Dead poor people, as well as kings and princes, were made into mummies
in Egypt, but they were not preserved by such costly means as those I
have mentioned. After they had been embalmed, they were wrapped up as
well as the means of their relatives would allow, and were placed in
tombs and vaults, sometimes with but one coffin, and sometimes without
any.

In many cases the mummy was not buried at all, but kept in the house
of the family, so that the friends and relatives could always have it
with them. This may have been very consoling to the ancient Egyptians,
but to us it seems a truly mournful custom.

And it is by no means distressing to think, that though the people who
may be in this country three thousand years hence may possibly find
some of our monuments, they will discover none of our bodies.




TAME SNAKES.

[Illustration]


We have often heard of the tamed snakes belonging to the
serpent-charmers of India and Africa, but it is seldom that the
harmless serpents of civilized countries have been domesticated. But
the common snake, sometimes called the garter-snake, which harmlessly
shows its dark green and yellow colors among the grass and bushes, has
been tamed and has shown quite a fair amount of respect and affection
for its human friends.

A French writer relates that he knew a lady who had a snake which was
so tame that it came when it was called, followed its mistress about,
climbed up into her lap, and gave many signs of knowing and liking
her. It would even swim after her when she threw it into the water
from a boat. But this last feat proved fatal to it, for once swimming
thus and endeavoring to keep up with the boat, the tide became too
strong for it, and it was carried away and drowned.

I am very much afraid that that lady did not deserve even as much
affection as the snake gave her.

The boys and girls in France sometimes amuse themselves by getting up
a snake-team.

[Illustration]

They tie strings to the tails of two common harmless snakes, and then
they drive them about, using a whip (I hope gently) to make these
strange steeds keep together and go along lively.

It is said that snakes which have been played with in this way soon
begin to like their new life, and will allow the children to do what
they please with them, showing all the time the most amiable
disposition.

There is nothing very strange in a tamed snake. Toads, tortoises,
spiders, and many other unpromising animals have been known to show a
capacity for human companionship, and to become quite tame and
friendly. In fact, there are very few animals in the world that cannot
be tamed by man, if man is but kind enough and patient enough.




GYMNASTICS.


Every one who has a body that is worth anything at all, ought to do
his best to keep it in good order, and there is no better way of
attaining this desirable object than by a proper course of gymnastics.
And to know just what is proper for certain ages and certain
individuals, demands a great deal of thought and judgment. Improper
gymnastics are much worse than none. We can generally, however, find
those who are able to advise us in regard to the exercise one ought to
take.

This necessity of training the body as well as the mind has been
recognized from the earliest ages, and the ancient Greeks and Romans
paid as much attention to their gymnasiums as they did to their
academies; and from their youth, their boys and girls were taught
those exercises which develop the muscles and ensure good health. Some
of their methods, however, were not exactly the most praiseworthy. For
instance, they would encourage their youngsters to fight.

[Illustration]

This engraving, copied from an ancient picture, shows how spiritedly
the children practised this exercise.

It would have been better if the individual with the stick had laid it
over the backs of the young combatants, instead of using it to direct
their struggles.

There are three kinds of gymnastics. By the first we take exercise,
simply for the sake of the good we gain from it; by the second we
combine pleasure with our muscular exertion; and the third kind of
gymnastics is practised for the sake of making money.

The exercises of the first division are carried on in regular
gymnasiums or at home, and consist of exercises with dumb-bells, bars,
suspended rings, poles, and many other appliances with which most boys
and girls are familiar. Regular practice in a good gymnasium, under
the direction of a competent teacher, is considered, by those who best
understand the education of young people, an exceedingly necessary
part of their education, and gymnastic instruction, both for boys and
girls, is becoming more popular every year.

We need give but little time to this well understood division of
gymnastics, but will pass at once to the second class, where diversion
and exercise are combined. This is by far the best method of gaining
health and strength, and should be preferred by all instructors
whenever it is possible to adopt it.

It is of no use to say anything in favor of this plan to the boys and
girls themselves, for they never fail to choose that form of exercise
which has a good deal of play in it. And it is well they like it, for
they will get more benefit from an hour of good, vigorous play, than
from many lessons in the monotonous exercises in use in the
gymnasiums.

I shall not now speak of the lively games of boys and girls, by which
their cheeks grow rosy and their legs and arms grow strong, for we all
know enough about them, but I will describe some of the athletic
sports of grown-up folks. There are a great many of these, some of
which are of great antiquity. Wrestling, boxing, vaulting,
foot-racing, and similar exercises have been popular for thousands of
years, and are carried on now with the same spirit as of old.

Out-door sports differ very much in different countries. In the United
States the great game is, at present, base-ball; in England cricket
is preferred, and Scotland has athletic amusements peculiar to itself
In the latter country a very popular game among the strong folks is
called "throwing the hammer."

[Illustration]

These hammers are not exactly what their name implies, being heavy
balls of brass or iron, fitted to a long handle. The hammer is whirled
around the head several times and then thrown as far as possible. The
man who throws it to the greatest distance wins the game.

