The first family who calls upon us (and the head of this family makes
the very earliest calls that I know anything about) are too well known
to all of us to need the slightest introduction. You will see in an
instant that you have met them before.

And there is no doubt but that these are among the very best feathered
friends we have. Those hens are liberal with their eggs, and those
little chickens that are running around like two-legged puff-balls,
are so willing to grow up and be broiled and roasted and stewed, that
it would now be almost impossible for us to do without them. Eggs seem
to come into use on so many occasions that, if there was to be an
egg-famine, it would make itself felt in every family in the land. Not
only would we miss them when boiled, fried, and cooked in omelets for
breakfast; not only without them would ham seem lonely, puddings and
sponge-cakes go into decline, and pound-cake utterly die, but the arts
and manufactures of the whole country would feel the deprivation.
Merely in the photographic business hundreds of thousands of eggs are
needed every year, from which to procure the albumen used in the
preparation of photographic paper.

[Illustration]

Do without eggs? Impossible.

And to do without "chicken" for dinner would seem almost as impossible
for some folks. To be sure, we might live along very comfortably
without those delightful broils, and roasts, and fricassees, but it
would be a great pity. And, if we live in the country, there is no
meat which is so cheap and easily procured all the year round as
chicken. I wonder what country-people would do, especially in the
summer time, when they have little other fresh meat, without their
chickens. Very badly, I imagine.

Next to these good old friends comes the pigeon family. These are very
intimate with many of us.

[Illustration]

Pigeons are in one respect even more closely associated with man than
the domestic fowls, because they live with him as readily in cities as
in the country. City chickens always seem out of place, but city
pigeons are as much at home as anybody else. There are few houses so
small that there is not room somewhere for a pigeon-box, and there are
no roofs or yards so humble that the handsomest and proudest "pouters"
and "tumblers" and "fan-tails" will not willingly come and strut and
coo about them as long as they receive good treatment and plenty of
food.

But apart from the pleasure and profit which these beautiful birds
ordinarily afford to their owners, some of them--the carriers--are
often of the greatest value, and perform important business that would
have to be left undone if it were not for them. The late war in France
has fully proved this. I remember hearing persons say that now, since
telegraph lines had become so common, they supposed carrier-pigeons
would no longer be held in esteem, and that the breed would be
suffered to die out.

[Illustration]

But that is a mistake. There are times, especially during wars, when
telegraphic and railroad lines are utterly useless, and then the
carrier-pigeon remains master of the situation.

The doves are such near relations of the pigeons that we might suppose
they would resemble them in their character as much as in appearance.
But they are not very much alike. Doves are not ambitious; they don't
pout, or tumble, or have fan-tails. As to carrying messages, or doing
anything to give themselves renown, they never think of it. They are
content to be affectionate and happy.

And that is a great deal. If they did nothing all their lives but set
examples to children (and to their parents also, sometimes), the doves
would be among our most useful little birds.

[Illustration]

I suppose we all have some friends whom we are always glad to see,
even if they are of no particular service to us. And this is right; we
should not value people's society in exact proportion to what we think
we can get out of them. Now, the swan is a feathered friend, and a
good one, but I must say he is of very little practical use to us. But
there is something more to be desired than victuals, clothes,
feather-beds, and Easter-eggs. We should love the beautiful as well as
the useful. Not so much, to be sure, but still very much. The boy or
man who despises a rose because it is not a cabbage is much more
nearly related to the cows and hogs than he imagines. If we accustom
ourselves to look for beauty, and enjoy it, we will find it, after
awhile, where we never supposed it existed--in the caterpillar, for
instance, and in the snakes. There is beauty as well as practical
value in almost everything around us, and we are not the lords of
creation that we suppose we are, unless we are able to see it.

Now, then, I have preached you a little sermon, with the swans for a
text. But they are certainly beautiful subjects.

A goose, when it is swimming, is a very handsome bird, and it is most
admirable when it appears on the table roasted of a delightful brown,
with a dish of apple-sauce to keep it company. But, for some reason,
the goose has never been treated with proper consideration. It has for
hundreds of years, I expect, been considered as a silly bird. But
there never was a greater mistake. If we looked at the thing in the
proper light, we would not be at all ashamed to be called a goose. If
any one were to call you an ostrich, I don't believe you would be very
angry, but in reality it would be much more of an insult than to call
you a goose, for an ostrich at times is a very silly bird.

But geese have been known to do as many sensible things as any
feathered creatures of which we know anything. I am not going to say
anything about the geese which saved Rome, for we have no record that
they _intended_ to do anything of the kind; but I will instance the
case of a goose which belonged to an old blind woman, who lived in
Germany.

Every Sunday these two friends used to go to church together, the
goose carefully leading the old woman by her frock.

When they reached the church, the goose would lead his mistress to her
seat and then go outside and eat grass until the services were over.
When the people began to come out the goose would go in, and, taking
the old woman in charge, would lead her home. At other times also he
was the companion of her walks, and her family knew that old blind
Grandmother was all right if she had the goose with her when she went
out.

