Chapter 3

Hares are very plentiful in Switzerland, and are found high up among the ice and snow of the most lofty mountains. These Alpine hares are subject to a very strange change of costume. In December, when the Alpine world is one vast expanse of snow, the fur of the hare is the purest white, only the ears preserving the distinguishing black tip. As spring comes on, gray-brown hairs appear in the white fur, until, about the end of May, the animal is entirely covered with a gray-brown coat, which with the first snows of the autumn begins, in its turn, to change again into white. Ice hares, which are found as far north as the Parry Islands, are also subject to the same change, with the exception that the warm weather continues only long enough to spread a gray mantle along the back of the little creature, which quickly disappears as the temperature declines. The ice hare lives on the bark and twigs of the arctic willow and the dry moss and stubble of the desolate regions it inhabits. It makes its nest among the rocks, and in winter digs a hole in the snow.

Hares are good swimmers, but will not enter the water unless to avoid a foe. There is, however, one species of aquatic hare, found only in the Southern United States. It is amphibious, like the musk-rat, is a most expert swimmer, and makes its nest, or "form," on the edge of the morass, where it sleeps all day, sallying forth morning and evening for a swim in search of the delicate water-plants upon which it feeds. The young ones enter the water at a very early age, and may be seen paddling about with the mother on a hunt for breakfast.

Tame hares make very pretty pets. They are very stupid about learning tricks, and are said to have very short memories. Hares which have escaped from their masters, and have been recaptured after a few days of freedom, have been found to be entirely wild, as if they retained no remembrance, even for that short time, of all the petting which had been bestowed upon them. Dr. Benjamin Franklin is said to have had a pet hare which lived on the most friendly terms with a greyhound and cat, and would share the hearth-rug with them in the winter.

William Cowper, the English poet, had three pet hares, to which he was much attached, and about which he wrote many pretty things. They were given to him when they were leverets, as a hare is called during the first year of its life, and he named them Puss, Bess, and Tiney. He built them houses to sleep in, and always kept them near him. Bess, who died soon after he was full grown, "was," writes Cowper, "a hare of great humor and drollery. Puss was tamed by gentle usage; Tiney was not to be tamed at all." Once poor Puss was sick. His master nursed him with the greatest care. He says: "No creature could be more grateful than my patient after his recovery--a sentiment which he most significantly expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it, then the palm, then every finger separately, then between all the fingers, as if anxious to leave no part of it unsaluted; a ceremony which he never performed but once again, upon a similar occasion."

Upon Tiney the kindest treatment had no effect. If his master ventured to stroke him, he would grunt, strike with his fore-feet, spring forward, and bite. Tiney lived to be nine years old, and died from the effects of a fall. Puss survived him two years. A memorandum found among Cowper's papers reads: "This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years, eleven months. He died between twelve and one at noon, of mere old age, and apparently without pain."

The poet was so fond of his pets that he buried them in his garden, and wrote an epitaph on Tiney, from which we take the following stanzas:

"Here lies--whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo--

"Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare.

"Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite.

"His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw.

"On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, On pippin's russet peel, And when his juicy salads failed, Sliced carrot pleased him well."

CHARADE.

Out on the sea, when the tempest is blowing, Over the waters dark and wild, Guide I the sailor, his pathway showing Over the shoals and the currents flowing; Never through me is the ship beguiled.

Many a wandering step have I guided; Children at school have I often taught; Many disputes through me are decided; Oft has my help, though sometimes derided, Even the Muse of History sought.

Off with my head! I'm a living creature; Trembling I follow, I guide no more; Large-eyed and gentle, of kindly feature, Hunted by man; in the wilds of nature, When he is coming, I fly before.

Cut off my head again, and for ages Long have I kindled the spirit of man. Worshipped by artists, adored by the sages, Present and past combine in my pages; There all the secrets of beauty you scan.

WHEN SKATES WERE BONES.

Though it appears to be impossible to fix on the time when skating first took root in England, there can be no doubt that it was introduced there from more northern climates, where it originated more from the necessities of the inhabitants than as a pastime. When snow covered their land, and ice bound up their rivers imperious necessity would soon suggest to the Scands or the Germans some ready means of winter locomotion. This first took the form of snow-shoes with two long runners of wood, like those still used by the inhabitants of the northerly parts of Norway and Sweden in their journeys over the immense snow-fields. These seem originally to have been used by the Finns, "for which reason," says a Swedish writer, "they were called 'Skrid Finnai' (Sliding Finns)--a common name for the most ancient inhabitants of Sweden, both in the North saga and by foreign authors."

When used on ice, one runner would soon have been found more convenient than the widely separated two, and harder materials used than wood: first bone was substituted; then it, in turn, gave place to iron; and thus the present form of skate was developed in the North at a period set down by Scandinavian archaeologists as about A.D. 200.

