| vol. iii.—no. 137. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents. |
| Tuesday, June 13, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance. |
[CAPTAIN BANNER'S LYNX.]
BY EDWARD I. STEVENSON.
THE DOGS HOLDING THE LYNX AT BAY.
Captain Banner, of the Yellowbird Ranch, sat upon a flat hot rock, half-way up a certain California hill-side, eating his luncheon. A few feet from the Captain stood tethered his good horse Huckleberry, who had no luncheon. No more had the three stout mongrel dogs who commonly ran along with Captain Banner, when the straying off of some of his cattle forced him to spend the day in getting at their whereabouts.
The dogs sat composedly on their haunches, two of them staring down into the ravine below, and the other one, Poncho, with his tongue out, watching every mouthful that the Captain took with much interest. But his master was in anything but a good-humor. He had ridden since early daylight, and not a single horned runaway had been sighted. No wonder he was discouraged.
"Upon my word," he said to the group of dogs, tossing a bit of cheese into Poncho's jaws, "you're a pretty set of brutes, I must say! Stringing along all day after Huckleberry's heels, and no more good at keeping a herd together or recovering it than—than greyhounds. Now if any one of you had the least— My good gracious!" he exclaimed, breaking off, "what is up?"
Before he had time for another syllable, away went the three dogs, heels over head, down the hill, and into the ravine, leaping and barking like mad creatures. One of them had suddenly caught a scent on the breeze; a second later espied with his keen eye a large tawny animal stealthily crossing the dried-up rivulet below. The trio were on full jump after it at once, like four-legged tornadoes. It seemed to be springing and dashing ahead of them like a beast resolved to get away at any price. Captain Banner threw himself on Huckleberry, and clattered down after the dogs and it.
The dogs gained ground. "After him, Poncho!" shouted the Captain, wondering very much what "him" might stand for. All at once he heard a violent snarl and a loud yelp of pain. Poncho, the black dog, was on his back, struggling to regain his footing. Plainly the foe had bestowed a rousing whack with his paw upon the nearest pursuer, as a caution to come no closer. The chase, too, was slackened. The Captain came plunging along on his horse just in time to see a curious picture.
Rising up from the furze a few yards beyond was another flat rock. Upon that rock, with a thick thorn bush to defend him in the rear, half crouched, half stood, a great California lynx, all muscle, pluck, and grit, and seemingly full of fight from the end of his nose to the tip of his thick tail. The three dogs, including Poncho, leaped and bounded furiously around the rock, and barked with all their might and main; but they warily kept quite out of the reach of a dazzling set of teeth and enormous claws all displayed for action. The lynx remained compressed into the smallest possible space, growling and sputtering, and apparently contriving to look at each one of the three dogs at once. There was no doubt about it; he was clearly master of the field.
"Shame on you!" cried Captain Banner; "and three of you, too! At him, Turco; catch him by the throat, Poncho," he continued calling, while he prepared his lasso. But though, inspired by these encouragements, Turco, Poncho, and Red Jacket bayed and leaped up and about the lynx as if they would part company with their stout legs entirely, the great cat raised his thick paw and sputtered so savagely that all three beat a prudent retreat.
"Steady, Huckleberry!" came the Captain's voice. The lasso was thrown. Unluckily Huckleberry was nervous in such close relations to a lynx. He whined and started, and not the lynx, but poor Poncho, was successfully encircled by the flying noose, and rolled over, howling dismally and half choked. Nevertheless, this episode changed the current of the battle. The lynx realized that his enemy on horseback was more dangerous than the dogs. He sprang up and bounded away amongst the brush. The two free dogs tore after, and Captain Banner, hastily rescuing the gasping Poncho, spurred on too, coming up to the next battle-ground just when as close a rough-and-tumble fight as ever one could behold was under way.
The lynx had been overtaken. Turco had thrown himself upon him and pulled him down, while Red Jacket also sprang to his companion's help. But theirs was by no means the victory. The ground sloped considerably. The lynx grappled with his antagonists, and dragged them with him in his fall. The attacked and the attackers rolled down the ravine, an undistinguishable mass of legs and bodies, howling, spitting, snarling, and making the hair and fur fly to a degree that completely took away the Captain's breath, and made him wonder in what sort of condition the coveted skin would be when the struggle was over.
At one moment the lynx was under—now the dogs. Here leaped one of them, torn and bleeding, while his brother gladiator was dragged further along into the thicket, tugging to disengage himself from the gripping muscles that were rending and strangling him. But Poncho, comparatively fresh for a new onset, rushed up, and turned the tide of the fray. He fell upon the lynx like a small-sized tiger. Turco was freed, and the lynx, shaking off Poncho, gave a furious bound directly toward the Captain and Huckleberry (it was hard to say which was the more excited by this time), who were charging along well on the left. The lasso fell true at this second cast, though it had been an extremely hasty throw. The cord fell full over the furious creature's neck. It was taut in a second. The lynx struggled and gurgled, but it was too late.