[Illustration]

There was another goose, in a town in Scotland, who had a great
attachment for a young gentleman to whom she belonged. She would
follow him in his walks about the town, and always testified her
delight when she saw him start for a ramble.

When he went into a barber's shop to be shaved, she would wait on the
pavement until he came out; and in many of his visits she accompanied
him, very decorously remaining outside while her master was enjoying
the society of his friends.

[Illustration]

Ducks, too, have been known to exhibit sociable and friendly traits.
There is a story told of a drake who once came into a room where a
young lady was sitting, and approaching her, caught hold of her dress
with his bill and commenced to pull vigorously at it. The lady was
very much surprised at this performance, and tried to drive the drake
away. But he would neither depart or stop tugging at her dress, and
she soon perceived that he wanted her to do something for him. So she
rose from her chair, and the drake immediately began to lead her
towards the door. When he had conducted her out on to the lawn, he
led her to a little lake near the house, and there she saw what it was
that troubled Mr. Drake. A duck, very probably his wife, had been
swimming in the lake, and in poking her head about, she had caught her
neck in the narrow opening of a sluice-gate and there she was, fast
and tight. The lady lifted the gate, Mrs. Duck drew out her head and
went quacking away, while Mr. Drake testified his delight and
gratitude by flapping his wings and quacking at the top of his voice.

[Illustration]

We have also friends among the feathered tribes, who are not quite so
intimate and sociable as those to which we have already alluded, but
which still are very well deserving of our friendship and esteem. For
instance, what charming little companions are the canary-birds! To be
sure, they would not often stay with us, if we did not confine them in
cages; but they seem perfectly at home in their little wire houses,
and sing and twitter with as much glee as if they were flying about in
the woods of their native land--or rather, of the native land of their
forefathers, for most of our canary-birds were born in the midst of
civilization and in cages.

[Illustration]

There are some birds, however, no bigger than canaries, which seem to
have an attachment for their masters and mistresses, and which do not
need the restraint of a cage. There was once a gold-finch which
belonged to a gentleman who lived in a town in Picardy, France, but
who was often obliged to go to Paris, where he also had apartments.
Whenever he was obliged to go to the great city, his gold-finch would
fly on ahead of him, and, arriving there some time in advance of the
carriage, the servants would know that their master was coming, in
time to have the rooms ready for him. And when the gentleman drove up
to the door he would generally see his little gold-finch sitting on
the finger of a cook or a chamber-maid, and twittering away as if he
was endeavoring to inform the good people of all the incidents of the
journey.

Some of these little birds, however, which are very friendly and
comparatively sociable as long as they are not troubled and annoyed,
are not only able to distinguish their friends from their foes, but
are very apt to stand up vigorously in defence of their rights. Those
little sparrows, which hop about so cunningly in the streets of many
of our cities, understand very well that no one will hurt them, and
that they may pick up crumbs wherever they can find them. But let a
few boys get into the habit of throwing sticks and stones at them, and
the little things will leave that neighborhood as quickly as if the
rents of all their tiny houses had been raised beyond their means.

[Illustration]

Magpies, too, are very companionable in their own way, if they are
well treated; but if a boy should undertake to steal away with one of
their nests, when it was full of young ones, he would run a very great
risk of having his eyes picked out.

There is a feathered friend of ours who keeps himself so secluded, at
least during the day-time, that he is very apt to escape our notice. I
refer to the owl.

It may not be supposed, by some, that the owl is a friend of mankind,
and I am perfectly willing to admit that very often he acts very much
like an enemy, especially when he kills our young chickens and
turkeys. But for all that, he has his good points, and very often
behaves in a commendable manner. If you have a barn or a house that is
overrun with mice, there is nothing that will be more certain to drive
them out than an owl. And he will not be so apt to steal your milk or
kill your canary as many of the cats which you have taken into your
family without a recommendation.

[Illustration]

We once had an owl living in our house. He belonged to my young
brother, who caught him in a trap, I believe. All day long, this
solemn little fellow (for he was a small brown one), would sit on the
back of a chair, or some such convenient place, and if any of us came
near him, he would turn his head and look at us, although he could not
see very well in the day-time; and if we walked behind him, or on
different sides of him, he would always keep his eyes on us, turning
his head around exactly as if it was set on a pivot.

It was astonishing how easily he could turn his head without moving
his body. Some folks told us that if we walked around and around him,
he would turn and turn his head, until he twisted it off, but we never
tried that.

It was really astonishing how soon the mice found out that there was
an owl in the house. He had the range of a great part of the house all
night, and in a very short time he had driven every mouse away. And
the first time he found a window open, he went away himself. There is
that objection to owls, as mousers. They are very good so long as they
will hold the situation, but they are exceedingly apt to leave without
giving the family any notice. You won't find a cat doing that. The
trouble with her very often is that she will not go when you give
_her_ notice to leave.

