And when he has carried his prey to the spot where he chooses to have
his dinner, he shows that no beast can surpass him in the meat-eating
line. When he has satisfied his hunger on an ox, there is not much
left for those who come to the second table. And there are often other
Lions, younger and weaker than the one who has provided the dinner,
who must wait until their master or father is done before they have a
chance to take a bite. But, as you may see by this picture, they do
not wait very patiently. They roar and growl and grumble until their
turn comes.

[Illustration]

Lions have some very peculiar characteristics. When they have made a
bound upon their prey and have missed it, they seldom chase the
frightened animal. They are accustomed to make one spring on a deer or
an ox, and to settle the matter there and then. So, after a failure to
do this, they go to the place from which they have made the spring and
practise the jump over and over until they feel that they can make it
the next time they have a chance.

This is by no means a bad idea for a Lion--or a man either.

Another of their peculiarities is their fear of traps and snares.
Very often they will not spring upon an ox or a horse, simply because
it is tied to a tree. They think there is some trick when they see the
animal is fastened by a rope.

And when they come upon a man who is asleep, they will very often let
him lie undisturbed. They are not accustomed to seeing men lying about
in their haunts, and they don't know what to make of it. Sometimes
they take it in their heads to lie down there themselves. Then it
becomes disagreeable for the man when he awakes.

[Illustration]

A story of this kind is told of an African who had been hunting, and
who, being tired, had lain down to sleep. When he awoke there lay a
great Lion at a short distance from him! For a minute or two the man
remained motionless with fright, and then he put forth his hand to
take his gun, which was on the ground a few feet from him.

But when the Lion saw him move he raised his head and roared.

The man was quiet in a second.

After a while it began to be terribly hot, and the rocks on which the
poor man was lying became so heated by the sun that they burned his
feet.

But whenever he moved the old Lion raised his head and growled.

The African lay there for a very long time, and the Lion kept watch
over him. I expect that Lion had had a good meal just before he saw
this man, and he was simply saving him up until he got hungry again.
But, fortunately, after the hunter had suffered awfully from the heat
of the burning sun, and had also lain there all night, with this
dreadful beast keeping watch over him, the Lion became thirsty before
he got hungry, and when he went off to a spring to get a drink the
African crawled away.

If that Lion had been a Tiger, I think he would have killed the man,
whether he wished to eat him or not.

So there is something for the Lion's reputation.




BOB'S HIDING-PLACE.

[Illustration]


Bob was not a very big boy, but he was a lively little fellow and full
of fun. You can see him there in the picture, riding on his brother
Jim's back. One evening there happened to be a great many boys and
girls at Bob's father's house. The grown-up folks were having a family
party, and as they were going to stay all night--you see this was in
the country--some of them brought their children with them.

[Illustration]

It was not long after supper that a game of Blind-Man's-Buff was
proposed, and, as it would not do to have such an uproar in the
sitting-room as the game would produce, the children were all packed
off to the kitchen. There they have a glorious time. Jim is the first
one blindfolded, and, as he gropes after the others, they go stumbling
up against tables, and rattling down tin-pans, and upsetting each
other in every direction. Old Grandfather, who has been smoking his
pipe by the kitchen fire, takes as much pleasure in the game as the
young folks, and when they tumble over his legs, or come banging up
against his chair, he only laughs, and warns them not to hurt
themselves.

I could not tell you how often Grandfather was caught, and how they
all laughed at the blind-man when he found out whom he had seized.

But after a while the children became tired of playing
Blind-Man's-Buff, and a game of Hide-and-Seek was proposed. Everybody
was in favor of that, especially little Bob. It appears that Bob had
not a very good time in the other game. Everybody seemed to run up
against him and push him about, and whenever he was caught the
blind-man said "Bob!" immediately. You see there was no mistaking Bob;
he was so little.

But in Hide-and-Seek he would have a better chance. He had always
liked that game ever since he had known how to play anything. He was a
good little fellow for hiding, and he knew it.

When the game had begun, and all the children--except the biggest
girl, who was standing in a corner, with her hands before her face,
counting as fast as she could, and hoping that she would come to one
hundred before everybody had hidden themselves--had scampered off to
various hiding-places, Bob still stood in the middle of the
kitchen-floor, wondering where in the world he should go to! All of a
sudden--the girl in the corner had already reached sixty-four--he
thought he would go down in the cellar.

There was no rule against that--at least none that he knew of--and so,
slipping softly to the cellar-door, over in the darkest corner of the
kitchen, he opened it, and went softly down the steps.

There was a little light on the steps, for Bob did not shut the door
quite tightly after him, and if there had been none at all, he would
have been quite as well pleased. He was not afraid of the dark, and
all that now filled his mind was the thought of getting somewhere
where no one could possibly find him. So he groped his way under the
steps, and there he squatted down in the darkness, behind two barrels
which stood in a corner.

"Now," thought Bob, "she won't find me--easy."

He waited there a good while, and the longer he waited the prouder he
became.

"I'll bet mine's the hardest place of all," he said to himself.

[Illustration]

Bob heard a great deal of noise and shouting after the big girl came
out from her corner and began finding the others, and he also heard a
bang above his head, but he did not know that it was some one shutting
the cellar-door. After that all was quiet.