Frequent allusions occur in the old Northern poetry, which prove that proficiency in skating was one of the most highly esteemed accomplishments of the Northern heroes. One of them, named Kolson, boasts that he is master of nine accomplishments, skating being one; while the hero Harold bitterly complains that though he could fight, ride, swim, glide along the ice on skates, dart the lance, and row, "yet a Russian maid disdains me."

In the "Edda" this accomplishment is singled out for special praise: "Then the king asked what that young man could do who accompanied Thor. Thialfe answered that in running upon skates he would dispute the prize with any of the countries. The king owned that the talent he spoke of was a very fine one."

Olaus Magnus, the author of the famous chapter on the Snakes of Iceland, tells us that skates were made "of polished iron, or of the shank bone of a deer or sheep, about a foot long, filed down on one side, and greased with hog's lard to repel the wet." These rough-and-ready bone skates were the kind first adopted by the English; for Fitzstephen, in his description of the amusements of the Londoners in his day (time of Henry the Second), tells us that "when that great fen that washes Moorfields at the north wall of the city is frozen over, great companies of young men go to sport upon the ice. Some, striding as wide as they may, do slide swiftly; some, better practiced to the ice, bind to their shoes bones, as the legs of some beasts, and hold stakes in their hands, headed with sharp iron, which sometimes they strike against the ice; these men go as swiftly as doth a bird in the air, or a bolt from a cross-bow." Then he goes on to say that some, imitating the fashion of the tournament, would start in full career against one another, armed with poles; "they meet, elevate their poles, attack and strike each other, when one or both of them fall, and not without some bodily hurt."

Specimens of these old bone skates are occasionally dug up in fenny parts of Great Britain. There are some in the British Museum, in the Museum of the Scottish Antiquaries, and probably in other collections; though perhaps some of the "finds" are not nearly as old as Fitzstephen's day, for there seems to be good evidence that even in London the primitive bone skate was not entirely superseded by implements of steel at the latter part of last century.

One found about 1839 in Moorfields, in the boggy soil peculiar to that district, is described as being formed of the bone of some animal, made smooth on one side, with a hole at one extremity for a cord to fasten it to the shoe. At the other end a hole is also drilled horizontally to a depth of three inches, which might have received a plug, with another cord to secure it more effectually.

There is hardly a greater difference between these old bone skates and the "acmes" and club skates of to-day, than there is between the skating of the Middle Ages and the artistic and graceful movements of good performers of to-day. Indeed, skating as a fine art is entirely a thing of modern growth. So little thought of was the exercise, that for long after Fitzstephen's day we find few or no allusions to it, and up to the Restoration days it appears to have been an amusement confined chiefly to the lower classes, among whom it never reached any very high pitch of art. "It was looked upon," says a recent writer, "much with the same view that the boys on the Serpentine even now seem to adopt, as an accomplishment, the acme of which was reached when the performer could succeed in running along quickly on his skates, and finishing off with a long and triumphant slide on two feet in a straight line forward. A gentleman would probably then have no more thought of trying to execute different figures on the ice than he would at the present day of dancing in a drawing-room on the tips of his toes." Even as an amusement of the common people it is not alluded to in any of the usual catalogues of sport so often referred to.

THE MONKEYS OF INDIA.

A missionary in India gives an interesting account of the monkeys that live in that far-away country. He says that in the morning, during the cold season, the monkeys are always very listless, but as soon as they are warmed with the rays of the sun, they are as playful as kittens. They will jump over each other's backs, slap each other's faces, pull each other's tails, and even make pretense to steal each other's babies.

The gray and the brown species are found nearly all over the continent of India; the former is more daring and destructive, and the latter more mischievous and cunning. They both form themselves into separate packs, or tribes, and rarely go beyond a certain boundary. They seldom migrate, except it be for food or water in times of drought and scarcity. This wild citizenship seems to be respected, for they very rarely trespass on each other's ground. Each tribe has a leader, or king, which can easily be recognized, and from the manner in which he conducts himself, he is evidently aware of the dignity of his position.

Like nearly all other wild animals, they have a keen sense of danger, and when a certain whoop is given, however scattered or tempted to stay, in a few moments they are hidden on the tops of the highest trees in the locality. They have the bump of destructiveness largely developed, and it is no small calamity when a tribe locates itself near a village. Scarcely anything in the shape of fruit or grain comes amiss to them, and when neither are to be had, in the hottest part of the year they eat the stems of the young leaves. When they commence upon a field of lentils, pulse, or peas, they always pluck up the plant by the root, pull off one pod, and then fling the plant away, so that it does not require many days to clear a whole field. Ripe mangoes have a special attraction, and it requires no small amount of vigilance to keep them away from the groves.