When we speak of our feathered friends, it is hardly fair to exclude
all but those which are domesticated with us, or which are willing,
sometimes, to come and live in our houses. In the country, and very
often in towns, our homes are surrounded, at certain seasons, by
beautiful birds, that flutter and twitter about in the trees, and sing
most charmingly in the bright hours of the early morning, making the
spring-time and the summer tenfold more delightful than they would be
without them. These birds ask nothing of us but a few cherries or
berries now and then, and they pay well for these by picking up the
worms and grubs from our gardens.

I think that these little warblers and twitterers, who fill the air
with their songs and frolic about on the trees and bushes, who build
their nests under our eaves and in any little box that we may put up
for them, who come regularly back to us every spring, although they
may have been hundreds of miles away during the cold weather, and who
have chosen, of their own accord, to live around our houses and to
sing in our trees and bushes, ought to be called our friends, as much
as the fowls in our poultry-yards.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




IN A WELL.


Perhaps very few of you have ever seen such an old-fashioned well as
this. No pump, no windlass, no arrangement that you are apt to call at
all convenient for raising the water. Nothing but that upright stake,
on top of which moves a long pole, with the bucket hanging from one
end of it. But the artist does not show in the picture the most
important part of this arrangement. On the other end of this long pole
a heavy stone is fastened, and it is easy to see that a bucket of
water may be raised without much trouble, with the stone bearing down
the other end of the pole. To be sure, the stone must be raised when
the bucket is lowered, but that is done by pulling downward on the
rope, which is not so hard as to haul a rope upward when the
resistance is equal in both cases. Try it some time, and you will see
that the weight of your body will count for a great deal in the
operation. In old Mr. Naylor's yard--he lived in a little town in
Pennsylvania--there was one of these wells. It had been dug by his
father, and, as it had answered all his needs from his childhood, Mr.
Naylor very justly considered it would continue to do so until his
death, and he would listen to no one who proposed to put up a pump for
him, or make him a windlass.

One afternoon in the summer-time, Jenny Naylor, his granddaughter, had
company, and after they had been playing around the orchard for an
hour or two, and had slid down the straw-stacks to their heart's
content, the children all went to the well to get a drink. A bucket of
water was soon hauled up, and Tommy Barrett with a tin-cup ladled out
the refreshment to the company. When they had all drank enough they
began to play with the well-pole. Boys and girls will play, you know,
with things that no grown person would imagine could be tortured into
means of amusement. In less than five minutes they had invented a
game. That is, the boys had. I will give the girls the credit of
standing by and looking on, in a very disapproving manner, while this
game was going on. The pastime was a very simple one. When the
stone-end of the pole rested on the ground, on account of the bucket
being empty, one of the boys stood by the well-curb, and, seizing the
rope as high up as he could, pulled upon it, the other boys lifting
the stone-end at the same time. When the stone was a foot or two from
the ground the boys at that end sat on the pole and endeavored to
hoist up the fellow at the other end.

A glorious game!

The sport went on very nicely until Tommy Barrett took hold of the
rope. He was the biggest boy, and the little fellows could not raise
him. No, it was no use, so they gave it up and jumped off of the pole.

But what was their amazement to see the stone rise in the air, while
at the same time Tommy Barrett disappeared down the well!

The fact was, Tommy had been trying to "show off" a little before the
girls, and when he found the boys could not raise him, had stepped on
the well-curb, and pushing the bucket off, had stood on it, trying, on
his part, to raise the boys. So, when they jumped off, down he sank.
The stone was not nearly so heavy as Tommy, but it was weighty enough
to prevent his going down very fast, and he arrived safely at the
bottom, where the boys and girls saw him, when they crowded around the
well, standing up to his arm-pits in water.

"Pull me up, quick!" cried Tommy, who still stood on the bucket, and
had hold of the rope.

The children did not wait to be asked twice. They seized the rope and
pulled their very best. But they could not move Tommy one inch. The
rope hung right down the middle of the well, and as they had to reach
over a good deal even to touch it, they could get no opportunity of
exerting their full strength upon it. And it is very well that they
could not, for had they been able to raise Tommy, it is probable that
one or two of them would have been jerked down the well every time he
slipped down again, which he would have been certain to do a great
many times before he reached the top.

They soon perceived that they could not draw Tommy from the well in
that way. And the stone-end of the pole was far out of their reach.
What should they do?

There was no one at the house but the two old people, and they were
scarcely as strong as the children. They all said a great deal, but
Jenny Naylor, who was much older than any of the others, saw that
something must be done instantly, for Tommy was crying out that he was
nearly frozen to death, and she was afraid that he would let go of the
rope, slip off of the bucket, and be drowned.

So, without a word to anybody, she ran to the upright stake and began
to climb it. This was a very unlady-like proceeding, perhaps, but
Jenny did not think about anything of that kind. She was the oldest
and the largest of them all, and there was no time to explain matters
to the boys. Up she went, as actively as any boy, and scrambling to
the crotch of the stake, she seated herself upon the pole.

Then she began to work herself slowly up towards the stone-end. And as
she gradually approached the stone, so she gradually began to sink a
little, and the nearer she got to it the more she sank and the higher
Tommy Barrett rose in the well!

She and the stone were heavier than he was, and some of the children
stood, with open mouths, looking at Jenny slowly coming down, while
the others crowded around the well to see Tommy slowly coming up.

