Part 2

Sea-anemones increase by budding as well as by eggs. At the lower edge of the body little round knobs are sometimes formed, which separate from the parent and grow into perfect animals. If the tentacles or other parts of the body are removed, new tentacles soon grow in their places. If an individual is torn in pieces, each fragment has the power of forming for itself a mouth and throwing out tentacles, and becoming a new sea-anemone, perfect in all its parts.

Most species live in holes among the rocks, attached to stones or shells, over which they slide in a clumsy manner. They are especially fond of deep dark grottoes, and when they have taken full possession of such a place, they may be found clinging to the sides and roof of the cave, and displaying their charms without reserve. Although they do not enjoy the glare of the bright sun, they expand best in mild, clear weather, and remain closed when the sea is rough and stormy.

A few of these animals float on the ocean. One sea-anemone is fond of a roving life, and having no very good means of travelling about, it attaches itself to the back of a certain kind of crab, and accompanies the crab in all its wanderings. There seems to be an attraction between the two, and one is rarely seen without the other.

Another species is mostly found clinging to the shell of a whelk, but for certain good reasons it never clings to a living one. The whelk burrows in the sand. This would be disagreeable and inconvenient to the anemone, so it prefers a dead shell which has been taken possession of by a hermit-crab, and henceforth travels about with the crab. We would scarcely look for affection in a crab, but it has been said that the hermit grows fond of its companion, and that when it has outgrown its shell and has selected a new one, it will carefully lift the anemone from the old home and place it on the new one, "giving it several little taps with its big claws to settle it."

I hope that none of you will fail to hunt up these lovely rock pools when you have an opportunity. The pleasure of a visit to the sea-shore is greatly increased by an interest in the strange forms of animal life which we see there and nowhere else. A glass jar filled with sea-water is often a source of great delight. In it you may drop any strange-looking object that has excited your curiosity. Perhaps this strange object may prove to be some odd little animal which is not yet dead, but which will revive with the touch of the life-giving water.

Most of these animals are timid, but they will expand when they are left perfectly still. In this way we may watch their habits and their hidden beauties. Sea-anemones do nicely in such an aquarium, and as they cling to the side of the jar, we can observe all parts while they are in action. By far the pleasantest way to learn about them is to let them tell their own story. The water must be changed frequently, for impurities are constantly passing from the bodies of even these delicate animals. They will soon die if placed in fresh-water.

"THE MINUTE-HAND OF THE CLOCK."[1]

[1] The great English Cathedral of St. Paul's is said to have witnessed a somewhat similar adventure.

A GERMAN BOY'S ADVENTURE.

BY DAVID KER.

"Kaspar, thou little rogue, how often shall I tell thee not to meddle with that clock?"

"I was only watching the wheels go round, father," said a sturdy little fellow in a soiled leathern jacket, starting up with a half-mischievous look in his blue eyes.

"And what hast _thou_ to do with the wheels, eh? Suppose this clock is stopped or put wrong some day by one of thy tricks, what shall I, Hans Scheller, custodian of St. Martin's Church, say to the Town Council? Dost thou know what birch porridge is, thou rogue? Beware, or I'll give thee such a taste of it as shall make thee go round faster than the wheels."

Poor Hans was indeed kept in constant terror by his inquiring son's uncontrollable habit of going wherever he ought not. The old Church of St. Martin was a famous play-ground for any boy, with its shadowy aisles, and countless pillars, and tall towers, and deep niches, and half-ruined battlements; and the worthy custodian, when he awoke from his after-dinner nap in his little room at the foot of the great clock tower, never knew whether he should find his hopeful boy hiding behind the altar-screen, trying to blow the organ bellows, playing hide-and-seek among the pinnacles of the roof, or sitting astride of a carved spout a hundred and sixty feet above the pavement.