Bob listened, but could not hear a step. He had not the slightest
idea, of course, that they had stopped playing and were telling
stories by the kitchen fire. The big girl had found them all so easily
that Hide-and-Seek had been voted down.

Bob had his own ideas in regard to this silence. "I know," he
whispered to himself, "they're all found, and they're after me, and
keeping quiet to hear me breathe!"

And, to prevent their finding his hiding-place by the sound of his
breathing, Bob held his breath until he was red in the face. He had
heard often enough of that trick of keeping quiet and listening to
breathing. You couldn't catch him that way!

When he was at last obliged to take a breath, you might have supposed
he would have swallowed half the air in the cellar. He thought he had
never tasted anything so good as that long draught of fresh air.

"Can't hold my breath all the time!" Bob thought. "If I could, maybe
they'd never find me at all," which reflection was much nearer the
truth than the little fellow imagined.

I don't know how long Bob had been sitting under the steps--it may
have been five minutes, or it may have been a quarter of an hour, and
he was beginning to feel a little cold--when he heard the cellar-door
open, and some one put their foot upon the steps.

"There they are!" he thought, and he cuddled himself up in the
smallest space possible.

Some one was coming down, sure enough, but it was not the children, as
Bob expected. It was his Aunt Alice and her cousin Tom Green. They had
come down to get some cider and apples for the company, and had no
thought of Bob. In fact, when Bob was missed it was supposed that he
had got tired and had gone up-stairs, where old Aunt Hannah was
putting some of the smaller children to bed.

So, of course, Alice and Tom Green did not try to find him, but Bob,
who could not see them, thought it was certainly some of the children
come down to look for him.

In this picture of the scene in the cellar, little Bob is behind those
two barrels in the right-hand upper corner, but of course you can't
see him. He knows how to hide too well for that.

[Illustration]

But when Tom and Alice spoke, Bob knew their voices and peeped out.

"Oh!" he thought, "it's only Aunt Alice and he. They've come down for
cider and things. I've got to hide safe now, or they'll tell when they
go up-stairs."

"I didn't know _all_ them barrels had apples in! I thought some were
potatoes. I wish they would just go up-stairs again and leave that
candle on the floor! I wonder if they will forget it! If they do, I'll
just eat a whole hat-full of those big red apples, and some of the
streakedy ones in the other barrel too; and then I'll put my mouth to
the spigot of that cider-barrel, and turn it, and drink and drink and
drink--and if there isn't enough left in that barrel, I'll go to
another one and turn that. I never did have enough cider in all my
life. I wish they'd hurry and go up.

"Kissin'! what's the good of kissin'! A cellar ain't no place for
that. I expect they won't remember to forget the candle if they don't
look out!

"Oh, pshaw! just look at 'em! They're a-going up again, and taking the
candle along! The mean things!"

Poor little Bob!

There he sat in his corner, all alone again in the darkness and
silence, for Tom and Alice had shut the cellar-door after them when
they had gone up-stairs. He sat quietly for a minute or two, and then
he said to himself:

"I b'lieve I'd just as lieve they'd find me as not."

And to help them a little in their search he began to kick very gently
against one of the barrels.

Poor Bob! If you were to kick with all your force and even upset the
barrel they would not hear you. And what is more, they are not even
thinking of you, for the apples are now being distributed.

"I wonder," said the little fellow to himself, "if I could find that
red-apple barrel in the dark. But then I couldn't tell the red ones
from the streakedy ones. But either of 'em would do. I guess I won't
try, though, for I might put my hand on a rat. They run about when
it's dark. I hope they won't come in this corner. But there's nothin'
for 'em to eat in this corner but me, and they ain't lions. I wonder
if they'll come down after more cider when that's all drunk up. If
they do, I guess I'll come out and let Aunt Alice tell them all where
I am. I don't like playin' this game when it's too long."

[Illustration]

And so he sat and waited and listened, and his eye-lids began to grow
heavy and his head began to nod, and directly little Bob was fast
asleep in the dark corner behind the barrels.

By ten o'clock the children were all put to bed, and soon after the
old folks went up-stairs, leaving only Tom Green, Alice, and some of
the young men and women down in the big sitting-room.

Bob's mother went up into the room where several of the children were
sleeping, and after looking around, she said to the old colored nurse:

"Hannah, what have you done with Bob?"

"I didn't put him to bed, mum. I spect Miss Alice has took him to her
bed. She knowed how crowded the chil'un all was, up here."

"But Alice has not gone to bed," said Bob's mother.

"Don't spect she has, mum," said Hannah. "But I reckon she put him in
her bed till she come."

"I'll go and see," said Bob's mother.

She went, and she saw, but she didn't see Bob! And he wasn't in the
next room, or in any bed in the house, or under any bed, or anywhere
at all, as far as she could see; and so, pretty soon, there was a nice
hubbub in that house!

Bob's mother and father, and his grandfather, and Hannah, and the
young folks in the parlor, and nearly all the rest of the visitors,
ransacked the house from top to bottom. Then they looked out of doors,
and some of them went around the yard, where they could see very
plainly, as it was bright moonlight. But though they searched and
called, there was no Bob.