When Jenny had nearly touched the ground, there was Tommy hanging
above the well!

Half a dozen little hands seized the bucket, and Tommy, as wet as a
dish-rag, stepped on to the curb.

I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that whenever there is a party of
children, playing around an open well, that there could be a girl like
Jenny Naylor with them.




A VEGETABLE GAS MANUFACTORY.

[Illustration]


There is a plant, called by botanists the Fraxinella, which has the
peculiar property of giving out, from its leaves and stalks, a gas
which is inflammable. Sometimes, on a very still day, when there is
no wind to blow it away as fast as it is produced, this gas may be
ignited by a match, when the plant is growing in the open air. But
this is very seldom the case, for the air must be very quiet, and the
plant very productive, for enough gas to be found around it to ignite
when a flame is applied.

But it is perfectly possible, as you may see in the engraving, to
collect sufficient gas from the Fraxinella to produce combustion
whenever desired. If the plant is surrounded by a glass case, the gas,
as fast as produced, is confined in the case, and at last there is so
much collected in this novel gasometer, that it is only necessary to
open the case, and apply a match, to see plant-gas burning.

It is not at all probable that the least use in the world could be
made of this gas, but it is certainly a very pretty experiment to
collect and ignite it.

There are other plants which have this property of exuding
illuminating gas in very small quantities, but none, I believe, except
the Fraxinella, will produce enough of it to allow this experiment to
be performed.




A FEW WORDS ABOUT BEARS.

[Illustration: A COMPANY OF BEARS.]


If you should ever be going up a hill, and should meet such a
procession as that on the opposite page, coming down, I would
recommend you to get just as far to one side as you can possibly go.
Bears, especially when there are so many of them together, are by no
means pleasant companions in a walk.

But it is likely that you might wander about the world for the rest of
your lives, and never meet so many bears together as you see in the
engraving. They are generally solitary animals, and unless you
happened to fall in with a mother and her cubs, you would not be
likely to see more than one at a time.

In our own country, in the unsettled parts of many of the States, the
black bear is still quite common; and I could tell you of places
where, if you pushed carefully up mountain-paths and through lonely
forests, you might come upon a fine black bear, sitting at the
entrance of her cave, with two or three of her young ones playing
about her.

If it should so happen that the bear neither heard you, saw you, or
smelt you, you might see this great beast fondling her young ones, and
licking their fur as gently and tenderly as a cat with her kittens.

If she perceived you at last, and you were at a distance, it is very
probable that she and her young ones, if they were big enough, would
all scramble out of sight in a very short time, for the black bears
are very shy of man if circumstances will permit them to get away
before he approaches too near to them. But if you are so near as to
make the old bear-mother fearful for the safety of her children, you
will find that she will face you in a minute, and if you are not well
able to take care of yourself, you will wish you had never seen a
bear.

[Illustration]

But, in the western part of our country, especially in the Rocky
Mountain region, the grizzly bear is found, and he is a very different
animal from his black relations.

He is the most savage and formidable animal on this continent, and
very seldom is it that he runs away from a man. He is glad enough to
get a chance to fight one. He is so large and powerful that he is very
difficult to kill, and the hunter who has slain a grizzly bear may
well be proud of the exploit.

Washington Irving tells of a hunter who accidentally fell into a deep
hole, out in the prairies, and he tumbled right on top of a great
grizzly bear! How the bear got down there is not stated, and I don't
suppose the hunter stopped to inquire. A fight immediately commenced
between these two involuntary companions, and after a long struggle,
in which the man had an arm and leg broken, and was severely bitten
and torn besides, he killed the bear.

The hunter had a very hard time after that, but after passing through
adventures of various kinds, he floated down the Mississippi on a log
and was taken in at a fort. He recovered, but was maimed for life.

[Illustration]

I think it is probable that no other man ever killed a grizzly bear in
single combat, and I also have my doubts about this one having done
so. It is very likely that his victim was a black bear.

Few men care to hunt the grizzly bear except on horseback, so that if
they have to run away, they may have better legs than their own under
them.

The other great bear of this continent is the white or Polar bear, of
which we have all heard so much. Up in the regions of ice and snow
this bear lives just as comfortably as the tiger in the hot jungles of
Asia, and while he is not quite so savage as the tiger, he is almost
as hard to kill. But, in speaking of his disposition, I have no
intention whatever to give him a character for amiability. In fact, he
is very ferocious at times. He has often been known to attack parties
of men, and when wounded can make a most soul-stirring defence.

The Polar bear is a big fellow, with long white hair, and he lives on
seals and fish, and almost anything he can pick up. Sometimes he takes
a fancy to have a man or two for his supper, as the following story
will prove.

A ship, returning from Nova Zembla, anchored near an island in the
Arctic Ocean, and two of the sailors went on land. They were standing
on the shore, talking to each other, when one of them cried out, "Stop
squeezing me!"

The other one looked around, and there was a white bear, very large
but very lean and scraggy, which had sneaked up behind the sailors,
and now had clutched one of them, whom he very speedily killed and
commenced to eat, while the other sailor ran away.