Dogs, however strong and fleet, are of very little use to drive them away, for the monkeys are sagacious enough to know that their safety is in keeping near the trees. When the dog has spent himself with barking and screaming at the foot of the tree, a monkey will come down to the lowest branch, and wag his long tail within a few inches of the dog's face, and when the poor dog has retired, completely foiled, a monkey will soon be after him to tempt him to a second encounter.

Mischief is certainly in their hearts, for, not content with stealing the produce of the gardens and fields, they will pull off the thatch from the native huts, fling the tiles from the better-built houses and shops to the ground, and we have even seen them try their best to rift the stones from the temples. A native town in one of the zemindary estates was so mutilated by them that it looked as if it had sustained a siege.

Some years ago, after making our arrangements for our encampment at night, we constantly had our peaceful rest broken by a tribe of brown monkeys. They evidently thought that long possession had given them a prior claim to the grove. For our own comfort it was felt by all that some means must be adopted to drive them away. Accordingly one was shot. Death was not instantaneous, and quite a number came around to see it die. They looked with startling interest into its face, but as soon as life was extinct they bounded away. Fear had fallen upon them all, and not a sound was heard from them during the night. Early next morning they assembled in an adjoining field. The sharp and quick manner in which they turned their faces first in this way and then in that was a sight not soon to be forgotten. They had instinct enough to see that their only safety would be in flight. In the course of an hour the king headed the tribe, and away they went, and not a solitary monkey was seen in that region for years afterward. The natives dared not openly commend us, but they were not a little pleased that we had rid them of creatures so destructive to their homesteads.

The monkeys are very numerous in the sacred cities, and especially in Benares and Pooree. Within a few miles of the temple of Juggernaut there are many hundreds, if not thousands. They are so tame that they will come down from the trees and eat rice from the hands of the pilgrims. When the pilgrim presents his hand with the rice in it, the monkey seizes it with his left paw, and he will never let go his grip until he has taken every grain. Very few persons are injured by monkeys, but they will sometimes seize a basket, if there be fruit in it, when carried by a woman or child. The natives often say that "monkeys can do everything except talk, and they would do that were it not for the fear of being made to work."

THE LITTLE DELINQUENT.

"Lucie, my Lucie, wilt thou not forgive thy little Fritz?" pleaded the mother of two children whose father had been a soldier in the Prussian army, and whose bravery had been rewarded with a medal which was worn on his coat lapel.

Lucie answered, with a deep sigh, "He was so cruel, dear mother; he pushed me down so rudely on the hard floor!"

"Yes, I saw that push; but he was angry."

"And I tried so well to do what he wished; I kept the step and marched behind him, and I helped to make his cap, and I ran out to the poultry-yard for a feather which had dropped from the cock's tail--the green and blue one that eats so much corn--and I was as good a soldier as I knew how to be!"

"Well, what was the matter?"

"Why, I had my dear Rosa in my arms, and Ludwig looked over the fence, and laughed at Fritz for having a girl with a doll in his regiment, and Fritz became very cross, and said he would not play. Then I put my Rosa down, and went marching again; but that dreadful great cock came and pecked at her eyes, and I _could_ not see her suffer; so I hid her in my apron while Fritz was not looking, and we came into the house to fill our knapsacks; then Fritz saw Rosa, and he said I was a disobedient soldier, and he pulled her out of my arms, and tossed her down and broke her, as you see--oh, my dear, my good Rosa!"

"But I think Fritz is sorry. See! he has been tied to the table a long while for punishment. Can you not forgive him?"

Lucie did not answer; her little soul seemed much disturbed.

"Come, I will tell thee a story, my Lucie, of two other children, and then, perhaps, thou wilt be more ready to let Fritz go free. Far away up in the mountains where are the chamois, and where the rocks are rough and the forests dark, lived Hans and Gretchen. They were wild as the chamois themselves, and their old grandfather could scarcely keep them by his side long enough to tell them the story of the Saviour's love, or teach them even to read. They knew the haunt of every wild creature of the woods, and many were their quarrels over a nest of young birds, or the possession of the animals they trapped. They had no kind mother; their words were often harsh, and sometimes hunger made them really cruel to each other. They were much to be pitied, for their grandfather was lame as well as old, and could do little for their support.

"One day, in an eager chase after a rabbit Gretchen gave Hans a great push, which sent him down over a rocky ledge on to some stones. She was frightened to see that he did not move, and still more frightened when she found he was moaning with pain. She ran to get help, and the neighbors came and lifted Hans and carried him home; but he never walked again: his spine was hurt. Ah! what sorrow then was Gretchen's! How she wished she had never been so unkind!