The house-doors being open, Snag the dog came in, and he joined in the
search, you may be sure, although I do not know that he exactly
understood what they were looking for.

Some one now opened the cellar-door, but it seemed preposterous to
look down in the cellar for the little fellow.

But nothing was preposterous to Snag.

The moment the cellar-door was opened he shuffled down the steps as
fast as he could go. He knew there was somebody down there.

And when those who followed him with a candle reached the
cellar-floor, there was Snag, with his head between the barrels,
wagging his tail as if he was trying to jerk it off, and whining with
joy as he tried to stick his cold nose into the rosy face of little
sleeping Bob.

It was Tom Green who carried Bob up-stairs, and very soon indeed, all
the folks were gathered in the kitchen, and Bob sleepily told his
story.

"But Tom and I were down in the cellar," said his Aunt Alice, "and we
didn't see you."

"I guess you didn't," said Bob, rubbing his eyes. "I was a-hidin' and
you was a-kissin'."

What a shout of laughter arose in the kitchen at this speech!
Everybody laughed so much that Bob got wide awake and wanted some
apples and cake.

The little fellow certainly made a sensation that night; but it was
afterwards noticed that he ceased to care much for the game of
Hide-and-Seek. He played it too well, you see.




THE CONTINENTAL SOLDIER.

[Illustration]


Did you ever see a Continental Soldier? I doubt it. Some twenty years
ago there used to be a few of them scattered here and there over the
country, but they must be nearly all gone now. About a year ago there
were but two of them left. Those whom some of us can remember were
rather mournful old gentlemen. They shuffled about their
dwelling-places, they smoked their pipes, and they were nearly always
ready to talk about the glorious old days of the Revolution. It was
well they had those days to fall back upon, for they had but little
share in the glories of the present. When they looked abroad upon the
country that their arms, and blood perhaps, had helped give to that
vigorous Young America which now swells with prosperity from Alaska to
Florida, they could see very little of it which they could call their
own.

It was difficult to look upon those feeble old men and imagine that
they were once full of vigor and fire; that they held their old
flintlocks with arms of iron when the British cavalry rushed upon
their bayonets; that their keen eyes flashed a deadly aim along their
rusty rifle-barrels; that, with their good swords quivering in their
sinewy hands, they urged their horses boldly over the battle-field,
shouting brave words to their advancing men; and that they laughed at
heat and cold, patiently endured hunger and privation, strode along
bravely on the longest marches, and, at last, stood proudly by when
Cornwallis gave up his sword.

Those old gentlemen did not look like anything of that sort. Their
old arms could hardly manage their old canes; their old legs could
just about carry them on a march around the garden, and they were very
particular indeed about heat and cold.

But History and Art will better keep alive the memory of their good
deeds, and call more vigorously upon the gratitude of their
countrymen, than those old Continentallers could themselves have done
it, had they lived on for years and years, and told generation after
generation how once they galloped proudly along the ranks, or, in
humbler station, beat with vigorous arm the stirring drum-roll that
called their comrades to the battle-field.

[Illustration]




A JUDGE OF MUSIC.

[Illustration]


It is not well to despise anybody or anything until you know what they
can do. I have known some very stupid-looking people who could do a
sum in the rule-of-three in a minute, and who could add up a column of
six figures abreast while I was just making a beginning at the
right-hand bottom corner. But stupid-looking beings are often good at
other things besides arithmetic. I have seen doctors, with very dull
faces, who knew all about castor-oil and mustard-plasters, and above
you see a picture of a Donkey who understood music.

This animal had a very fine ear for music. You can see how much ear he
had, and I have no doubt that he enjoyed the sweet sounds from one end
to the other of those beautiful long flaps. Well, he very often had an
opportunity of enjoying himself, for the lady of the house was a fine
musician, and she used to sing and play upon the piano nearly every
day. And as soon as he heard the sweet sounds which thrilled his
soul, the Donkey would come to the parlor window and listen.

One day the lady played and sang something which was particularly
sweet and touching. I never heard the name of the song--whether it was
"I'm sitting on the stile, Mary," or "A watcher, pale and weary"--but
if it was the latter, I am not surprised that it should have overcome
even a jackass. At any rate, the music so moved the soul of Mr. Donkey
that he could no longer restrain himself, but entering the open door
he stepped into the parlor, approached the lady, and with a voice
faltering from the excess of his emotion, he joined in the chorus!

The lady jumped backwards and gave a dreadful scream, and the Donkey,
thinking that the music went up very high in that part, commenced to
bray at such a pitch that you could have heard him if you had been up
in a balloon.

That was a lively concert; but it was soon ended by the lady rushing
from the room and sending her man John to drive out the musical
jackass with a big stick.

Fortunately, all donkeys have not this taste for music. The nearest
that the majority of jackasses come to being votaries of music is when
their skins are used for covering cases for musical instruments. And
if they have any ambition in the cause of harmony, that is better than
nothing.




THE SENSITIVE PLANT.