The whole crew of the ship now landed, and came after the bear,
endeavoring to drive him away from the body of their comrade; but as
they approached him, he quietly looked at them for a minute, and then
jumped right into the middle of the crowd, seized another man, and
killed him. Upon this, the crew ran away as fast as they could, and
scuttling into their boats, rowed away to the ship.

There were three of these sailors, however, who were too brave to
stay there and see a bear devouring the bodies of their friends, and
they returned to the island.

The bear did not move as they approached him, and they fired on him,
without seeming to injure him in the least. At length one of them
stepped up quite close to him, and put a ball into his head just above
his eye.

[Illustration]

But even this did not kill him, although it is probable that it
lessened his vigor, for he soon began to stagger, and the sailors,
falling upon him with their swords, were able to put him to death, and
to rescue the remains of their comrades.

After these stories, I think that we will all agree that when we meet
a procession of bears, be they black, white, or grizzly, we will be
very wise to give them the right of way, and to endeavor to drive from
our minds, as far as possible, such ideas of the animals as we may
have derived from those individuals which we have seen in rural
menageries, nimbly climbing poles, or sedately drinking soda-water.

[Illustration]




AN OLD COUNTRY-HOUSE.

[Illustration]


Here is a picture of a handsome summer residence. It apparently
belongs to a rich man, and a man of taste. The house is large and
commodious; the grounds are well laid out; there is a garden,
evidently a fine one, close at hand; there is shade, water, fruit,
flowers, and apparently everything that a country-house ought to have.

But yet there is a certain something strange and unusual about it.

There are handsome porticos, but they are differently arranged from
those to which we have been accustomed. Such as those in front we have
often seen; but the upper one, which appears to go nearly around the
house, with short pillars on the sides, is different from anything
that we see in our country neighborhoods. Those long pillars at the
rear of the house seem very peculiar. We have never noticed anything
like them in such positions. There seems to be scarcely any portico at
the back, and those slim pillars are certainly useless, and, to our
eyes, not very ornamental. The windows, too, are remarkable. They are
not only very small, but they are wider at the bottom than the top--a
strange idea of the architect to make them in that way. The upper
story of the house does not appear to have any windows at all, but we
suppose that they must be in the back and front, or the artist may
have accidentally left them out. Even if that floor was used for
lumber-rooms, there ought to be windows.

The garden has a very high wall for a private estate. It is evident
that there must be great fear of thieves in that neighborhood.

But it is no wonder that some things about this house and its grounds
strike us as peculiar, for it was built more than three thousand years
ago.

It was the country residence of an Egyptian gentleman, and was, no
doubt, replete with all the modern conveniences of the period. Even in
the present day he might consider himself a very fortunate man who had
so good a house and grounds as these. If the windows were made a
little larger, a few changes effected in the interior of the
establishment, and some chimneys and fire-places built, none of our
rich men need be ashamed of such a house.

But, handsome as it is, it is not probable that this house cost the
Egyptian gentleman very much.

It is very likely, indeed, that it was built, under the supervision of
an architect, by his own slaves, and that the materials came from his
own estates. But he may, of course, have spent large sums on its
decoration and furniture, and it is very probable, judging from the
outside of his house, that he did so. Some of those old Egyptians
were most luxurious fellows.

If you wish to see how his slaves worked while they were building his
house, just examine this picture.

To be sure, it is a temple which these men are building, but the
bricklayers, hod-carriers, etc., worked in the same way when they were
putting up a private house.

[Illustration]

These poor men whom you see toiling here were probably not born
slaves, and it is very likely that many of them are equal in birth and
education to those who own them.

A great proportion of them are captives taken in war, and condemned
for the rest of their lives to labor for their victorious enemies
That will be a vast temple which they are building. Look at the
foundations--what enormously thick walls! It is probable that several
generations of slaves will labor upon that temple before it is
finished.

They do not work exactly as we do in the present day. The hod-carrier,
who is bringing bricks from the background, has a very good way of
carrying them; but those who are bearing a pile of bricks between them
seem to make a very awkward business of it. And the man who is
carrying mortar on his shoulder, as he ascends the ladder, might very
profitably take a lesson from some of our Irish hod-carriers. An
earthen pot with a round bottom is certainly a poor thing in which to
carry mortar up a ladder.

The man who is apparently squaring a stone, and the one who is
smoothing or trimming off some bricks, are using very peculiar
chopping tools. But they may have answered their purpose very well. At
any rate, most magnificent edifices were built by the men who used
them, although it is probable that the poor fellows progressed very
slowly with their work.

It may be, when three thousand years more have elapsed, that our
country-houses and our methods of building may appear as strange as
this mansion of the Egyptian gentleman, and the customs of the
Egyptian bricklayers, seem to us.

But then we shall be the ancient Americans, and it will make no sort
of difference to us what the future moderns say about us.




FAR-AWAY FORESTS.

[Illustration: PINE FOREST.]


I have no doubt that you all like to wander in the woods, but suppose
we ramble for an hour or two in forests so far away that it is
probable none of you have ever seen them.