Another game, very much of this order, consists in tossing a heavy
stone, instead of a hammer. The Scotch call this game "putting the
stone," sometimes using stones that might be called young rocks, and
they "put" or throw them in a different way from the people of other
countries where the game is popular. In some of the mountainous
regions of the continent of Europe the game is played in the manner
shown in the accompanying engraving.

[Illustration]

But it is impossible, in a short article like this, even to allude to
all the different kinds of athletic games, and I will now notice some
of the gymnastics by which people make a living.

Rope-walkers, circus-riders, and acrobats of every kind are now so
common, that a description of their ordinary performances is
unnecessary. They are found on every portion of the globe, some of the
most proficient being now seen in China and Japan.

If any of you have seen the Japanese troupe of acrobats with which
"Little Allright" was connected, you will understand to what a high
state of perfection physical exercises may be brought by people who
give up their whole lives to the study and practice of their various
feats.

[Illustration]

In Europe and this country very remarkable gymnastic performers have
appeared before the public.

About the middle of the last century, there lived in Derby, England, a
man by the name of Thomas Topham, who performed in public some
wonderful feats of strength. At one time he lifted, by a band passed
over his shoulders, three great casks of water which collectively
weighed 1,836 pounds.

He had a platform built for this performance, which was constructed in
such a way that he could use the whole power of his body and limbs. In
this feat, however, he has been surpassed by Dr. Winship, of Boston,
who has lifted, in public, heavier weights than Topham ever attempted.

The latter, however, was enormously strong, and performed a great many
feats which made him quite famous throughout England.

A favorite exhibition of public acrobats is that of pyramids, pillars,
and other tall edifices, built of men, instead of bricks and stones.
The Venetians used to be very expert and artistic in their arrangement
of these exhibitions, and the men composing the human edifice stood as
immovably and gracefully as if they had been carved out of solid
stone, instead of being formed of flesh and blood.

[Illustration]

This performance has been made quite common in late years, and I have
seen the celebrated "Arabs" and other acrobats pile themselves up in a
most astonishing manner.

[Illustration]

One of the most popular, and at the same time dangerous, of all public
gymnastic exhibitions, is that of rope-walking, and most marvellous
feats on the tight-rope have been performed in many parts of the
world. Even in Greece and Rome, men practised this form of gymnastics.
In later days no one has become more famous than Blondin, who crossed
the Niagara River on a tight-rope, performing all sorts of eccentric
feats while balanced on his slender support. He carried a man over on
his shoulders; he wheeled a wheelbarrow across; he walked the rope
blindfolded, and did many other things which would be very difficult
to most people, even if they were standing on solid ground instead of
being poised on a slender rope stretched high above the waters of a
rapid river. In this country, however, the taste for out-door and
dangerous rope-walking is not so general as it is in some countries of
Europe, where it is quite common to see acrobats walking on ropes
stretched from the top of one high building, or steeple, to another.
In Venice, for instance, rope-dancers have often skipped and played on
ropes reaching from the summits of two of the loftiest towers of that
beautiful city.

The Turks were once noted for their great proficiency in rope walking,
but they have been equalled by Japanese, European, and American
performers. Many women have been famous in this line, and a Madame
Sacqui, a Frenchwoman, was such an expert artist that one of her
countrymen likened her to a "Homeric goddess" (although I do not know
how Juno or Minerva would have looked on a tight-rope), and asserted
that her boldness and agility were the glory of the First Empire! This
infatuated Frenchman must have considered glory to have been very
scarce in his country in Madame Sacqui's day. There was a French baby,
however, who surpassed this lady, for the little one walked on the
tight-rope before she could walk on the ground, and afterwards became
famous enough to perform, in 1814, before an assembly of kings--the
allied sovereigns of Europe.

The public performers of different kinds of gymnastic feats often make
a great deal of money; but they sometimes break their necks, and
frequently injure their health by over-exertion.

So that exercises for health and amusement are the only kinds of
gymnastics that I recommend.




BUYING "THE MIRROR."


Miss Harper came into the room where George and Mary Conly and Ella
Lee were playing with jack-straws. They had played everything else
they could think of, and, feeling tired, had quietly settled
themselves down to jack-straws. They could have amused themselves from
morning until night out of doors without being weary; but Mr. Conly's
house was in the city, and had such a tiny bit of a yard that only
fairies could have got up a frolic in it. When they were in the
country there were so many things they could do, and when they were
tired running about, there was the see-saw on the big log under the
old elm.

[Illustration]

But they were not in the country now, and children have not the spirit
to keep up their sports in the house as they do out of doors. So,
when Miss Harper appeared with a book in her hand, George and Mary
sprang up from the table in delight, and exclaimed:

"Oh, cousin Fanny! are you going to read to us?"

"Yes," said Miss Harper, "I thought you would like to hear some more
of those pretty stories I read to you yesterday."

"That we will!" cried George, skipping about the room, while Mary,
with eyes sparkling with pleasure, hastily raked the jack-straws into
a pile.

"We can both get into this big chair, Ella," she said, "and then we
can hear cumfible."

Now Ella would much rather have played jack-straws, for she thought
listening to reading was very dull business indeed; but she was a
polite little girl, which is pretty much the same thing as saying she
was not selfish, and seeing that George and Mary were so pleased, and
expected her to be so also, she made no objection, and climbed up into
the big chair, and found it "cumfible," as Mary had said.