There was never a better name for a plant than this, for the delicate
leaves which grow on this slender stalk are almost as sensitive to the
touch as if they were alive. If you place your hand on a growing
plant, you will soon see all the leaves on the stem that you have
touched fold themselves up as tightly as if they had been packed up
carefully to be sent away by mail or express. In some of the common
kinds of this plant, which grow about in our fields, it takes some
time for the leaves to fold after they have been touched or handled;
but if you watch them long enough--five or ten minutes--you will see
that they never fail to close. They are not so sensitive as their
cultivated kindred, but they still have the family disposition.

Now this is certainly a wonderful property for a plant to possess, but
it is not half so strange as another trait of these same pretty green
leaves. They will shut up when it is dark, and open when it is light.

It may be said that many other plants will do this, but that is a
mistake. Many flowers and leaves close at _night_ and open in the
_day-time_, but very few indeed exhibit the peculiar action of the
sensitive plant in this respect. That plant will open at night if you
bring a bright light into the room where it is growing, and it will
close its leaves if the room is made dark in the day-time.

Other plants take note of times and seasons. The sensitive plant obeys
no regular rules of this kind, but acts according to circumstances.

When I was a boy, I often used to go to a green-house where there were
a great many beautiful and rare plants; but I always thought that the
sensitive plant was the most wonderful thing in the whole
collection, and I did not know then how susceptible it was to the
influence of light. I was interested in it simply because it seemed to
have a sort of vegetable reason, and understood that it should shut up
its leaves whenever I touched it.

[Illustration: THE SENSITIVE PLANT.]

But there were things around me in the vegetable kingdom which were
still more wonderful than that, and I took no notice of them at all.

In the garden and around the house, growing everywhere, in the most
common and ordinary places, were vines of various kinds--I think there
were more morning-glories than anything else--and these exhibited a
great deal more sense, and a much nearer approach to reasoning powers,
than the sensitive plants, which were so carefully kept in the
green-house.

When one of these vines came up out of the earth, fresh from its seed,
the first thing it wanted, after its tendrils began to show
themselves, was something to climb up upon. It would like a good high
pole. Now, if there was such a pole within a few feet of the little
vine it would grow straight towards it, and climb up it!

It would not grow first in one direction, and then in another and then
in another, until it ran against something to climb on, but it would
go right straight towards the pole, as if it saw it, and knew it was a
good one for its purpose.

I think that there is not much in the vegetable kingdom more wonderful
than that.




SIR MARMADUKE.

[Illustration]


Sir Marmaduke was a good old English gentleman, all of the olden time.
There you see him, in his old-fashioned dining-room, with his
old-fashioned wife holding her old-fashioned distaff, while he is
surrounded by his old-fashioned arms, pets, and furniture.

On his hand he holds his hawk, and his dogs are enjoying the great
wood fire. His saddle is thrown on the floor; his hat and his pipes
lie near it; his sword and his cross-bows are stood up, or thrown
down, anywhere at all, and standing by his great chair is something
which looks like a coal-scuttle, but which is only a helmet.

Sir Marmaduke was certainly a fine old gentleman. In times of peace he
lived happily with his family, and was kind and generous to the poor
around him. In times of war he fought bravely for his country.

But what a different old gentleman would he have been had he lived in
our day!

Then, instead of saying "Rebeck me!" and "Ods Boddikins!" when his
hawk bit his finger or something else put him out of humor, he would
have exclaimed, "Oh, pshaw!" or, "Botheration!" Instead of playing
with a hawk, he would have had a black-and-tan terrier,--if he had any
pet at all; and his wife would not have been bothering herself with a
distaff, when linen, already spun and woven, could be bought for fifty
cents a yard. Had she lived now, the good lady would have been mending
stockings or crocheting a tidy.

Instead of a pitcher of ale on his supper-table, the good knight would
have had some tea or coffee; and instead of a chine of beef, a mess of
pottage, and a great loaf of brown bread for his evening meal, he
would have had some white bread, cakes, preserves, and other trifles
of that sort, which in the olden days were considered only fit for
children and women. The good old English gentlemen were tremendous
eaters. They used to take five meals a day, and each one of them was
heavy and substantial.

If Sir Marmaduke had any sons or daughters, he would have treated them
very differently in the present day. Instead of keeping them at home,
under the tuition of some young clergyman or ancient scholar, until
they should be old enough and accomplished enough to become pages to a
great lord, or companions to some great lady, he would have sent them
to school, and the boys--the younger ones, at least--would have been
prepared for some occupation which would support them, while the girls
would have been taught to play on the piano and to work slippers.

In these days, instead of that old helmet on the floor, you would have
seen a high-top hat--that is, if the old gentleman should continue to
be as careless as the picture shows him; instead of a cross-bow on the
floor, and another leaning against the chair, you would have seen a
double-barrelled gun and a powder-horn; and instead of the picturesque
and becoming clothes in which you see Sir Marmaduke, he would have
worn some sort of a tight-fitting and ugly suit, such as old gentlemen
now-a-days generally wear.

There were a great many advantages in the old style of living, and
also a very great many disadvantages. On the whole, we should be very
thankful indeed that we were born in this century, and not in the good
old times of yore.

A little boy once made a very wise remark on this subject. He said: "I
wish I could have seen George Washington and Israel Putnam; but I'm
glad I didn't, for if I'd been alive then, I should have been dead
now."

There is enough in that boy's remark for a whole composition, if any
one chose to write it.