Let us first enter a pine forest.

We have plenty of pines in our own country, and it is probable that
most of you have walked in the pine woods, on many a summer's day,
when the soft carpet of "needles," or "pine-shatters," as some people
call them, was so pleasant to the feet, the aromatic perfume of the
leaves and trees was so delicious, and everything was so quiet and
solemn.

But here is a pine forest in the Eastern hemisphere.

These woods are vast and lonely. The ground is torn up by torrents,
for it is a mountainous district, and the branches have been torn and
broken by many a storm. It is not a pleasant place for those who love
cheerful scenery, and moreover, it is not so safe to ramble here as in
our own woods at home. Companies of bandits inhabit many of these
forests, especially those that stretch over the mountainous portions
of Italy. It seems strange that in this enlightened era and in one of
the civilized countries of Europe, bandits should still exist to
terrify the traveller; but so it is.

Let us get out of this pine forest, so gloomy and perhaps so
dangerous.

Here, now, is a very different place. This is a forest in the tropics.
You will not be likely to meet with bandits here. In fact, it is very
improbable indeed that you will meet with any one. There are vast
portions of these woods which have never been trodden by the foot of
man, and which you can never see unless you cut your way, hatchet in
hand, among the thick undergrowth and the interlacing vines.

[Illustration]

Here are ferns as large as trees--great masses of flowers that seem as
if a whole garden had been emptied down before us--vast wildernesses
of green, which we know extend for miles and miles, and which,
although apparently so thick and impenetrable, are full of all kinds
of life, vegetable and animal. The trees are enormous, but many of
them are so covered with vines and creepers that we can scarcely
distinguish the massive trunks and luxuriant foliage. Every color is
here, rich green, royal purple, red, yellow, lilac, brown, and gray.
The vines, which overrun everything, are filled with gorgeous flowers,
and hang from the branches in the most graceful forms. Monkeys chatter
among the trees, beautiful parrots fly from limb to limb, butterflies
of the most gorgeous hues flutter about the grass-tops and the leaves
near the ground, and on every log and trunk are myriads of insects,
lizards and little living things of endless varieties, all strange and
wonderful to us.

[Illustration]

In some parts of this interminable forest, where the light breaks
through the foliage, we see suspended from the trees the wonderful
air-plants or orchids. They seem like hanging-baskets of flowers, and
are far more beautiful and luxuriant than anything of the kind that we
have in our hothouses at home.

But we shall not find it easy to walk through all these beauties. As I
said before, we shall often be obliged to cut a path with our
hatchets, and even then we may be unable to penetrate very far into
this jungle of beauties. The natives of these countries, when they are
compelled to pass through these dense forests, often take to the
small streams and wade along in the water, which is sometimes up to
their shoulders, occasionally finding shallower places, or a little
space on the banks where they can pick their way along for a few
hundred yards before they are obliged to take to the stream again.

[Illustration: GIANT TREES OF CALIFORNIA.]

Everything is lovely and luxuriant here, but it will not do to stay
too long. There are fevers and snakes.

Let us now go to the greatest woods in the whole world. I do not mean
the most extensive forest, but that one where the trees are the
grandest. This is the region where the giant trees of California grow.

Nowhere on the face of the earth are there such trees as these. Some
of them stand over four hundred feet high, and are thirty feet in
diameter!

Their age is believed to be about eighteen hundred years. Think of it!
They have been growing there during the whole of the Christian era!

One of them, the very largest of all, has been lying on the ground for
about one hundred and fifty years. When it was standing its diameter
was about forty feet.

Another trunk, which is lying on the ground, has been hollowed out by
fire, and through this great bore or tube a whole company of horsemen
has ridden.

One of these trees was cut down some years ago by a party of men, who,
I think, should have been sent to prison for the deed. It took five
men twenty-five days to cut it through with augers and saws, and then
they were obliged to use a great wedge and a battering-ram to make it
fall.

These are the kings of all trees. After such a grand sight, we will
not want to see any more trees to-day, and we will leave the forests
of Far-away and sit and think of them under our humble grape-vines and
honeysuckles.




BUILDING SHIPS.

[Illustration: BOAT BUILDING.]


It is a grand thing to own great ships, and to send them over the
ocean to distant countries; but I will venture to say that few men
have derived so much pleasure from their fine vessels, laden with all
kinds of valuable freight, as many a boy has had in the possession of
a little schooner, which would be overloaded with a quart of
chestnuts. And it is not only in the ownership of these little crafts
that boys delight; they enjoy the building of them quite as much.

And a boy who can build a good ship is not to be laughed at by any
mechanic or architect, no matter how tall or how old he may be.