All this, however, might have been forgiven; for the old custodian was really as fond of his "little rogue" as the boy, with all his wildness, was of him. But the one thing that Hans could not pardon was the danger caused by his son's restless inquisitiveness to his beloved church clock. It was his pride and glory to be able to tell every one that during the whole forty years that he had been in charge of the "St. Martin's Kirche," the clock had never stopped or gone wrong; and nothing would convince him that it was not by far the finest clock in the whole world.

"Don't tell _me_ of the big clock of Strasburg Cathedral," he would say, with an obstinate shake of his gray head. "Could _it_ go forty years on end, think you, without the slightest deviation? No, that it couldn't, nor any other clock on the face of the earth except this one."

Mindful of Kaspar's inquiring turn of mind, his father, having to do some marketing in the town the day after our hero's stolen visit to the clock, locked the door of the tower, and took the key along with him.

"No harm can happen now," he muttered; "and, in any case, I shall be back before he gets out of school."

But, as ill-luck would have it, the teacher was called away by some business that afternoon, and the boys got out of school more than an hour earlier than usual. Kaspar, finding his father gone, went straight to the door of the clock tower, and looked rather blank on discovering that it was locked. But he was not one to be easily stopped when he had once made up his mind. Getting out upon the roof, and crawling along a cornice where only a cat or a school-boy could have found footing, he crept through an air-hole right into the clock-room.

For some time he was as happy as a child in a toy shop, running from one marvel to another, until at length he discovered another hole, and thrusting his head through it, found himself looking down upon the market-place through the face of the clock itself. But when he tried to withdraw his head again, it would not come.

It was such a queer scrape to be in that Kaspar was more inclined to laugh than to be frightened; but suddenly a thought struck him which scared him in earnest: his neck was in the track of the minute-hand, which, when it reached him, must inevitably tear his head off!

Poor Kaspar! it was too late now to wish that he had left the clock alone. He tried to scream for help, but with his neck in that cramped position, the cry that he gave was scarcely louder than the chirp of a sparrow. He struggled desperately to writhe himself back through the hole; but a piece of the wood-work had slipped down upon the back of his neck, and held him like a vise.

On came the destroyer, nearer and nearer still, marking off with its measured tick his few remaining moments of life. And all the while the sun was shining gayly, the tiny flags were fluttering on the booths of the market, and the merry voices of his school-fellows who were playing in the market-place came faintly to his ears, while he hung there helpless, with Death stealing upon him inch by inch. His head grew dizzy, and the measured beat of the ticking sounded like the roll of a muffled drum, while the coming hand of the clock looked like a monstrous arm outstretched to seize him, and the carved faces on the spouts seemed to grin and gibber at him in mockery. And still the terrible hand crept onward, nearer, nearer, nearer.

"What _can_ that thing in the clock face be?" said a tourist below, pointing his spy-glass upward. "Why, I declare it looks like a boy's head!"

"A boy's head!" cried a gray-haired watchmaker beside him (one of Hans Scheller's special friends), snatching hastily at the glass as he spoke. "Why, good gracious! it's little Kaspar. He'll be killed! he'll be killed!" And he rushed toward the church, shouting like a madman.

The alarm spread like wild-fire, and before Klugmann, the watchmaker, had got half-way up the stairs leading to the tower, more than a score of excited men were scampering at his heels. But at the top of the stair they were suddenly brought to a stand-still by the locked door.

"It's locked!" cried Klugmann in tones of horror, "and Hans must have taken the key with him, for it isn't here."

"Never mind the key," roared a brawny smith behind him. "Pick up that beam, comrades, and run it against the lock. All together now!"

Crash went the door, in rushed the crowd, and Kaspar, now senseless from sheer fright, was dragged out of his strange prison just as the huge bar of the minute-hand actually touched his neck. And so it fell out that poor old Scheller, coming home for a quiet afternoon nap, found the door of the tower smashed in, his son lying in a swoon, and his little room crowded with strange men all talking at once.

But from that day forth Kaspar Scheller never meddled with the church clock again.