"It will be awfully stupid," she thought, "and this chair is so nice I
am afraid I'll go to sleep, and mamma says that is very rude when any
one is reading or talking to you."

You see Ella had not learned to be fond of books. Her parents had not
been in the habit of reading to her, and, although in school she could
read books that had quite long words in them, still she could not read
with sufficient ease to make it a pleasure to her.

But she did not go to sleep, but, on the contrary, got wider and wider
awake. The stories were all short, so that when the end came she
remembered the beginning perfectly, and they were such lovely stories
about little fairies, and how they helped children to be good, that
Ella was very sorry when the servant came to take her home.

"I thank you very much, Miss Harper, for reading to us," she said,
"Will you please tell me the name of the book?"

"It is 'The Mirror,'" said Miss Harper, "and I will read to you often
if you will come to see us."

Ella thought about the book all the way home, but she was so tired she
was glad to go to bed after supper, and the next morning she had no
time before school to say anything to her mother about the wonderful
"Mirror."

But after dinner there was a pleasant surprise for her. Her father
called her into his study, and, taking her up, kissed her tenderly,
and said: "I saw your teacher yesterday, and she gave me such a good
account of my little girl that I am very much pleased with her. And
now, if there is anything you would particularly like to have, I will
get it for you, if it does not cost too much. Think a moment, now!
Don't be in a hurry!"

"Oh, papa," exclaimed Ella, "I don't need to think a bit! I know what
I want! I do so want to have a 'Mirror!'"

"A _what_?" said Mr. Lee, suddenly putting Ella down on the floor.

"A 'Mirror,' papa. When will you get it for me? Oh! I am so glad!" And
she clapped her little hands softly together.

"You are a very little girl to be so vain," said Mr. Lee gravely, "but
as I said you should have what you wanted, I will keep my promise. Go
and dress yourself, and we will get it this very afternoon."

Ella was so full of her own happy thoughts that she did not notice
what he said about her being vain, or that he looked displeased, and
she skipped merrily away to be dressed. In a short time she had hold
of her father's hand, and was walking down Broadway, looking in at the
shop windows, and talking as fast as her little tongue could go.

Mr. Lee, who knew nothing about the book with such a queer title, and
supposed his daughter wanted a mirror in which to look at herself,
began to hope that, as Ella stopped so often to admire the pretty
things in the windows, she would see something she would prefer for a
present. For, though it is a very proper thing to look in the glass to
see that one's face is clean, and hair smooth, he did not like it that
his daughter should want a looking-glass above everything in the
world.

"O, papa, isn't that a lovely baby?" And Ella paused in admiration
before a wax doll.

"Yes," said Mr. Lee, eagerly. "Would not you rather have that pretty
baby than a mirror?"

Ella considered for a moment. She had a dolly she loved, though she
was not as pretty as this one.

"No, papa, I'd rather have a 'Mirror.' It will be so nice to have one
of my own. I hope you know where to go to get it?" she added
anxiously.

"Certainly," said Mr. Lee, rather sharply, "I know just where to go."

And so they went on by windows filled with floating ribbons, and
shining silks; and others where there were glittering jewels, and some
of the rings small enough for Ella's fingers; and others where there
were white fur capes spread out, with muffs that had such gay linings,
and tassels; and windows hung to the very top with toys, and some of
them such cunning ones--mice that could be made to run and squeak, and
jumping frogs--but none of these things would Ella have. At last they
came to one all filled with flowers, and with this Ella was in
raptures.

"What a very good man must live here," she said, "to put all these
things out for us to see! I can smell them through the glass!"

"They are put here to sell," said Mr. Lee, "and I know you will like
that beautiful pink rose-bush a great deal better than a mirror--or
that great white lily."

"No, no, papa," said Ella, moving impatiently away. "When will we come
to the place?"

"Here it is," said Mr. Lee, as they stopped at a store where then were
two huge windows filled with mirrors of all sizes. "Now which one will
you have? Not a very large one for such a very little lady. But there
is a nice little one that will just suit you, and it has a very pretty
frame."

"Where? where, papa? I don't see it!" And Ella looked about the window
in a very bewildered manner.

"There. In that corner, leaning against the window-frame."

"Why, papa, that's a looking-glass!"

"And is not that what you want?"

"No, sir; I want a '_Mirror_'--a book."

"Oh! that's it!" said Mr. Lee, with a brighter face. "I expect you
want a book called 'The Mirror.'"

"Yes, sir," said Ella, laughing, as they walked on. "How funny that
you should think I wanted a looking-glass! There it is now!" she cried
excitedly, pointing into the window of a book-store.

It was a large sheet of paper Ella saw, called a Poster, but it had
"The Mirror" on it in very big letters. So Mr. Lee and Ella went in,
and the shopman brought her the book, but it was red, and she did not
want it, and then he took down a green one, and then a brown, but Ella
would only have a blue one. After some trouble a blue one was found,
and Ella walked off hugging it close up to her. The book Miss Harper
read had a blue cover, and I believe that Ella was afraid that any
other color would not contain the same stories.




BIG GAME.