The young ship-builder who understands his trade, when he is about to
put a vessel on the stocks--to speak technically--first makes up his
mind whether it is to be a ship, a schooner, a sloop, or merely a
sail-boat, and determines its size. Then he selects a good piece of
solid, but light wood, which will be large enough for the hull. Pine
is generally used; but if he can get a piece of well-seasoned white
willow, he will find it to work very easily. Then he shapes his hull
with knife and saw, according to the best of his ability. On this
process the success of the whole undertaking depends. If the bottom is
not cut perfectly true on both sides, if the bow is not shapely and
even, if the stern is not rounded off and cut up in the orthodox
fashion, his ship will never sail well, no matter how admirably he may
execute the rest of his work. If there is a ship or boat builder's
establishment anywhere within reasonable walking distance, it will
well pay our young shipwright to go there, and study the forms of
hulls. Even if he should never build a ship, he ought to know how they
look out of the water.

When the hull is properly shaped it must be hollowed out. This is
done by means of a "gouge," or chisel with a curved edge. A small
vessel can be hollowed by means of a knife or ordinary chisel, but it
is best to have a "gouge," if there is much wood to be taken out. When
he has made the interior of his vessel as deep and wide as he thinks
proper, he will put a deck on it, if it is a ship or a schooner; but
if it is a sail-boat or sloop, he will probably only put in seats (or
"thwarts," as the sailors call them), or else half-deck it.

Then comes the most interesting part of the work--the rigging. First
the masts, which must be light and tapering, and standing back at a
slight angle, are set up, and the booms and yards are attached. A
great deal of ingenuity can be displayed: in making the booms work
well on the masts. The bowsprit is a simple matter, and the stays, or
ropes which support and strengthen the masts, are very easily
attached, as they are stationary affairs. But the working-tackle and
the sails will show whether our young friend has a genius for
boat-building or not. If his vessel has but a single mast, and he
merely makes a mainsail and a jib, he will not have much trouble; but
if he intends to fit out a schooner, a brig, or a ship, with sails
that will work (and where is the boy with soul so dead as to have any
other kind?), he will find that he will have a difficult job before
him. But if he tries hard, and examines the construction and working
of sails in real ships, he will also find that he can do it.

If the vessel is a fine one, she ought to be painted (this, of course,
to be done before the sails are finally fastened to the booms and
yards), and her name should be tastefully painted on her stern, where
of course, a rudder, carefully working on little hooks, is already
hung.

It will be very difficult to tell when the ship will be actually
finished. There will always be a great deal to do after you think all
is done. Flags must be made, and little halyards running nicely
through little pulleys or rings; ballast must be provided and
adjusted; conveniences for storing away freight, if the ship is large
and voyages are contemplated, must be provided; a crew; perhaps a
little cannon for salutes; an anchor and windlass, and I am sure I
cannot tell you what else besides, will be thought of before the ship
is done.

But it will be done some time, and then comes the happy hour!

If the owner is fortunate enough to live near a pond or a brook, so
that he can send her right across to where his partner stands ready to
receive her, he is a lucky boy indeed.

What a proud moment, when, with all sails set and her rudder fixed at
the proper angle, she is launched!

How straight she sits in the water, and how her little streamer begins
to float in the wind! Now see her sails gradually puff out! She moves
gently from the shore. Now she bends over a little as the wind fills
her sails, and she is off! Faster and faster she glides along, her
cutwater rippling the water in front of her, and her flags fluttering
bravely in the air; and her delighted owner, with laughing eyes,
beholds her triumphantly scudding over the surface of the pond!

I tell you what it is, boys, I have built a great many ships, and I
feel very much like building another.




THE ORANG-OUTANG.

[Illustration]


The Orang-outang and the Chimpanzee approach nearer to man in their
formation and disposition than any other animals, and yet these Apes
seldom evince as much apparent sense and good feeling as the dog or
elephant. They imitate man very often, but they exhibit few inherent
qualities which should raise them to the level of many of man's brute
companions.

I do not wish, however, to cast any aspersions on an animal generally
so good-tempered and agreeable in captivity as the Orang-outang. What
he might become, after his family had been for several generations in
a condition of domestic servitude, I cannot tell. He might then even
surpass the dog in his attachment to man and his general intelligence.

At all events, the Orang-outang has a certain sense of humor which is
not possessed by animals in general. He is very fond of imitating
people, and sometimes acts in the most grotesque and amusing way, but,
like many human wits of whom we read, his manner is always very
solemn, even when performing his funniest feats.

An old gentleman once went to see a very large and fine Orang-outang,
and was very much surprised when the animal approached him, and taking
his hat and his cane from him, put on the hat, and, with the cane in
his hand, began to walk up and down the room, imitating, as nearly as
possible, the gait and figure of his venerable visitor.

There was another Orang-outang, who belonged to a missionary, who
performed a trick even more amusing than this. His master was
preaching one Sunday to his congregation, when Mr. Orang-outang,
having escaped from the room where he had been shut up, slipped very
quietly into the church, and climbed up on the top of the organ, just
over the pulpit, where his master was delivering his sermon. After
looking about him for a minute or two, the ape commenced to imitate
the preacher, making all his gestures and motions. Of course the
people began to smile when they saw this, and the minister, thinking
that they were behaving very improperly, rebuked them for their
inattention, and preached away more earnestly than before. The
Orang-outang, of course, followed his example, and commenced to
gesticulate so earnestly and powerfully that the congregation burst
into laughter, and pointed out the irreverent ape.