"How she missed her companion in her wild rambles, and in her search for the Edelweiss flowers which she sold to travellers, and so gained a little money! Lottie by little she learned how to be a better girl--learned to be patient with Hans, who was often very cross; and as she grew older, and could better care for the house and her old grandfather, they came to love her very much.

"But do you not think that little children who have been taught to be kind, and to love the dear Father in heaven whose Son died on the cross, should be willing to forgive when quarrels arise?"

Both little faces had grown sad, one with earnest resolve never again to be harsh with his sister, the other with tender regret. At last Lucie said, "My mother, I forgive Fritz; but what shall I do for poor Rosa?"

"Rosa shall have a new head when I have saved kreutzers to buy one," said Fritz; and so they kissed and made up.

THREE FAMOUS DIAMONDS.

A magnificent diamond, belonging to the Emperor of Russia, bought by the Empress Catherine, weighs over one hundred and ninety-three carats. It is said to be the size of a pigeon's head, and to have been purchased for ninety thousand pounds, besides a yearly sum for life to the Greek merchant from whom it was bought. This diamond formed one of the eyes of the famous idol Juggernaut, whose temple is on the Coromandel coast, and a French soldier, who had deserted into the Malabar service, found the means of robbing the temple of it, and escaped with it to Madras. There he disposed of it to a ship captain for two thousand pounds, and by him it was resold to a Jew for twelve thousand pounds. From him it was transferred for a large sum to the Greek merchant. This diamond now surmounts the imperial sceptre.

The diamond of the Emperor of Austria, which formerly belonged to the Grand Dukes of Tuscany, weighs one hundred and thirty-nine and a half carats. Its estimated value is one hundred and fifty-five thousand pounds. This stone is of a lemon yellow color, which greatly lessens its value.

Among the Prussian crown jewels is the famous Regent or Pitt diamond, discovered in the Pasteal mine at Golconda. It weighs one hundred and thirty-six and three-quarters carats, and is remarkable for its form and clearness, which have caused it to be valued at one hundred and sixty thousand pounds, although it cost only one hundred thousand pounds. It was stolen from the mine and sold to Mr. Pitt, grandfather of the great Earl of Chatham. The Duke of Orleans purchased the diamond for presentation to King Louis the Fifteenth.

After the fall of Louis the Sixteenth, the people insisted that the crown jewels should be exposed to the gaze of the mob, and with them the Regent diamond was shown. So little, however, did the exhibitors confide in the honesty of these patriots that great precautions were taken to prevent the consequences of too strong an attraction. The passer-by who chanced to demand, in the name of the sovereign people, a sight of the finest of the jewels, entered a small room, within which, through a little window, the diamond was presented for sight. It was fastened by a strong steel clasp to an iron chain, the other end of which was secured within the window through which it was handed to the spectator. Two policemen kept a vigilant watch on the momentary possessor of the gem, until, having held in his hand the value of twelve millions of francs, according to the estimate in the inventory of the crown jewels, he again took up his hook and basket at the door and disappeared.

This diamond, which decorated the hilt of the sword of state of the first Napoleon, was taken by the Prussians at Waterloo, and now belongs to the King of Prussia.

In former times, superstition attributed to the diamond many virtues. It was supposed to protect the possessor from poison, pestilence, panic-fear, and enchantments of every kind. A wonderful property was also ascribed to it when the figure of Mars, whom the ancients represented as the god of war, was engraved upon it. In such cases the diamond was believed to insure victory in battle to its fortunate owner, whatever might be the number of his enemies.

For a long time diamonds were sent to Holland to be cut and polished, but this art is now well understood in England, and has been recently introduced into this country.

Diamonds are not only worn as ornaments of dress, or rare objects of art, but they are employed for several useful purposes, as for cutting glass by the glazier, and all kinds of hard stones by the lapidary.

TEMERITY.

A butterfly lived like a princess in a green and golden wood, guarded day and night by the trees; but as there was never a butterfly yet that did not prefer sunshine to safety, she came fluttering out one morning, and after dazzling all the flowers in the neighborhood, spread her wings for a long flight.

There was no one to warn her of the dangers abroad, so when she came to the railroad track she just settled upon it, with no more fear than if it were a twig. An ugly brown worm that had been sunning himself on a sleeper crept up to her.

"You are in a dreadfully dangerous place," he groaned.

"Why?" asked the little rainbow, not a bit scared.

"There is a great monster coming soon. He crushes everything he meets; he has no heart; his bones are made of iron."

"How funny!" exclaimed the butterfly.

"See how dark the sky is getting; he will soon be here," went on the worm, solemnly.

"Oh, pshaw! it's only a shower coming up," said the butterfly, stretching her wings.

"No, it is the monster; don't you feel the ground shake? The storm is coming, but the monster is coming too. Get into this hole under the track; I beg you, I entreat you, get into this hole and be saved."

"Nonsense!" laughed the butterfly.