Keeping off Poncho and Turco with his whip, the Captain finished up the enemy with the noose, and saved what was uninjured of his fine coat. Its late owner measured some four feet as he lay stiff and still upon the earth, so that the Captain as he rode back up the hill-side did not feel that his time and the chase had been lost. Poncho, Turco, and Red Jacket probably had their own private doubts about the matter, for one had lost an ear, another had suffered a cruel gash in his shoulder, and all of the trio were badly disfigured by scratches, bruises, and bites, and limped along rather dolefully.
The lynx's skin adorned Captain Banner's wall for weeks after, until it went with him up to San Pedro, and was converted into a goodly number of hard dollars.
[THE JUNE ROSES.]
BY MARY D. BRINE.
Oh, the red roses, the pretty red roses,
That come with the June-time so fragrant and fair—
The sweet crimson roses that bud and that blossom
So joyously out in the soft summer air!
Under the hedges and over the hedges,
Out in the meadows, and down in the lane,
Blushing and blooming and clinging and nestling,
Grow the sweet roses again and again.
Beautiful, are they? But I have some fairer,
And, oh, so much sweeter! Look yonder, and see
The cluster of rose-buds, than none e'er grew rosier—
The freshest and daintiest of rose-buds for me.
The little white sun-bonnets—go, peep beneath them;
Mark the bright faces, where through the glad day
The breezes and sunbeams lay kisses in plenty,
And dimples and smiles chase each other in play.
Three little maidens so dainty and rosy,
Three little sun-bonnets all in a row,
Six little hands that are merrily twining
Crimson-red wreaths where the June roses grow.
Oh, how they welcome the bright smiling weather,
My little rose-buds that blossom for me!
And I tumble them out in the sunshine together,
And help them grow sweet as June roses should be.
[THAT HORNETS' NEST.]
BY CHARLEY GRAYSON.
Boys never have such splendid times anywhere as they do at their grandfathers'. How some fellows get along the way they have to without any grandfathers or grandmothers I never could make out. Just fancy having no grandfather to go and see Christmas and Thanksgiving and summer vacations! The fact is, a boy without any grandfather can't begin to have half a good time.
Fathers and mothers are all very well, but, you see, as mother explained the last time father had to whip us, they feel a responsibility. Now, grandfathers and grandmothers haven't any such responsibility. They can just give themselves up to being good-natured, and let a fellow have a good time. If he turns out bad, you see, it ain't their fault, and they don't have to worry about not having done their duty by him.
My grandfather lived just out of Blackridge, on a large farm. There was an academy at Blackridge, and so mother sent me to live there for a while and go to school; and Uncle Jerry's two boys, Ham and Mow (right names Hamilton and Mowbray), lived there all the time, and Uncle Jerry and Aunt Anna too, and we had just the best fun that ever any boys did have: I don't mean Uncle Jerry and Aunt Anna; they didn't go in for fun, you know. Uncle Jerry kept a store in the village, and Aunt Anna staid in the kitchen with grandma.
We always had to behave ourselves, and never thought of doing things without leave, for grandpa was not one of the kind to be disobeyed; besides, we loved him too well for that. But he was always ready to let us have a good time, and said that he liked to see boys enjoy themselves when they did it in the right way.
Besides Ham and Mow, there were the Davis boys, about five miles off, who went to the academy too; and once a week or so we spent the day with them, or they came to spend it with us. Real good fellows, both of them; and I think we liked the visit to them best, there were such lots of things to do there. Mr. Davis, you see, was what grandpa called "a progressive man"—I used to wonder what that meant, and say it over to myself whenever I saw him—and he wanted Frank and George to understand everything that was going on; and he used to get them all the improving boys' books that came out, and they had a tool chest, and a printing-press, and all kinds of drawing things, and the greatest lot of scrap-books; and they collected stamps and coins, and taught us how; and we used to make things when we went there, and Mr. Davis always gave a prize for the best.
Mr. Davis's right name was "Hon. Charles M. Davis." I saw it on his letters when the boys brought them from the Post-office, and they were very proud of their father's name. He had been to Congress, people said, and I used to wonder if this was as far off as the Cape of Good Hope.