THE GIRAFFE.

[Illustration]


Some one once called the Giraffe a "two-story animal," and the remark
was not altogether inapplicable.

As you see him in the picture, lying down, he seems to be high enough
for all ordinary purposes; but when he stands up, you will see that
his legs--or his lower story--will elevate him to a surprising height.

The ordinary giraffe measures about fifteen feet from the top of his
head to the ground, but some of them have been known to be over
sixteen feet high. Most of this height is owing to their long necks,
but their fore-legs are also very long. The hind-legs seem much
shorter, although, in reality, they are as long as the fore-legs. The
legs and neck of the Giraffe are made long so that he can eat the
leaves from the tops of young trees. This tender foliage is his
favorite diet; but he will eat the foliage from any part of a tree,
and he is content with the herbage on the ground, when there is
nothing else.

He is not a fighting animal. Those little horns which you see on his
head, and which look as if they had been broken off--although they are
really their full size--are of no use as offensive weapons. When
danger threatens him he runs away, and a funny sight he is then. He
can run very fast, but he is very awkward; he goes like a cow on
stilts.

But when there is no chance for him to run away, he can often defend
himself, for he can kick like a good fellow. His hind-legs fly so fast
when he is kicking that you can hardly see them, and he has been known
to drive off a lion by this means of defence.

When hunters wish to catch a giraffe alive, they generally drive him
into a thick woods, where his great height prevents him from running
very rapidly; and as soon as they come up with him, they endeavor to
entangle him in ropes, to throw him down, and to put a halter round
his neck. If they only keep out of the way of his heels, there is no
need of being afraid of him. When they have secured him they lead him
off, if he will come; but if he is an old fellow he will not walk
after them, and he is too strong to be easily pulled along, no matter
how many men may be in the hunt. So in this case they generally kill
him, for his skin is valuable, and his flesh is very good to eat. But
if the giraffe is a young one, he will follow his captors without
difficulty, for these animals are naturally very gentle.

Why the natives of Africa should desire to obtain living giraffes,
unless it is to sell them to people who wish to carry them to other
countries, travellers do not inform us. We have never heard that any
domestic use was made of them, nor that they were kept for the sake of
their meat. But we suppose the hunters know their own business.

It is probable that the lion is really the greatest enemy of the
giraffe. It is not often that this crafty and powerful hunter will put
himself within reach of his victim's heels. Approaching softly and
slowly, the lion waits until he is quite near the giraffe, and then,
with one bound, he springs upon his back. Sometimes the giraffe
succeeds in shaking him off, but generally they both fall
together--the giraffe dead, and the lion with his appetite whetted for
an enormous dinner.




UP IN THE AIR.

[Illustration: UP IN A BALLOON.]

[Illustration]


We have already taken a journey under the earth, and now, if you like,
we will try a trip in the air. Anything for a novelty. We have lived
on the surface of the earth ever since we were born.

We will make our ascent in a balloon. It has been thought by some
folks, that there were easier methods of ascending into the air than
by a cumbrous balloon, but their inventions never became popular.

For instance, look at the picture of a flying-man.

This gentleman had an idea that he could fly by the aid of this
ingenious machinery. You will see that his wings are arranged so that
they are moved by his legs, and also by cords attached to his arms.
The umbrella over his head is not intended to ward off the rain or the
sun, but is to act as a sort of parachute, to keep him from falling
while he is making his strokes. The basket, which hangs down low
enough to be out of the way of his feet, is filled with provisions,
which he expects to need in the course of his journey.

That journey lasted exactly as long as it took him to fall from the
top of a high rock to the ground below.

But we are not going to trust ourselves to any such _harem-scarem_
contrivance as this. We are going up in a regular balloon.

We all know how balloons are made, and this one of ours is like most
others. It is a great globular bag, made of strips of silk sewn
together, and varnished with a certain composition which renders the
balloon air-tight. The car in which we will travel is made of
wicker-work, for that is both light and strong, and it is suspended
from a net-work of strong cord which covers the whole balloon. It
would not do, you know, to attach a cord to any particular part of the
silk, for that would tear it. In the top of the balloon is a valve,
and a cord from it comes down into the car. This valve is to be pulled
open when we wish to come down towards the earth. The gas then
escapes, and of course the balloon descends. In the car are bags of
sand, and these are to be emptied out when we think we are too heavy
for the balloon, and are either coming down too fast or are not as
high as we wish to go. Relieved of the weight of a bag, the balloon
rises.

Sand is used because it can be emptied out and will not injure anybody
in its descent. It would be rather dangerous, if ballooning were a
common thing, for the aГ«ronauts to throw out stones and old iron, such
as are used for the ballast of a ship. If you ever feel a shower of
sand coming down upon you through the air, look up, and you will
probably see a balloon--that is, if you do not get some of the sand in
your eyes.

The gas with which our balloon is to be filled is hydrogen gas; but I
think we will not use the pure hydrogen, for it is troublesome and
expensive to produce. We will get permission of the city gas
authorities to take gas from one of their pipes.

That will carry us up very well indeed. When the balloon is nearly
full--we never fill it entirely, for the gas expands when it rises
into lighter air, and the balloon would explode if we did not leave
room for this expansion--it is almost as round as a ball, and swells
out proudly, struggling and pulling at the ropes which confine it to
the ground.