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.[2]

[2] Begun in No. 127, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

BY JAMES OTIS,

AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," "TIM AND TIP," ETC.

CHAPTER XVII.

DRIVING A MONKEY.

For an hour this tantalizing work was continued, and the pursuers were nearly exhausted. Leander, who was naturally a very slow-moving boy, was more quickly tired than the others. When for at least the twentieth time they thought they had the monkey within their grasp, and he darted to the top of one of the tallest trees, Leander declared he could not take another step, even though the life of the monkey and the success of the circus depended upon it.

Of course it was not to be thought of that they should leave their band there exhausted and alone, so Toby decided they should rest as long as Mr. Stubbs's brother remained in the tree, and it was determined to occupy the time by eating the luncheon Aunt Olive had prepared.

During the last ten minutes of the chase Leander's face had worn a very gloomy expression; but it lightened wonderfully when the package of food was opened, and Toby helped him to a large slice of bread and meat.

Nor was Leander the only one who looked with favor upon the food. Mr. Stubbs's brother had been a close observer of all that was going on at the foot of the tree in which he had taken refuge, and he showed every disposition to make one of the eating party.

Seeing his evident hunger, Toby was sure it would be possible to capture the monkey by means of the food, and he walked around the trunk of the tree, holding a piece of gingerbread temptingly in his fingers.

The monkey came down from branch to branch, as if he had decided to allow himself to be made a prisoner for the sake of the food; but just as Toby was about to seize him, he jumped back with a cry that sounded much as if he were laughing at the disappointment he had caused.

Then Joe tried his skill, coming about as near success as Toby had done; and Leander was roused to action by the new phase the chase had assumed. He too held out some food in order to give Mr. Stubbs's brother the impression that all he had to do was to come and get it.

In thus trying the coaxing plan, all three of the boys got on one side of the tree, while the greater part of their provisions was on the opposite side.

The monkey descended again, first toward one boy and then toward another, as if it were his purpose to allow all three to catch him, and all were equally certain they were about to succeed, when Mr. Stubbs's brother suddenly ran along the branches toward the food. Before it was possible for any of the boys to intercept him, he had dropped to the ground, seized two of the very largest pieces of cake, and was up in the tree again so quickly that but for the cake he had in his paws it might have been doubted whether or not he had been on the ground at all.

Now Mr. Stubbs's brother could laugh at his pursuers, if it is possible for a monkey to laugh; for, without any thanks to them, he had a trifle more than his share of the provisions, and was still at liberty.

"It ain't any use," said Joe, in despair, as he threw himself on the ground, and attacked the luncheon savagely. "I don't believe we shall ever get him; an' if we don't, it won't be much use for us to have our show, for every real circus has a monkey."

"We _must_ catch him," replied Toby, mournfully, looking up into the tree where his pet sat eating the stolen food with the greatest possible enjoyment. "I wouldn't go home an' leave him here if I had to stay all night."

"One might watch here while the others went back to the village an' got every feller there to come out an' help," suggested Leander, who was famous for having ideas so brilliant that no one could carry them into execution.

"We're goin' away from home all the time this way," said Toby, after he had studied the matter carefully, without paying any attention to the suggestion made by Leander; "now let's get a little ways the other side of the tree, an' when he comes down again he'll have to go toward home. Even if we can't catch him, perhaps we can drive him into the village."

Even Leander could see the wisdom of this plan, and the party moved their luncheon and themselves to the side of the tree opposite to that on which they had approached it.

Of course there was nothing to do but wait Mr. Stubbs's brother's pleasure in the matter, and he seemed to be in no haste to make a move. He ate his cake in the most leisurely fashion possible, and then appeared to be wonderfully interested in the leaves, for he would spend several minutes pulling one apart, probably to see how it was made.

But he was obliged to come down at last, and he chose the time just as Leander had settled himself comfortably for a nap, which did not tend to make the band regard him with additional favor.