When a man or a boy goes hunting--in a book--he might just as well go
after good big game as after these little things that you see about
home. So let us leave chipmunks, rabbits, and tit-birds to those poor
fellows who have to shoot with real guns, and are obliged to be home
in time for supper, and let us go out into the wide world, to hunt the
very largest and most savage beasts we can find. It is perfectly
safe,--in a book.

As we can go wherever we please, suppose we try our skill in hunting
the Wild Boar. He will be a good beast to begin with, because he is
tolerably convenient, being found in Southern Europe, Palestine, and
neighboring countries, and also because he is such a destructive
rascal, when he comes into the neighborhood of civilization, that
every one will be much obliged to us for killing him. If he chances to
get into a vineyard, in company with a set of his reckless fellows,
there is small chance for a vintage that year. He tears down the
vines, devours the grapes, green and ripe, and breaks and ruins
trellises and everything within his reach.

If we are so fortunate as to get sight of him, we will find that he is
no easy game to bag. Very different is he from his tame brethren with
which we are acquainted--old grunters, who wallow about the
mud-puddles and sleep serenely for hours, with their fat sides baking
in the sun. The wild boar is as fast as a horse, and as savage as the
crossest bull. He can run so that you can scarcely catch up to him
with your nag at the top of his speed, and when you do reach him he
will be very apt, if you are not watchful, to rip up your horse with
his tusks and cut some terrible gashes in your own legs, besides.

[Illustration: WILD BOAR.]

We must shoot this fellow as soon as we can get a good chance, for
those sharp tusks will be ready for us, if we come too close, and if
he increases the distance between us, he may get among the rocks and
hills, where he will surely escape, for our horses cannot go over
those rough ascents at the rate the boar would gallop.

When at last he is shot, the boar is capital eating. His flesh is far
superior to common pork, possessing the peculiar delicate flavor which
belongs to most wild meat. If we could shoot a wild boar every few
days, we would be sure to fare very well during our hunting
expedition.

But we must press on after other game, and we will now try and get a
shot at a musk-ox. We shall have to go somewhat out of our way to find
this animal, for he lives in the upper portions of North America, but
an ocean and a continent or two are not at all difficult to cross--in
a book.

The musk-ox is about as large as a small cow; he has very short legs,
and horns which are very large and heavy. They extend over his
forehead and seem as if they were parted in the middle, like a dandy's
front hair. It is probable, if we get near enough to one of them, that
we shall have no trouble in shooting him; but there is sometimes
danger in this sport. A sailor once went out to hunt musk-oxen, and,
to his great surprise, soon found that they intended to hunt him. A
herd got after him, and one big fellow was on the point of crushing
him with his great horns, when he dodged behind a rock, against which
the furious animal came like a battering-ram.

In the fall and winter the flesh of the musk-ox is very good indeed,
but in the spring it is not so nice. It then smells like your sister's
glove-box (if she uses musk), only about one hundred times as strong.
If we were to cut up one of these animals when his flesh is in this
condition, we would find it almost impossible to get the smell off of
our knives. The winter is certainly the time to shoot this game, for
then not only is his flesh very good, but his skin is covered with
very long and warm hair, and we would find it even better, to keep us
warm, than a buffalo robe.

[Illustration: THE MUSK-OX AND THE SAILOR.]

While we are thinking of skins, we might as well get a variety of
them, and we will find the fur of the brown bear very valuable.

So now for a brown bear. He, too, is found in the regions of ice and
snow, and in the North of Europe he is hunted by the peasants in a way
which we will not imitate. When they find a den or cave in the rocks
in which they think a bear is concealed, these sturdy hunters make all
sorts of noises to worry him out, and when at last the bear comes
forth to see what is the matter, he finds a man standing in front of
his den, armed with a short lance with a long sharp head, and a bar of
iron placed crosswise on the handle just below the head. Now, a
full-grown brown bear is not afraid of a man who is armed with a
little weapon like this, and so he approaches the hunter, and rearing
on his hind legs, reaches forth his arms to give the man a good hug,
if he comes any nearer.

[Illustration: HUNTING THE BROWN BEAR.]

The man does come nearer, and, to the bear's great surprise, he
thrusts forth his lance, which is longer than it looked, and drives
the head of it into the animal's breast. The iron bar prevents the
lance from entering too far into the body of the bear--a very
necessary precaution, for if it was not there, the bear would push
himself up along the handle of the lance and have his great paws on
the man in a minute or two. But the bar keeps the bear back, and the
loss of blood soon renders him so weak that the hunter can throw him
down and despatch him. It is strange that the bear never tries to pull
the lance out of his body. He keeps pressing it in, trying all the
time to get over it at his enemy.

This may be a good way to kill a bear, but I don't like it. It is
cruel to the animal, and decidedly dangerous to the hunter. If I could
not get a bear skin in any other way than by killing the animal with a
spear, I would let the bear keep his fur. If we see any brown bears we
will shoot them with our rifles, a much safer and more humane method
than the pike fashion.

After the bears, what shall we hunt? What do you say to a
hippopotamus? That will be something that we are not accustomed to, at
any rate. So away we go to the waters of Africa. If we travel along
the shores of the Nile and other African rivers, we shall, no doubt,
see some of these great creatures. But we must not expect to get a
good sight of any of them, unless we are very careful to hide
ourselves somewhere near where they are in the habit of coming out of
the water to take a walk on land. Ordinarily all that can be seen of a
hippopotamus is his head or his back, sticking up out of the water.
They can stay under water for a long time, occasionally sticking up
their noses to get a breath of air.