[Illustration]

Now we have but to attach the car, get in, and cut loose. But we are
going to be very careful on this trip, and so we will attach a
parachute to the balloon. I hope we may not use it, but it may save us
in case of an accident. This is the manner in which the parachute will
hang from the bottom of the car.

It resembles, you see, a closed umbrella without a handle, and it has
cords at the bottom, to which a car is attached. If we wish to come
down by means of this contrivance, we must descend from the car of the
balloon to that of the parachute, and then we must unfasten the rope
which attaches us to the balloon. We shall then drop like a shot; but
as soon as the air gets under our parachute it will spread open, and
our descent will immediately begin to be much more gradual, and if
nothing unusual occurs to us, we shall come gently to the ground. This
picture shows the manner in which we would come down in a parachute.

[Illustration]

This man's balloon has probably burst, for we see it is tumbling down,
and it will no doubt reach the ground before him.

When all is ready and we are properly seated in the car, with our
instruments and extra clothes and ballast, and some provisions, we
will give the word to "let her go."

There!

Did you see that?

The earth dropped right down. And it is dropping, but more slowly,
yet.

That is the sensation persons generally experience when they first go
up in a balloon. Not being used to rising in the air, they think at
first that they are stationary, and that the earth and all the people
and houses on it are falling below them.

Now, then, we are off! Look down and see how everything gets smaller,
and smaller, and smaller. As we pass over a river, we can look down to
its very bottom; and if we were not so high we could see the fishes
swimming about. The houses soon begin to look like toy-cottages, and
the trees like bushes, and the creeks and rivers like silvery bands.
The people now appear as black spots; we can just see some of them
moving about; but if they were to shout very loud we might hear them,
for sound travels upward to a great distance.

[Illustration: MOONLIGHT ABOVE THE CLOUDS.]

Soon everything begins to be mixed up below us. We can hardly tell the
woods from the fields; all seem pretty much alike. And now we think it
is getting foggy; we can see nothing at all beneath us, and when we
look up and around us we can see nothing but fog.

[Illustration]

We are in the clouds! Yes, these are the clouds. There is nothing very
beautiful about them--they are only masses of vapor. But how thick
that vapor is! Now, when we look up, we cannot even see the balloon
above us. We are sitting in our little basket-work car, and that is
all we know! We are shut out from the whole world, closed up in a
cloud!

But this foggy atmosphere is becoming thinner, and we soon shoot out
of it! Now we can see clearly around us. Where are the clouds? Look!
there they are, spread out like a great bed below us.

How they glisten and sparkle in the bright sunlight!

Is not this glorious, to ride above the clouds, in what seems to us
illimitable space! The earth is only a few miles below us, it is true,
but up and around us space _is_ illimitable.

[Illustration]

But we shall penetrate space no longer in an upward direction. It is
time we were going back to the world. We are all very cold, and the
eyes and ears of some of us are becoming painful. More than that, our
balloon is getting too large. The gas within it is expanding, on
account of the rarity of the air.

We shall pull the rope of the valve.

Now we are descending. We are in the clouds, and before we think much
about it we are out of them. We see the earth beneath us, like a great
circular plain, with the centre a little elevated. Now we see the
rivers; the forests begin to define themselves; we can distinguish
houses, and we know that we are falling very rapidly. It is time to
throw out ballast. We do so, and we descend more slowly.

Now we are not much higher than the tops of the trees. People are
running towards us. Out with another bag of sand! We rise a little.
Now we throw out the anchor. It drags along the ground for some
distance, as the wind carries us over a field, and then it catches in
a fence. And now the people run up and pull us to the ground, and the
most dangerous part of our expedition is over.

[Illustration]

For it is comparatively safe to go up in a balloon, but the descent
is often very hazardous indeed.

On the preceding page is a picture of a balloon which did not come
down so pleasantly as ours.

With nine persons in it, it was driven over the ground by a tremendous
wind; the anchors were broken; the car was bumped against the ground
ever so many times; and the balloon dashed into trees, breaking off
their branches; it came near running into a railroad train; it struck
and carried away part of a telegraph line, and at last became tangled
up in a forest, and stopped. Several of the persons in it had their
limbs broken, and it is a wonder they were not all killed.

The balloon in which we ascended was a very plain, common-sense
affair; but when aerial ascents were first undertaken the balloons
were very fancifully decorated.

For instance, Bagnolet's balloon and that of Le Flesselles, of which
we have given you pictures, are much handsomer than anything we have
at present. But they were not any more serviceable for all their
ornamentation, and they differed from ours in still another way--they
were "hot-air balloons."

Other balloons were furnished with all sorts of fans, rudders, etc.,
for the purpose of steering them, or accelerating their motion up or
down.

On the next page is one of that kind.

This balloon ascended from Dijon, France, in 1784, but the
steering-apparatus did not prove to be of much use.

There were other balloons devised by the early aГ«ronauts, which were
still stranger than that one which arose from Dijon. The _Minerva_,
the picture of which you can examine at your leisure, was invented by
a Mr. Robertson, in the beginning of this century. He wished to make
a grand aerial voyage of several months, with a company of about sixty
persons, and therefore he had to have a very large balloon. To procure
this he desired the co-operation of the scientific men throughout
Europe, and sent plans and descriptions of his projected balloon to
all the learned societies.