Mrs. Davis used to train round (I don't mean that she acted bad) in a real handsome dress mornings, and she smiled at us pleasantly, and said that she liked boys, and hoped we wouldn't make her head quite split (Ham guessed there must be a big crack in it somewhere); and then she went off, and we didn't see her again until dinner-time.
I used to get 'most sick then, because Mrs. Davis said she thought boys could never have too much to eat; and she kept piling things on our plates, and it wouldn't be polite to leave them; and I was the littlest, and it really seemed as if I couldn't hold them all. Aunt Anna always said that "visiting didn't agree with Phil"; but I went all the same.
This was the way we got there: grandpa would let us have a horse when it wasn't too busy a day on the farm, and we all took turns in riding him. It was prime fun, and gave each of us just about enough walking. There was the one-mile mill, and Heckles's pasture, and the brook, and old Mrs. Junkett's little red house, and lots of places, where the boy that was on got off, and the next one took his turn; and we never quarrelled about it, and always came back feeling just about as good as when we started.
One morning in July we set off, expecting to have just the grandest kind of a time. Mr. Davis had got the boys something new from the city, and they wouldn't tell us what it was until we came. It was Saturday, of course, and most amazingly hot. Kitty (that was the horse) did not care about going very fast, and she crawled along with us, turn and turn, till we got about a mile from Mr. Davis's.
"A hornets' nest!" shouted Mow, who had walked on ahead of Kitty. "Come on, boys!"
"Stop," said Ham; "let's tie Kitty safely first."
So we led her to the shade of some trees on the edge of a piece of woods, where she would be safe from the hornets, and tied her fast; then off we went, full tilt, after Mow. He was staring up into a hollow tree, where we could just see the hornets' nest, looking like a brown-paper parcel full of holes—and a big fat one it was.
"There's millions in it," said he, as we came up; but he didn't mean money, only hornets.
This pleased us very much; not that we were exactly fond of hornets, but it made it more exciting. No matter what a boy is doing, he always has to go for a hornets' nest when he sees it; and we never thought about being warm or anything else, but just to send those hornets flying. We could see a few of them crawling in and out, and hanging round their paper house, and we meant to give them a hint that they'd been living in that hollow tree about long enough.
The tree was quite low, and we got long sticks and went at them. We had a lively time of it. The hornets came swarming out at us like ten thousand red-hot locomotives, burning us everywhere at once, for they stung us like fun; and we ran for dear life, and then came back and hacked away at them, our faces blazing with heat, and perspiration oozing from every pore. We took off our jackets at the beginning of the fray, or there would not have been much of them left, for the hornets were as mad as they could be, and so were we.
We kept it up for hours, never thinking how hot we were, or that it was time to be hungry, and we got that nest pretty well demolished. When the hornets were nearly gone, and there wasn't much of the nest to be seen, three tired boys limped off rather lamely to Kitty's cool bower, and throwing themselves down on the ground, fell fast asleep.
When they awoke, each looked at the other in great amazement. Ham's upper lip was puffed 'way out, and one eye closed; Mow's nose looked like a large pink potato: while as for me, the hornets seemed to have attacked every feature I had. The lengthening shadows warned us that it was supper-time, and with a puzzled feeling about our visit at the Davises', we turned our highly ornamented faces homeward.
"What has happened?" cried grandma, as we came within sight of the family gathered on the porch. "Do look at these boys!"
Of course every one looked at us; and as soon as they had settled what was the matter, they made us look ten times worse than ever by daubing our faces with mud.
We were rather afraid of punishment, at least by being sent supperless to bed; and I think we never loved grandma so much as when, calling us into the kitchen, she gave us one of the best suppers we ever had in our lives.
All that was ever said to us was said by grandpa the next morning, with a comical twist of his eye. "Boys, when you want another hornets' nest, you needn't go quite so far after it. There's a splendid one over the northeast end of the barn."
The Davises had a man with a wonderful magic lantern that day.
[THE "PORTUGUESE MAN-OF-WAR."]
BY SARAH COOPER.
Some one has probably imagined that this curious floating animal looks like a Portuguese war vessel, and on that account has given to the innocent and defenseless creature a name which seems to us very inappropriate. We will not be dismayed, however, by a forbidding name, for the graceful animal is not in the least warlike. I hope you may all have the pleasure some day of seeing one floating over the sea like a fairy vessel, not minding the winds or the storms. You will be delighted with its beauty, and you will wonder how so frail a bark can withstand the waves.
When we examine it we shall find it to be a transparent pear-shaped bladder, about nine inches long, throwing off like a soap-bubble bright blue colors tinged with green and crimson. On top of the bladder there is a wavy rumpled crest of delicate pink. This may perhaps act as a sail.
PORTUGUESE MAN-OF-WAR.