As Toby had thought, the monkey started back in the direction they had come; and as he was going toward home, they did not make any effort to hurry him. If they could not catch him, they could at least drive him, and they were satisfied to let him go as slowly as he chose--a plan which met with hearty approval from Leander.

For some time Mr. Stubbs's brother moved along as if it were his greatest desire to be back at Uncle Daniel's again, and then Toby saw him run along swiftly as if he had found something under a tree which interested him greatly.

Afraid that the monkey had done this simply to avoid being driven, and that he might dart through the under-brush and get in the rear of them again, Toby ran forward quickly; but before he had taken more than a dozen steps he heard piercing shrieks, which evidently came from the monkey, while the commotion among the bushes indicated that a struggle of some kind was taking place there.

With but one thought, and that for the safety of his pet, Toby ran ahead regardless of the bushes that tore his clothing and scratched his face. A struggle was going on, as he saw when he pulled the branches of the trees away, and Mr. Stubbs's brother was getting decidedly the worst of it.

A small, prickly ball curled up at the foot of the tree, and the monkey striking at it savagely with his paws, while porcupine quills were sticking in his face and body, told the whole story.

The monkey had seen the porcupine, and, much to his discomfort, had tried to make that animal's acquaintance. As every boy knows, when one of these animals is attacked it immediately rolls itself up into a ball, with the quills or spines sticking straight out, and the attacking party generally gets plentifully supplied with them in a very short time.

It was some moments before Toby could persuade his pet to stop trying to inflict punishment when he was getting the greater part himself; but he pulled him away at last, and the porcupine, unrolling himself with a grunt of satisfaction, trotted away into the bushes.

There was no disposition on the part of Mr. Stubbs's brother to run away again. He stood there looking as sad and discouraged as a monkey ought to look who had commenced his day's work by stealing ducks, and concluded it by fighting a porcupine.

The quills stood out from his face, making him look as if sadly in need of shaving, while on almost every inch of his body there was one of these natural weapons, giving him a decidedly comical appearance.

As he stood there holding out his paws to Toby as if asking him to extract the spines, and squinting down now and then at those in his face, the boys did not try to restrain their laughter, which appeared to make the inquisitive monkey very angry.

He screamed and scolded in the shrillest tones until Toby set about picking out the quills for him, and Joe took a firm hold of his collar to make sure he should not escape when he was relieved from the effects of his introduction to the porcupine.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A RACE FOR LIFE.

BY H. W.

I dare say you have often seen Assam on the map, and have often tasted Assam tea. The tea gardens are a very pretty sight at certain seasons of the year. I would like to send you a photograph of my garden. From the high ground near we can see the far-off Himalayas, with their snow-clad summits gleaming brightly in the sun.

"Far off the old snows, ever new, With silver edges cleft the blue-- Alone, aloft, divine."

But I am quite sure you won't care to hear about snowy mountain-tops, and unspeakable sunsets, and other glories of the Himalayan Alps, but boy-like will want to know if I have had any adventures since I came out. This is a great country for wild beasts of all sorts. Not long ago I was walking in the garden with a friend of mine; we were moving along slowly and chatting, when suddenly my friend shouted out something which I could not understand, and vanished like--a lamp-lighter. I looked around to see if there was anything to account for such an unceremonious leave-taking, when, turning the corner, I too was aware of two great bears that barred the way. It was an awkward predicament, and I must confess I was somewhat taken aback, and did not quite know what to do. However, after a good stare, the bears relieved me of all further anxiety by taking themselves quietly off.

Completely unarmed as I was, I was only too thankful to see them safely off the premises.

The other day I had a still more unpleasant adventure; and this time, as before, among the principal actors in the scene was an angry bear. I went to see a friend of mine, a neighboring planter, who lived some miles away. I had a friend staying with me; we went in a small pony-cart; I drove, my friend sat alongside me, and behind was the syce, or native groom. The first part of our return journey was accomplished without any mishap. When, however, we came to the last part of the journey--the last mile or so, I should say, was simply a roadway cut through the jungle--we were surprised to hear a low grunting noise, and a rustling in the ditch that ran alongside the road--a noise as of some large beast forcing himself through the thick undergrowth.

