater part of two hours in wailing, "Ont daykumboa."
A SCARECROW NO SCARECROW.
An umbrella for a scarecrow
Was in a corn field placed,
And with loud caws the sly old crows
Around it gravely paced;
When suddenly a shower fell,
And under it they went,
And staid until the rain had ceased,
As in a little tent.
Then said they, as they all trooped out,
"That man's a jolly feller;
Not only plants the corn for us,
But lends us his umbreller!"
The Paradise of Insects.—None but those who have travelled on the Upper Amazons can have any idea of the number and voracity of the insect torments which work their wicked will on the bodies of the unfortunates exposed to their attacks. The "sancudos," or small sand-flies, form by far the most important section. In the villages, round which the forest is cleared away for some distance, the sancudos are generally pretty quiet during the day, except where darkness prevails: there they are ever busy, and are a perfect plague. The triumphant note of a sancudo which has made his way under your curtains is more annoying than even his bite; and should you have been careless in getting into bed, and been accompanied by two or three of these blood-suckers, we will defy you to sleep until you have exterminated them.
In the forest and on the river the sancudos are always busy. Men sometimes get into the vessel's tops, and there cover themselves with sacks, notwithstanding the heat, rather than remain below exposed to their attacks. Fortunately they can not stand a current of air, and so when under way the vessel is comparatively free from them, but when at anchor these pests are something awful. To get rid of them is next to impossible. Creosote will keep them off, but the remedy is as bad as the disease. Whitewash will drive them away, but when dry its power ceases; and the only thing to do is either to cover all exposed parts of the body with black pigment à la mode Indienne, or else to "grin and bear it."
Scarcely less troublesome than the sancudos are the mosquitoes, although they have the negative merit of biting only by day. They are minute creatures, not much larger than a pin's head; they prefer the backs of the hands to any other spot for their attacks. But, unlike the sancudo, which, when undisturbed, gorges himself until unable to fly, and becomes an easy prey to your avenging finger, the mosquito never seems to take too much to prevent his easy escape on the slightest appearance of danger, being evidently just as wide-awake when full as when empty.
Everywhere in long grass lurks the "moquim," a little red insect so small as to be almost imperceptible, but which fastens on the legs, causing the most intolerable itching.
There is a fly which burrows in the skin and deposits an egg, both in human beings and animals. This produces a maggot, similar in shape to that of the common blow-fly, but much larger, probably analogous to the Guinea-worm.
Then there are "chigos," which burrow mostly in the soles of the feet. You feel an intense itching, and on examination find a little thing like a pea just under the epidermis; this is the bag containing the young chigos, which must be carefully picked out with the point of a knife, and the cavity left filled with tobacco ash.
Huge spiders abound, whose very appearance inspires a wholesome dread of a nearer acquaintance, but which are harmless enough if let alone. In fact, on board the steamers, almost every cabin is tenanted by one large spider, whose presence is tolerated on account of his being a deadly foe to cockroaches, which abominable creatures swarm on board. Sometimes he is not visible for a fortnight or more at a time; but he leaves tokens of "having been there," in the shape of the empty husks of cockroaches, from which he has carefully abstracted the interior. These spiders have the power of springing upon their prey from a distance, and some of them are so large and powerful as to kill and devour small birds.
In passing through the narrow forest paths it is necessary to be on the look-out for the wood-ticks, which are very difficult to get rid of if once firmly attached; also for the huge black ants, an inch and a half in length, with stings like a hornet's; and the saüba ant, without sting, but armed with nippers like a pair of surgical bone-forceps, which are running about everywhere. One may sometimes chance upon a column of the dreaded "fire-ants," marching in regular military order; and if he does, the only thing is to bolt at once, for neither man nor beast may withstand the fire-ant and live. When at length the traveller stops to rest, he must take care to examine the camping ground to see that neither centipede nor scorpion is there.
Frequently both centipedes and scorpions are found on the steamers, introduced, no doubt, in the wood used for fuel. One day, while the writer was watching the hands taking wood from canoes alongside, from one of the logs pitched on board was dislodged a scorpion, which fell on the naked left arm of a man keeping tally at the gangway. Astonished by his sudden flight through the air, the animal remained perfectly still. The man never moved a muscle, and quietly raising his right hand, flipped it away with his fingers and thumb. It was very neatly and coolly done; and he thus escaped a sting, which he no doubt would have received had he tried to brush it hastily away.