At night they often come on shore to see what they can find to eat.
They live on grass and grains, which they find in the water and on
land. These animals are generally shot or harpooned at night, when
they come out of the water, but occasionally a hunter sees one on
shore in the daytime, and he seldom finds any difficulty in shooting
it, if he can hit it in the ear, which is its most vulnerable spot.

The hippopotamus is naturally a timid animal, and seldom turns on its
hunters, but sometimes it shows a courageous disposition. Some
hunters, having shot a young but apparently a tolerably well-grown
hippopotamus, were running up to their prize, when they were astounded
by the old mother beast coming up out of the water and charging
towards them with tremendous roars.

[Illustration: A BRAVE HIPPOPOTAMUS.]

The hunters fired at her and then took to their heels, but having
found her offspring, she stayed with it and did not pursue the men. If
she had overtaken them, she would have been a terrible enemy to
encounter.

If, during our night-watches on the river-banks, we are so fortunate
as to shoot a hippopotamus, we shall find that we have a good supply
of very fine meat And what we cannot eat the natives will be
delighted to get. They consider a hippopotamus a most valuable prize,
and as the meat is good and there is so very much of it, their joy
when they kill one is not at all surprising. The only thing that
troubles them after a successful hunt is that there are so few
hippopotami killed, and so many negroes to eat them.

[Illustration: A RHINOCEROS TURNING THE TABLES.]

And now let us try a rhinoceros hunt. This animal is found in the same
regions that the hippopotamus inhabits, but he also lives in Asia. He
is rather a dangerous animal to hunt. He is a savage fellow when
provoked; he has a great horn on his nose, and a skin so thick that it
is almost bullet-proof, and, besides that, he is the largest and
strongest animal on the earth, excepting the elephant. So no wonder
he is a little unsafe to hunt.

The rhinoceros lives on grass and herbs, and makes his home entirely
on the land. His flesh, like that of the hippopotamus, is very good to
eat, but rhinoceros-beef ought to be dear, if the trouble and danger
in getting it is taken into consideration when the price is fixed. He
very often turns and charges on the hunters, and if he gets his horn
under a man or a horse, he is likely to cause trouble.

It is said that a rhinoceros can kill an elephant, by ripping him up
with his horn, and that the lion and all wild beasts are afraid of
him. I am not at all surprised that this is the case, for I have
examined the skin of a rhinoceros which I saw in a menagerie, and it
was so thick and heavy that scarcely any animal could tear it, with
teeth or claws, so as to get at the enemy within it. The rhinoceros
which I saw in a cage was not quite full-grown. His horn was not more
than an inch or two above his nose, but he was an enormous fellow, and
his great hide, which was as hard as the sole of your shoe, hung on
him in great folds, as if it had been made large so as to give him
room to grow. He was gentle enough, and let me put my hand through the
bars of his cage and take hold of his horn without making the
slightest objection. But we will not find that kind of rhinoceros on
the plains of Africa, and if we hunt one we must kill him very soon,
or be prepared to get out of his way.

After a rhinoceros hunt we will not be apt to be easily frightened, no
matter what beast we pursue, so we might as well go to India and hunt
the Bengal tiger.

There is no animal more graceful in its movements, handsomer in shape
and color, or more bloody and ferocious in its nature, than the Royal
Bengal tiger. Even in a cage he is a magnificent creature. When I go
to a menagerie, I always look first for the Bengal tigers.

If we go to hunt these animals, we had better ride upon elephants, for
we must go into the jungles, where the tall reeds, through which the
tigers roam, are higher than our heads.

[Illustration: "A TIGER HUNT."]

When we are well in the jungle, we must be careful. It is sometimes
very difficult to see a tiger, even if you are quite near to him, for
the stripes on his skin are very much like the reeds and leaves of the
jungle, and we must keep a very sharp look-out, and as soon as we see
one we must be ready with our rifles, for a tiger is very apt to begin
the fight, and he will think nothing of springing on the back of an
elephant and dragging one of us to the ground. Sometimes the elephants
are not used to hunting tigers, and when they see the savage beasts
they turn and run. In that case there is often great danger, for no
one can fire coolly and with certain aim from the back of a bounding
elephant.

If we find a tiger, and we get a good shot--or perhaps many good
shots--at him, and he falls wounded or apparently dead, we must still
be very careful about approaching him, for he is very hard to kill.
Often, when pierced with many balls, a tiger is considered to have
breathed his last, he springs up all of a sudden, seizes one of his
hunters in his great jaws, tears him with his claws, and then falls
back dead.

Hunters accustomed to the pursuit of tigers, always make sure that a
tiger is dead before they come near his fallen body, and they often
put many balls into him after he is stretched upon the ground.

We must by this time be so inured to danger in the pursuit of our big
game, that we will go and hunt an animal which is, I think, the most
dangerous creature with which man can contend. I mean the Gorilla.