From one end of the bottom hangs a large bunch of curious-looking, bright-colored threads, and bags, and coiled tentacles which trail after it. You will see these streamers in the picture, and you may be surprised to learn that they are separate animals, forming a little colony, and floated by the same bladder. Still, they are not entirely distinct; they have various uses, and each contributes its share to the good of the colony. Some produce eggs, some do the swimming, some do the eating, and others are provided with lasso cells to procure food.
In such colonies of animals as this, the food which is taken by one individual helps to nourish all the others. This is accomplished by the circulation of fluids throughout the whole colony carrying nourishment to each one.
In animals that are more highly developed we shall find these offices performed by special parts of the same body. These different portions of the body, which are set apart to perform certain duties, are called organs. Thus we speak of the eye as the organ of sight, the ear as the organ of hearing, etc.
The tentacles of the Portuguese man-of-war are more than twenty feet long, yet they may be drawn up to within an inch of the bladder. It is exceedingly interesting to watch them as they are drawn up and then let down again. They are furnished with lasso cells, which not only wound the prey, but sting bathers or any persons who come in contact with them. Even after death the tentacles produce irritation when they are touched.
These beautiful creatures are found in tropical seas. They are abundant in the Gulf of Mexico, and they are often carried by the Gulf Stream into Northern waters. Occasionally they drift upon our own shore. Do you think you would recognize one floating on the ocean when you had not expected to see it? If you should ever have one in your possession, do not fail to dry it or keep it in alcohol, for although its delicate beauty can not be preserved, it will still be interesting to those who have never seen living ones.
One might suppose these animals were fond of society, since they float together in large companies, which have been fancifully called fleets. Travellers sometimes speak of meeting with them in great numbers, studding the surface of the ocean, and composed of both large and small animals, probably the young ones out sailing with their parents.
Shall I tell you a true story of a Portuguese man-of-war which was run down and captured by an American vessel?
Not many years ago a party of summer visitors on the quaint island of Martha's Vineyard, wishing to go to Gay Head, hired for the purpose a little steam-tug, and started one morning in fine spirits. Gay Head, I should tell you, is a promontory at the southwestern extremity of the island, remarkable for the curious manner in which the layer's of different-colored clays are deposited, making it look gay indeed. If you should see it, you would think it had been properly named. For quite a distance out at sea we may detect the distinct layers of black and white clays, with bright red and many soft shades of gray and yellow clay placed one above another, and all slanting from the top of the cliff at one side to the bottom of the other side.
The merry little party on board the steam-tug were enjoying the quiet waters and picturesque shores of Vineyard Sound, when a shrill cry from the children, "Portuguese man-of-war!" brought the whole party to that side of the boat in time to see the curious animal gliding past. It seemed to move very fast, but that was a deception caused by the rapid motion of the boat in the opposite direction.
Some of the party had a desire to catch the little thing floating so gallantly on the great waters, and as the Captain was easily persuaded, after a little delay the steamboat was turned about in its course, and started in pursuit. Does it not strike you as an uneven race? The eager company of men, women, and children, and the Captain too, and the pilot, with the steam-engine at their bidding, all intent upon overtaking the Portuguese man-of-war! So it appeared to some of those who were present, and the capture seemed rather an ignominious one. One little girl wondered how they had the heart to catch such a beautiful thing.
The little tug looked large and awkward as it came up beside the graceful creature gliding over the waves without the slightest effort. It seemed especially clumsy, as it had to back several times and make a fresh attempt to get within reach of the animal without swamping it.
The water was so clear that the whole length of the tentacles could be seen, and all on board were filled with admiration for the elegant form and delicate colors of the creature whose fate was sealed.
There was at least one on board who wished it was possible to warn it of its peril, and to suggest sinking in the water as its only means of escape. But it seemed to scorn the thought of danger, and floated proudly on right into the scoop-net that awaited it.
It was a moment of great excitement. The Portuguese man-of-war was lifted carefully on board, and placed in a pail of sea-water, where each one had an opportunity to examine it. The movement of its tentacles was curious. At times some of them were drawn up so as scarcely to be seen, then those were let down suddenly, and others drawn up; sometimes they were all lowered to the bottom of the pail, and were curled and twisted in a peculiar manner.
In lifting it from the water the tentacles hung so far over the edge of the boat as to leave no doubt about their being fully twenty feet in length. A gentleman lifted them into the pail with the handle of a broom. He must have touched the lasso cells in some way, for, notwithstanding his precaution, his hand was badly stung; the swelling extended the whole length of his arm, and it soon became very painful. The company examined some of the lasso cells with a microscope, and they were surprised that such fine white threads could cause so much pain.