[Illustration]

This great ship of the air was to be a regular little town, as you may
see. The balloon was to be one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, and
was to carry a large ship, on which the passengers would be safe if
they descended in the water, even if it were the middle of the ocean.

Everything was to be provided for the safety and convenience of the
passengers. Around the upper part of the balloon you will see a
platform, with sentries and tents. These soldiers were to be called
the "air-marines." There is a small balloon--about the common
size--which could be sent off like a small boat whenever occasion
required. If any one got tired of the expedition, and wanted to go
home, there was a parachute by which he might descend. On the deck of
the ship, near the stern, was to be a little church; small houses hung
from below, reached by ladders of silk, which were to be used as
medicine-rooms, gymnasiums, etc.; and under the ship would hang a
great hogshead, as big as a house, which would contain provisions and
stores, and keep them tight and dry. There was also a kitchen; and a
cannon, with which to fire off salutes, besides a number of guns,
which you see projecting from the port-holes of the ship. These, I
suppose, were to be used against all enemies or pirates of the air,
sea, or land.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

I cannot enumerate all the appendages of this wonderful balloon--you
see there are telescopes, sails, great speaking-trumpets, anchors,
etc.; but I will merely remark that it was never constructed.

One of the safest, and sometimes the most profitable, methods of using
a balloon, is that shown in the picture, "Safe Ballooning." Here a
battle is going on, and the individuals in the balloon, safely
watching the progress of events and the movements of the enemy,
transmit their observations to the army with which they are connected.
Of course the men on the ground manage a balloon of this sort, and
pull it around to any point that they please, lowering it by the ropes
when the observations are concluded. Balloons are often used in
warfare in this manner.

But during the late siege of Paris, balloons became more useful than
they have ever been since their invention. A great many aГ«ronauts left
the besieged city, floated safely over the Prussian army, and
descended in friendly localities. Some of these balloons were
captured, but they generally accomplished their purposes, and were of
great service to the French. On one occasion, however, a balloon from
Paris was driven by adverse winds to the ocean, and its occupants were
drowned.

It has not been one hundred years since the balloon was invented by
the brothers Montgolfier, of France. They used heated air instead of
gas, and their balloons were of course inferior to those of the
present day. But we have not improved very much upon the original
balloon, and what progress will eventually be made in aerial
navigation it is difficult to prophesy. But there are persons who
believe that in time air-ships will make regular trips in all
directions, like our present steamboats and railroad-trains.

If this is ever the case, I hope we may all be living to see it.

[Illustration: DRIVEN OUT TO SEA]




THE HORSE OF ARABIA.


The Arabian horse has long been celebrated as the most valuable of his
race. He is considered an aristocrat among horses, and only those
steeds which can trace their descent from Arabian ancestors have the
right to be called "thorough-bred."

Occasionally an Arabian horse is brought to this country, but we do
not often see them. In fact, they would not be as valuable here as
those horses which, besides Arabian descent, have also other
characteristics which especially adapt them to our country and
climate.

In Arabia the horse, as an individual, especially if he happens to be
of the purest breed, is more highly prized than in any other part of
the world. It is almost impossible to buy a favorite horse from an
Arab, and even if he can be induced to sell it, the transaction is a
very complicated one. In the first place, all the relations and allies
of the owner must give their consent, for the parting with a horse to
a stranger is a very important matter with them. The buyer must then
make himself sure that the _whole of the horse_ belongs to the man who
is selling him, for the Arabs, when they wish to raise money, very
often do so by selling to a member of their tribe a fore-leg, a
hind-leg, or an ear, of one of their horses; and in this case, the
person who is a part owner of the animal must have his proportionate
share of all profits which may arise from its sale or use. This
practice is very much like our method of mortgaging our lands.

When the horse is finally bought and paid for, it had better be taken
away as soon as possible, for the Arabs--even those who have no
interest whatever in the sale--cannot endure to see a horse which once
belonged to their tribe passing into the hands of strangers. And
therefore, in order to soothe their wounded sensibilities, they
often steal the animal, if they can get a chance, before the buyer
carries him out of their reach.

[Illustration: ARABIAN HORSE.]

The Arabian horse is generally much more intelligent and docile than
those of our country. But this is not altogether on account of his
good blood. The Arab makes a friend and companion of his horse. The
animal so constantly associates with man, is talked to so much, and
treated so kindly, that he sometimes shows the most surprising
intelligence. He will follow his master like a dog; come at his call;
stand anywhere without moving, until his master returns to him; stop
instantly if his rider falls from his back, and wait until he mounts
again; and it has been said that an Arabian horse has been known to
pick up his wounded master from the field of battle, and by fastening
his teeth in the man's clothes, to carry him to a place of safety.

There is no doubt, if we were to treat our horses with gentleness and
prudence, and in a measure make companions of them whenever it was
possible, that they would come to regard us with much of the affection
and obedience which the Arabian horse shows to his master.




INDIAN PUDDINGS: PUMPKIN PIES.