This tremendous ape, as tall as a man, and as strong as a dozen men,
has been called the king of the African forests. For many years
travellers in Africa had heard from the natives wonderful stories of
this gigantic and savage beast. The negroes believed that the gorilla,
or pongo, as he was called by some tribes, was not only as ferocious
and dangerous as a tiger, but almost as intelligent as a man. Some of
them thought that he could talk, and that the only reason that he did
not do so was because he did not wish to give himself the trouble.

Notwithstanding the stories of some travellers, it is probable that no
white man ever saw a gorilla until Paul du Chaillu found them in
Africa, where he went, in 1853, for the purpose of exploring the
country which they inhabit.

As Mr. Chaillu has written several books for young folks, in which he
tells his experience with gorillas, I shall not relate any of his
wonderful adventures with these animals, in which he killed some
enormous fellows and at different times captured young ones, all of
which, however, soon died. But the researches of this indefatigable
and intrepid explorer have proved that the gorilla is, as the negroes
reported him to be, a most terrible animal to encounter. When found,
he often comes forward to meet the hunter, roaring like a great lion,
and beating his breast in defiance. If a rifle-ball does not quickly
put an end to him, he will rush upon his assailants, and one blow from
his powerful arm will be enough to stretch a man senseless or dead
upon the ground.

[Illustration: "FIGHT WITH A GORILLA."]

In a hand-to-hand combat with a gorilla, a man, even though armed
with a knife, has not the slightest chance for his life.

If we should be fortunate enough to shoot a gorilla, we may call
ourselves great hunters, even without counting in the bears, the
rhinoceroses, the tigers, and the other animals.

And when we return, proud and satisfied with our endeavors, we will
prove to the poor fellows who were obliged to stay at home and shoot
tit-birds and rabbits, with real guns, what an easy thing it is to
hunt the biggest kind of game--in a book.




THE BOOTBLACK'S DOG.

[Illustration]


Once upon a time there lived, in Paris, a bootblack. He was not a boy,
but a man, and he had a family to support. The profits of his business
would have been sufficient for his humble wants and those of his
family had it not been for one circumstance, which made trade very
dull with him. And that disastrous circumstance was this: nearly every
one who passed his stand had their boots and shoes already blackened!
Now this was hard upon our friend. There was nothing to astonish him
in the fact of so many persons passing with polished boots, for his
stand was in the middle of a block, and there were bootblacks at each
corner. But all he could do was to bear his fate as patiently as
possible, and black the few boots which came to him, and talk to his
dog, his only companion, as he sat all day on the sidewalk by his box.

One day, when he had just blackened his own boots (he did not charge
himself anything--he only did it so as to have the air of being busy),
his dog came running up to him from the muddy street, and accidentally
put his dirty paw on his master's bright boots. The man, who was of an
amiable disposition, did not scold much, but as he was brushing off
the mud he said:

"You little rascal! I wish it had been the boots of some other man
that you had covered with dirt. That would have been sensible."

Just at that moment a thought struck the bootblack.

He would teach his dog to muddy other people's boots!

The man immediately acted on this idea, and gave his dog lessons every
day in the art of muddying boots. In a week or two, no gentleman with
highly polished boots could pass the bootblack's stand without seeing
a dog rush into the street and gutter, and then come and jump on his
feet, spattering his boots with mud and water, and making it necessary
for him to go immediately to the nearest bootblack--which was of course
the dog's master.

The bootblack now had constant custom, and his circumstances began
rapidly to improve. His children, being better fed, grew round and
chubby; his wife had three good meals a day, and some warm flannels,
and she soon lost the wan and feeble look which she had worn so long.
As for the man himself, he and his dog were gay and busy all the day
long.

But people began to suspect something after a while. One gentleman who
had his boots muddied regularly every day, once questioned the
bootblack very closely, for he saw that the dog belonged to him, and
the man was obliged to confess that he had taught the dog the trick.
The gentleman, pleased with the smartness of the dog, and perhaps
desirous of ridding his fellow-citizens of annoyance and expense,
purchased the animal and took him home.

But he did not keep him long. In a few days the dog escaped, and came
back to his old master and his muddy trade.

But I do not think that that bootblack always prospered. People who
live by tricks seldom do. I have no doubt that a great many people
found out his practices, and that the authorities drove him away from
his stand, and that he was obliged to give up his business, and
perhaps go into the army; while his wife supported the family by
taking in washing and going out to scrub. I am not sure that all this
happened, but I would not be at all surprised if it turned out exactly
as I say.




GOING AFTER THE COWS.

[Illustration]


If there is anything which a little country-boy likes, and which a big
country-boy dislikes, it is to go after the cows. There is no need of
giving the reasons why the big boy does not like this duty. It is
enough to say that it is a small boy's business, and the big boy knows
it. The excitement of hunting up and driving home a lot of slow,
meandering cattle is not sufficient for a mind capable of grappling
with the highest grade of agricultural ideas, and the youth who has
reached the mature age of fifteen or sixteen is very apt to think that
his mind is one of that kind.

But it is very different with the little boy. To go down into the
fields, with a big stick and a fixed purpose; to cross over the
ditches on boards that a few years ago he would not have been allowed
to put his foot upon; to take down the bars of the fences, just as if
he was a real man, and when he reaches the pasture, to go up to those
great cows, and even to the old bull himself, and to shake his stick
at them, and shout: "Go along there, now!"--these are proud things to
do.

