Now L am going to turn away—for a time at any rate—from whittling of wood, and to speak of cutting of cork—that is ordinary corks. So many things can be constructed with them by the help of a penknife and liquid glue.
The celebrated Cleopatra's Needle is a good object; a wheelbarrow, an old-fashioned square arm-chair, a book-case, an old oak chest, a Dutch cradle, and many other articles of furniture can be imitated. In selecting copies for imitation it is best to choose those of old date, made of oak, for the cork resembles old worm-eaten oak when its first freshness has gone and its complexion becomes darker. A very pretty and uncommon object to copy is that of an old-fashioned clock, a veritable "my grandfather's clock," an upright tall eight-day clock that has a long chain and a heavy pendulum concealed within its tall case, and that shows a big square face with large figures printed on it. I will give you a few details about my cork clock, and I think you will make one and set it upon a bracket to be admired by all beholders. This miniature clock stands 7½ inches high. Its two cases and head are hollow; it is built of little blocks of cork of different sizes, fitted neatly together, so that at the first glance one imagines each portion to be one large piece. The lower part of the clock is 2 inches high and 1½ inches across. This hollow four-sided case stands on a basement formed of cork blocks, which project a wee bit beyond the case; this structure is supported by 4 feet of a club-like form. So far so good. Now we will raise the structure higher. A case in which the pendulum with its chain is supposed to be hanging and swinging and tick-tacking is formed likewise of bricks of cork: its length is 2½ inches, its breadth is 1 inch. Now as the upper case is smaller, you see, than the lower one, there would be a cavity, and indeed nothing for the higher one to rest upon, so we put little bevelled pieces on the lower case, which fill up part of the aperture and give the upper case a resting-place. The door of the clock is represented by a narrow thin piece of cork, at least 2 inches long, placed down the middle of the upper case. Now we have come to its head: this is a hollow square, 1½ inches high and wide. A little platform is put on the upper case, which projects beyond it all round. On this the head stands, and at each corner a little round pillar, the height of the head, rears itself up. On the top of the head there is an ornamental battlement, composed of dog-tooth pieces of cork. As the clock has a head, it ought to have a face; indeed, the face is one of the chief parts of a clock. Take a piece of stiff white paper or thin cardboard, cut it square the exact size of the head, and on it mark, in your neatest style, the proper number of figures and the two black hands: fasten the paper on a square of cork the same size, and put it in at the back of the head. Keep it in its place by fastening projecting blocks of cork to the back of the square; this will keep it steady, and prevent the face from falling away from the front of the head. The face looks rather too staring if the whole square is seen, therefore fix tiny half squares of cork in each of the four corners of the head in front.
E. C.
[1][See Little Folks, Vol. XVIII., page 291.]
SUMMER VISITORS.
fed the birds in the winter,
And so in the summer, you see,
They flew through my open window,
And stayed for a cup of tea.
They little thought I was looking, the dear little feathered things,
As they hovered o'er cups and saucers, and fluttered their pretty wings.
For I was standing on tip-toe,
In hiding behind the screen,
And a livelier chirpier party,
I think I have never seen.
The air was sweet with the summer, the window stood open wide,
My room was a garden of flowers, and lime-trees blossomed outside.
So the old birds paid me a visit,
And the young birds came in their train,
For they took my room, with its nosegays,
For part of their own domain;
While they sipped the cream in my teacups, and daintily pecked my cake,
And called to their friends and neighbours, that each and all might partake.
But just as I stood there watching,
Enjoying their chorus gay,
My cat stole in from the kitchen,
And all of them flew away—
With wings that fluttered and quivered, they chirped to another tune,
As they flew away through the garden that beautiful day in June.
A. M.