When he turned and saw the performance of his imitator, the preacher
could not help laughing himself, and the Orang-outang, after a good
deal of time had been spent in catching him, was put out of church,
and the services went on as usual.

Nobody likes to be made an object of ridicule, and it is probable that
this disposition of making fun of people, which seems so natural to
the Orang-outang, would prevent his becoming a domesticated member of
our families, no matter how useful and susceptible of training he
might prove to be.

Nearly all of us have some comical peculiarity, and we would not want
an animal in the house who would be sure, at some time, to expose us
to laughter by his imitative powers.

So I am afraid that the Orang-outangs, intelligent as they are, will
have to stay in the woods.




LITTLE BRIDGET'S BATH.


Little Bridget was a good girl and a pretty one, but she had ideas of
her own. She liked to study her lessons, to mind her mother, and to
behave herself as a little girl should, but she did despise to be
washed. There was something about the very smell of soap and the touch
of water which made her shrink and shiver, and she would rather have
seen the doctor come to her with a teaspoonful of medicine than to
have her Aunt Ann approach with a bowlful of water, a towel, and a
great piece of soap.

[Illustration]

For a long time little Bridget believed that there was no escape from
this terrible daily trial, but one bright morning, when she awoke very
early, long before any one else in the house, she thought that it was
too bad, when everything else was so happy,--when the birds and
butterflies were flying about so gayly in the early sunbeams, and the
flowers were all so gay and bright, and smelling so sweet and
contented, that she should have to lie there on her little bed until
her Aunt Ann came with that horrible soap and towel! She made up her
mind! She wouldn't stand it; she would run away before she came to
wash her. For one morning she would be happy.

So up she jumped, and without stopping to dress herself, ran out among
the birds and flowers.

She rambled along by the brook, where the sand felt so nice and soft
to her bare feet; she wandered through the woods, where she found
blackberries and wild strawberries, and beautiful ferns; and she
wandered on and on, among the rocks and the trees, and over the grass
and the flowers, until she sat down by a great tree to rest. Then,
without intending anything of the kind, she went fast asleep.

She had not slept more than five minutes, before along came a troop of
fairies, and you may be assured that they were astonished enough to
see a little girl lying fast asleep on the grass, at that time in the
morning.

"Well, I never!" said the largest fairy, who was the Principal One.

"Nor I," said the Next Biggest; "It's little Bridget, and with such a
dirty face! Just look! She has been eating blackberries and
strawberries--and raspberries too, for all I know; for you remember,
brother, that a face dirtied with raspberries is very much like one
dirtied with strawberries."

"Very like, indeed, brother," said the Principal One, "and look at her
feet! She's been walking in the wet sand!"

"And her hands!" cried the Very Least, "what hands! They're all
smeared over with mixtures of things."

"Well," said the Next Biggest, "she is certainly a dirty little girl,
but what's to be done?"

"Done?" said the Principal One. "There is only one thing to be done,
and that is to wash her. There can be no doubt about that."

All the fairies agreed that nothing could be more sensible than to
wash little Bridget, and so they gathered around her, and, with all
gentleness, some of them lifted her up and carried her down towards
the brook, while the others danced about her, and jumped over her, and
hung on to long fern leaves, and scrambled among the bushes, and were
as merry as a boxful of crickets.

When they approached the brook, one of the fairies jumped in to see if
the water was warm enough, and the Principal One and the Next Biggest
held a consultation, as to how little Bridget should be washed.

"Shall we just souse her in?" said the Next Biggest.

"I hardly think so," said the Principal One. "She may not be used to
that sort of thing, and she might take cold. It will be best just to
lay her down on the bank and wash her there."

So little Bridget, who had never opened her eyes all this time (and no
wonder, for you will find, if you are ever carried by fairies while
you are asleep, that they will bear you along so gently that you will
never know it), was brought to the brook and laid softly down by the
water's edge.

Then all the fairies set to work in good earnest. Some dipped clover
blossoms in the water, and washed and rubbed her mouth and cheeks
until there was not a sign left of strawberry or blackberry stain;
others gathered fern leaves and soft grass, and washed her little feet
until they were as white as lambs' wool; and the Very Least, who had
been the one to carry her hand, now washed it with ever so many
morning-glory-blossom-fuls of water and rubbed it dry with soft clean
moss.

Other fairies curled her hair around flower stalks, while some
scattered sweet smelling blossoms about her, until there was never
such a sweet, clean, and fragrant little girl in the whole world.

And all this time she never opened her eyes. But no wonder, for if you
are ever washed by fairies while you are asleep, you will find that
you will never know it.

When all was done, and not a speck of dirt was to be seen anywhere on
little Bridget, the fairies took her gently up and carried her to her
mother's house, for they knew very well where she lived. There they
laid her down on the doorstep, where it was both warm and shady, and
they all scampered away as fast as their funny little legs could carry
them.

It was now about the right time in the morning to get up, and very
soon the front door opened and out came Aunt Ann, with a bucket on her
arm, which she was going to fill at the well for the purpose of giving
little Bridget her morning wash.