And then what a feeling of power it gives him to make those big
creatures walk along the very road he chooses for them, and to hurry
them up, or let them go slowly, just as he pleases!

If, on the way, a wayward cow should make a sudden incursion over some
low bars into a forbidden field, the young director of her evening
course is equal to the emergency.

He is over the fence in an instant, and his little legs soon place him
before her, and then what are her horns, her threatening countenance,
and her great body to his shrill voice and brandished stick? Admitting
his superior power, she soon gallops back to the herd, with whack
after whack resounding upon her thick hide.

When at last the great, gentle beasts file, one by one, into the
barn-yard, there is a consciousness of having done something very
important in the air of the little fellow who brings up the rear of
the procession, and who shuts the gate as closely as possible on the
heels of the hindmost cow.

There are also many little outside circumstances connected with a
small boy's trip after the cows which make it pleasant to him.
Sometimes there are tremendous bull-frogs in the ditch. There are ripe
wild-cherries--splendid, bitter, and scarce--on the tree in the corner
of the field. The pears on the little tree by old Mrs. Hopkins's don't
draw your mouth up so very much, if you peel the skins off with your
knife. There is always a chance of seeing a rabbit, and although there
is no particular chance of getting it, the small boy does not think of
that. Now, although it would hardly be worth while to walk very far
for any of these things, they are very pleasant when you are going
after the cows.

So I think it is no wonder that the little boys like to go after the
cows, and I wish that hundreds and thousands of pale-faced and
thin-legged little fellows had cows to go after.




THE REFLECTIVE STAG.


The more we study the habits and natures of animals the more firmly
are we convinced that, in many of them, what we call instinct is very
much like what we call reason.

In the case of a domestic animal, we may attribute, perhaps, a great
deal of its cleverness to its association with man and its capability
of receiving instruction. But wild animals have not the advantages of
human companionship, and what they know is due to the strength and
quality of their own understanding. And some of them appear to know a
great deal.

There are few animals which prove this assertion more frequently than
the stag. As his home is generally somewhere near the abodes of men,
and as his flesh is so highly prized by them, it is absolutely
necessary that he should take every possible precaution to preserve
his life from their guns and dogs. Accordingly, he has devised a great
many plans by which he endeavors--often successfully--to circumvent
his hunters. And to do this certainly requires reflection, and a good
deal of it, too. He even finds out that his scent assists the dogs in
following him. How he knows this I have not the slightest idea, but he
does know it.

Therefore it is that, when he is hunted, he avoids running through
thick bushes, where his scent would remain on the foliage; and, if
possible, he dashes into the water, and runs along the beds of shallow
streams, where the hounds often lose all trace of him. When this is
impossible, he bounds over the ground, making as wide gaps as he can
between his tracks. Sometimes, too, he runs into a herd of cattle, and
so confuses the dogs; and he has been known to jump up on the back of
an ox, and take a ride on the frightened creature, in order to get
his own feet partly off of the ground for a time, and thus to break
the line of his scent. When very hard pressed, a stag has suddenly
dropped on the ground, and when most of the dogs, unable to stop
themselves, dash over him, he springs to his feet, and darts off in an
opposite direction.

[Illustration]

He will also run back on his own track, and employ many other means of
the kind to deceive the dogs, showing most conclusively that he
understands the theory of scent, and the dogs' power of perceiving it;
and also that he has been able to devise the very best plans to elude
his pursuers.

Not only do stags reflect in this general manner in regard to their
most common and greatest danger, but they make particular
reflections, suited to particular places and occasions. The tricks
and manoeuvres which would be very successful in one forest and in one
season would not answer at all in another place and at another time,
and so they reflect on the subject and lay their plans to suit the
occasion.

There are many animals which possess great acuteness in eluding their
hunters, but the tricks of the stag are sufficient to show us to what
an extent some animals are capable of reflection.




WHEN WE MUST NOT BELIEVE OUR EYES.


There are a great number of marvellous things told us of phantom forms
and ghostly apparitions--of spectres that flit about lonely roads on
moonlight nights, or haunt peaceful people in their own homes; of
funeral processions, with long trains of mourners, watched from a
distance, but which, on nearer approach, melt into a line of mist; of
wild witch-dances in deserted houses, and balls of fire bounding out
of doors and windows--stories which cause the flesh of children to
creep upon their bones, and make cowards of them where there is no
reason for fear. For you may lay it down as a fact, established beyond
dispute, that not one of these things is a _reality_. The person who
tells these marvels has always what seems the best of reasons for his
belief. He either saw these things himself or knew somebody, strictly
truthful, who had seen them. He did not know, what I am going to prove
to you, that a thing may be _true_ and yet not be _real_. In other
words, that there are times when we do actually see marvels that seem
supernatural, but that, on such occasions, _we must not believe our
own eyes_, but search for a natural cause, and, if we look faithfully,
we are sure to find one.