[Illustration]


Some of the good old folks whom I well remember, called these things
"Ingin-puddins and punkin pies," but now we all know what very
incorrect expressions those were. Rut, even with such highly improper
names, these delicacies tasted quite--as well in those days as they
do now, and, if my youthful memory does not mislead me, they tasted a
little better.

There is no stage of the rise and progress of Indian puddings and
pumpkin pies, with which, when a youngster, I was not familiar. In the
very beginning of things, when the fields were being ploughed, "we
boys" were there. True, we went with no intent to benefit either the
corn-crop or the pumpkin-vines. We merely searched in the newly
turned-up earth for fish-worms. But for all that, we were there.

And when the corn was all planted, how zealous we used to be about the
crows! What benevolent but idiotic old scarecrows we used to
construct, and how _extremely_ anxious we were to be intrusted with
guns, that we might disperse, at once and forever, these black
marauders! For well we knew that a few dead crows, stuck up here and
there on stakes, would frighten away all the rest of the flock.

But we were not allowed the guns, and, even if we had had them, it is
probable that the crows would all have died of old age, had they
depended for an early death upon our powder and shot. With their
sagacity, their long sight, and their sentinels posted on the high
trees around the field, they were not likely to let a boy with a gun
approach very near to them. I have heard--and have no doubt of the
truth of the statement--that one of the best ways to shoot crows is to
go after them in a wagon, keeping your gun, of course, as much out of
sight as possible. Crows seem to know exactly what guns are intended
for. But they are seldom afraid of a wagon. They expect no danger from
it, and one can frequently drive along a country road while crows are
quietly feeding in the field adjoining, quite close to the fence.

But if any one goes out to shoot crows in this way he had better be
very careful that he has an excessively mild and unimpressible horse.
For, if the horse is frightened at the report of the gun, and dashes
away, and smashes the wagon, and breaks his harness, and spills
everything out of the wagon into the dust, mud, and bramble-bushes,
and throws the gunner heels over head into a ditch, it may be that a
dead crow will hardly pay him for his trouble and expense in procuring
it.

But after a time the corn got so high that it was not afraid of a
bird, and then we forgot the crows. But we liked to watch the corn in
all its stages. We kept a sharp look-out for the young pumpkin-vines,
and were glad to see the beans, which were planted in the hills with
the corn in some parts of the field.

There is one great advantage in a corn-field which many other fields
do not possess: you can always walk in it! And when the corn is higher
than your head, and the great long leaves are rustling in the wind,
and you can hardly see each other a dozen yards away, what a glorious
thing it is to wander about amidst all this cool greenness, and pick
out the biggest and the fattest ears for roasting!

You have then all the loveliness of Nature, combined with the hope of
a future joy, which Art--the art of your mother, or whoever roasts the
corn--will give you.

But the triumph of the corn-field is not yet. The transformation of
its products into Indian puddings and pumpkin pies will not occur
until the golden Autumn days, when the sun, and the corn, and the
pumpkins are all yellow alike, and gold--if it was not so
scarce--would be nothing to compare to any of them. Then come the men,
with their corn-cutters--pieces of scythe-blades, with handles fitted
to them--and down go the corn-stalks. Only one crack apiece, and
sometimes a big cut will slice off the stalks on a whole hill.

How we used to long to wield those corn-cutters!

But our parents thought too much of our legs.

When the corn has been cut and carried away, the pumpkins are enough
to astonish anybody. We never had any idea that there were so many!

At last, when the days were getting short, and the mornings were a
little cool, and the corn was in the cribs, and the pumpkins were in
the barn, and some of us had taken a grist to the mill, then were the
days of the pudding of Indian corn and the pies of pumpkin!

Then we stayed in the kitchen and saw the whole delightful process,
from the first mixing of the yellow meal with water, and the first cut
into the round pumpkins, until the swelling pudding and the tranquil
pie emerged in hot and savory grandeur from the oven.

It is of no use to expect those days to return. It is easy enough to
get the pies and the puddings, but it is very hard to be a boy again.




LIVING IN SMOKE.

[Illustration]


Here is a mosquito of which the bravest man might be afraid; but,
fortunately, these insects are not found quite so large as the one in
the drawing, for he is considerably magnified. But when we hear even a
very small fellow buzzing around our heads, in the darkness of a
summer night, we are very apt to think that he sounds as if he were at
least as big as a bat.

In some parts of our country, mosquitoes are at certain seasons so
plentiful and bloodthirsty that it is impossible to get along
comfortably in their company. But, except in spots where no one would
be likely to live, whether there were mosquitoes there or not, these
insects do not exist in sufficient numbers to cause us to give up our
ordinary style of living and devote all our energies to keeping them
at a distance.

In some other countries, however, the people are not so fortunate. In
Senegal, at certain seasons, the inhabitants are driven from their
habitations by the clouds of mosquitoes which spread over the land,
and are forced to take refuge on high platforms, under which they keep
fires continually burning.

The smoke from these fires will keep away the mosquitoes, but it
cannot be very pleasant to the Senegalians. However, they become used
to it, and during the worst of the mosquito season, they eat, drink,
sleep, and enjoy themselves to the best of their ability on these
platforms, which for the time become their houses.