We in front took but little notice of it, under the impression that it was a pig or dog, or something of the kind. You can imagine my horror, and amazement when I felt myself convulsively grasped by the syce, and heard him whispering in agonized tones, "He'll have me off in a minute, sahib, if you don't drive on quickly." Turning round as I best could under the circumstances, I saw a huge bear lumbering along, now on his hind-legs, now on all fours, every now and then making ineffectual "scoops" at the frightened syce on the backseat with his ugly-looking fore-paws.

With a smart cut across the back and a word of encouragement, I started the pony off at his best pace. On he galloped, as fast as ever he could lay his little legs to the ground; but Bruin was not to be denied, and we could not, do what we would, shake him off.

It was a most exciting race. I had to keep cool, for on me, the driver, all depended, and the least mistake on my part might have cost us our lives.

After racing along for some distance in this way, with the bear now alongside us, now close behind us, by some fortunate accident one of our coats fell out on to the road. Bruin instantly halted to have a sniff, but after a moment's pause he was under way again, and before long had overhauled us. Once more "ding, dong, ding, dong, we galloped along," racing for very life. Every turn of the wheels was bringing us nearer home, and if our pony could only last the distance, there was still a good chance for us. As we thus raced along, with the bear hustling after us, so close that we could hear his heavy breathing, my "solah topee" (hat) fell off, and Bruin once more stopped to have a sniff.

All honor to that hat! Had its brim been less broad, the wind would not have taken it off. Had the wind not taken it off, who can tell what our fate would have been? The pony was nearly exhausted; his speed was slackening, and in a moment the bear would have had us in his clutches.

But that moment's delay in Bruin's frantic chase saved us. Heavily I plied the whip upon our unfortunate pony's back. A few leaps carried us forward another hundred yards, and our bungalow came in sight. The bear realized that he was beaten, and slunk off into the jungle, leaving us to go home in peace. We were very thankful to get out of it so well. When our friends were told that we had been chased by a bear they could hardly believe it, but the story is true for all that. Three lives were saved by the puff of wind that blew away my hat.

TRAPPING TORUPS.

BY ALLAN FORMAN.

"Say, boys, I have an idea," Charlie Swan announced one morning as he was sitting on the porch of the farm-house where he and his cousins were spending the summer.

"Let's have it," said Jack, one of the cousins.

"Well, it's just this. You know the pond is full of torups. I believe we boys can have some fun catching them."

"Pooh!" interrupted Jack, "we've had that idea for a long time. How are you going to do it?"

"With a trap," answered Charlie, looking very wise.

"Who ever heard of trapping terrapin?"

"I don't see why it can't be done."

"What kind of a trap would you use?"

"Come out to the shop, and I'll show you," replied Charlie.

While the boys are in the shop I will explain, for the benefit of my readers who do not live near the water, what a torup is. It is a member of the turtle family, and closely resembles the far-famed terrapin of Chesapeake Bay, but it differs from the terrapin in that it lives in either fresh or salt water, rather preferring the fresh, and burying itself in the mud for a greater part of the time. Consequently its flesh acquires a muddy flavor that many people do not like. The torup has all the ferocity of the snapping-turtle, and when aroused will display wonderful agility in jumping at its enemies. In common with the rest of the turtle family, it has the peculiarity, as the Irishman expressed it, of "living a long time after it's dead." I have seen one bite through a lead-pencil six hours after the head had been separated from the body. Another trait of the torup, which Charlie meant to take advantage of in making his trap, is that he will crawl into anything or under any log beneath which he can possibly force himself, resistance only seeming to make him more obstinate in the accomplishment of his purpose.