Once a vessel was sailing over a northern ocean in the midst of the
short, Arctic summer. The sun was hot, the air was still, and a group
of sailors lying lazily upon the deck were almost asleep, when an
exclamation of fear from one of them made them all spring to their
feet. The one who had uttered the cry pointed into the air at a little
distance, and there the awe-stricken sailors saw a large ship, with
all sails set, gliding over what seemed to be a placid ocean, for
beneath the ship was the reflection of it.

[Illustration]

The news soon spread through the vessel that a phantom-ship with a
ghostly crew was sailing in the air over a phantom-ocean, and that it
was a bad omen, and meant that not one of them should ever see land
again. The captain was told the wonderful tale, and coming on deck, he
explained to the sailors that this strange appearance was caused by
the reflection of some ship that was sailing on the water below this
image, but at such a distance they could not see it. There were
certain conditions of the atmosphere, he said, when the sun's rays
could form a perfect picture in the air of objects on the earth, like
the images one sees in glass or water, but they were not generally
upright, as in the case of this ship, but reversed--turned bottom
upwards. This appearance in the air is called a mirage. He told a
sailor to go up to the foretop and look beyond the phantom-ship. The
man obeyed, and reported that he could see on the water, below the
ship in the air, one precisely like it. Just then another ship was
seen in the air, only this one was a steamship, and was
bottom-upwards, as the captain had said these mirages generally
appeared. Soon after, the steamship itself came in sight. The sailors
were now convinced, and never afterwards believed in phantom-ships.

A French army marching across the burning sands of an Egyptian desert,
fainting with thirst and choked with fine sand, were suddenly revived
in spirit by the sight of a sheet of water in the distance. In it were
mirrored the trees and villages, gardens and pretty houses of a
cultivated land, all reversed. The blue sky was mirrored there, too,
just as you can see the banks of a lake, and the sky that bends over
it, in its calm waters. The soldiers rushed towards the place, frantic
with joy, but when they got there they found nothing but the hot
sands. Again they saw the lake at a distance, and made another
headlong rush, only to be again disappointed. This happened
frequently, until the men were in despair, and imagined that some
demon was tormenting them. But there happened to be with this army a
wise man, who did not trust entirely to his own eyes, and although he
saw exactly what the others did, he did not believe that there was
anything there but air. He set to work to investigate it, and found
out that the whole thing was an illusion--it was the reflection of the
gardens and villages that were on the river Nile, thrown up into the
air, like the ships the sailors saw, only in the clear atmosphere of
Egypt these images are projected to a long distance. And demons had
nothing whatever to do with it.

People used to believe in a fairy called Fata Morgana. Wonderful
things were said of her, and her dominions were in the air, where she
had large cities which she sometimes amused herself by turning into a
variety of shapes. The cities were often seen by dwellers on the
Mediterranean sea-coast. Sometimes one of them would be like an
earthly city, with houses and churches, and nearly always with a
background of mountains. In a moment it would change into a confused
mass of long colonnades, lofty towers, and battlements waving with
flags, and then the mountains reeling and falling, a long row of
windows would appear glowing with rainbow colors, and perhaps, in
another instant, all this would be swept away, and nothing be seen but
gloomy cypress trees.

[Illustration]

These things can be seen now occasionally, as of old, but they are no
longer in Fairyland. Now we know that they are the images of cities
and mountains on the coast, and the reason they assume these
fantastic forms is that the layers of air through which the rays of
light pass are curved and irregular.

[Illustration]

A gigantic figure haunts the Vosges Mountains, known by the name of
"The Spectre of the Brocken." The ignorant peasants were, in former
times, in great fear of it, thinking it a supernatural being, and
fancying that it brought upon them all manner of evil. And it must be
confessed it was a fearful sight to behold suddenly upon the summit of
a lofty mountain an immense giant, sometimes pointing in a threatening
attitude to a village below, as if dooming it to destruction;
sometimes with arms upraised, as if invoking ruin upon all the
country; and sometimes stalking along with such tremendous strides as
to make but one step from peak to peak; often dwarfing himself to
nothingness, and again stretching up until his head is in the clouds,
then disappearing entirely for a moment, only to reappear more
formidable than before.

But now the Spectre of the Brocken is no longer an object of fear.
Why? Because men have found him out, and he is nothing in the world
but a shadow. When the sun is in the right position, an ordinary-sized
man on a lower mountain will see a gigantic shadow of himself thrown
upon a cloud beyond the Brocken, though it appears to be on the
mountain itself, and it is so perfect a representation that it is
difficult to believe it is only a shadow. But it can be easily proved.
If the man stoops to pick up anything, down goes the spectre; if he
raises his hand, so does the spectre; if he takes a step of two feet,
the spectre takes one of miles; if he raises his hat, the spectre
politely returns his salute.

When you behold anything marvellous, and your eyes tell you that you
have seen some ghostly thing, don't believe them, but investigate the
matter closely, and you will find it no more a phantom than the mirage
or the Spectre of the Brocken.




A CITY UNDER THE GROUND.


Under the bright skies of Italy, in a picturesque valley, with the
mountains close at hand and the blue waves of the Mediterranean
rolling at a little distance--at the foot of wonderful Vesuvius, green
and fertile, and covered with vines to its very top, from which smoke
is perpetually escaping, and in whose heart fires are eternally
raging, in this beautiful valley stands the city of Pompeii.