This uncomfortable state of affairs ended in a kind of tragedy, and I will just tell you of this and of its upshot before passing on to the rhinoceros adventure, which is the real part of this yarn.
(Concluded on page [154].)
THE SHEPHERD MOON.
LOVE to wait till the red sun hides,
When from the dusk the Shepherd Moon glides;
And by twos and threes around him peep
His flock of little white starry sheep.
All night they ramble so far and high,
Their pasture wide is the dark blue sky;
Then the Shepherd Moon goes on his way,
And leads them back to the folds of Day.
PEEPS INTO NATURE'S NURSERIES.
V.—THE LIFE-HISTORY OF THE FRESH-WATER MUSSEL.
Most readers of Chatterbox must have seen the fresh-water mussel in its native element. Let those who have not, search in the shallow water of the nearest river or brook till they are successful. When the stream is clear you may often see them lying on the bottom; in deeper water, you may catch them if you go out armed with a big, long-handled rake; plunge this into the water, drag it along the bottom, and carefully haul up the entangled mud and weed. Sooner or later your search should be rewarded. I have caught hundreds this way. Some of them were not more than an inch and a half long, and when placed in a glass jar were so transparent, that I could watch the beating of the heart through the shell. Indeed, I have two such little beauties before me, on my study table, as I write. One has partly buried himself in the mud, the other is lying on the surface. But, when full-grown, this transparency passes away, and they attain a perfectly huge size—six inches long at any rate!