'Let's sit down here,' he said, panting.

They sat down in a hollow surrounded by shrubs, and listened to the shouts of the men whom they had so nearly encountered.

'I imagine that they are the members of some society,' said Ping Wang. 'If they had discovered that Charlie and you were Europeans, they would probably have killed us all.'

'The best thing we could do if we do meet them,' Charlie joined in, 'is to pretend that we are deaf and dumb. We are deaf and dumb as far as Chinese is concerned. And, now, if you will give me that pigtail, I will try to sew it to this skull-cap. I've never yet tried sewing with a pin, and I fancy that it won't be an easy job.'

Charlie repeated that opinion several times during the next half-hour, for, what with the difficulty of getting the head of the pin through the cap, and the cotton constantly slipping off the pin, it was a most irritating job. However, after working hard for a little more than half an hour, he finished it.

'It doesn't look at all bad,' Fred declared.

Then they talked for some time of their journey, and of the treasure for which they had travelled so far.

'There's somebody coming!' Fred exclaimed, stopping Ping Wang in the middle of a sentence.

They listened. 'Let's get up and walk on,' Ping Wang said, quietly. 'I fancy there are quite fifty men approaching. Probably they are some of the men whom we heard an hour ago. There are more of them on the left, and they're closing in on us. Remember that, if they do see us, you are both not to say a word.'

(Continued on page 346.)



CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

X.—PARACHUTES.

Venturesome people are always on the look-out for fresh excitements. To them it is not enough to go up in the car of a balloon in the ordinary way. They must do something that no one else had ever done. So a M. Margat ascended sitting astride a wooden horse, and Madame Blanchard attached fireworks to her balloon, and discharged them in mid-air. At Paris, on July 6th, 1819, she meant to make a finer display than usual, and succeeded in letting off fountains of fire from a wooden platform beneath the car. But, not content with this, she hoped to surprise and delight the people of Paris still further by letting off a fresh display from the car itself. Unfortunately she overlooked the fact that a small stream of gas was pouring from the lower end of her balloon, owing to the envelope having been too fully charged, and the moment she struck the match this stream caught fire. A tongue of flame ran up the outside of the bag, and, her efforts to put it out proving in vain, she pulled the valve-rope to descend. The gas rushed out at the top, but caught fire in turn, and the falling car, coming in contact with the roof of a house, threw Madame Blanchard to the ground with fatal result.

Accidents in the air have been countless, a large number of them being due to the use of the parachute. But this invention has frequently been employed effectively. Though the idea of such a machine may be traced back many hundreds of years in old drawings and old books, the inventor of the first in which a descent was actually made, was Jacques Garnerin, a pupil of the celebrated Professor Charles. The first to make use of it was his little dog. M. Garnerin carried the parachute, tied underneath a balloon, above a dense cloud. Here the little dog was carefully secured in the car of the parachute, and the next moment disappeared swiftly into the cloud. Garnerin pulled the valve-rope, and followed. But his little dog was nowhere to be seen, on account of the mist. His master was about to let out more gas, thinking that he was behindhand in this race to the earth, when a loud and joyous barking fell on his ear. It came from overhead, but Garnerin could see nothing until, when the cloud was left behind, the parachute emerged into the sunshine a few yards away. The dog, with senses quicker than his own, had been conscious of his master's presence, and hailed him as he passed. But the balloon continued rapidly on its downward course, and, answering the barks with consoling words, the aeronaut hurried to the earth. A moment or two later he welcomed his strange little traveller from the clouds. The dog, happily, suffered nothing, and even seemed to enjoy the experiment, which might have proved both cruel and fatal.

Garnerin's dog was the pioneer of many human travellers in the same machine. The master himself was the next to perform the feat, and, watched by a large crowd, on October 22nd, 1797, he cut his parachute loose from his balloon at a height of three thousand feet. A cry of horror broke from the watchers as the parachute was seen to descend with awful swiftness. But it flew open the next moment, and though M. Garnerin was swung dangerously from side to side, he reached the ground in safety. This swaying was due to the fact that he had not made a hole in the top of his 'umbrella,' to allow the air to rush through. Imprisoned in the dome, its only outlet was over the sides, and this caused the apparatus to swing. M. Garnerin took advantage of the lesson, and made the opening before his next flight.

This parachute was built like a huge umbrella, the cords supporting the car coming from the outside ends of the 'ribs.' Being closed, when detached from the balloon it, of course, descended at a great speed till the rush of air became strong enough to force it open. It was used without mishap in many descents, and is still the pattern for parachutes.

Among many who sought to improve upon M. Garnerin's machine was an Englishman, named Cocking. In 1836 he built a parachute with the sides turned up instead of down, like an umbrella blown inside out, thinking that it would give greater steadiness in the descent. Thus far he was correct, but, being too sure of success, he allowed himself, without first making experiments, to be cut loose from a balloon three thousand feet up, and was instantly killed, the parachute being too weak in construction. Sixteen years later another inventor made a parachute like Garnerin's, but provided with large wings. Standing in an iron frame he worked these wings with both arms, with the intention of directing the parachute in its fall, thus, to a certain extent, turning it into a flying machine. But when he was descending near Tottenham, on June 27th, 1854, an unfortunate accident resulted in the inventor's death.

Such were some of the misuses of the parachute; but, though with care it may be employed with safety, it is not popular with aeronauts, who have pointed out that the balloon itself may, in emergencies, be turned into a parachute. When the gas has nearly all escaped the passage of air will drive the silk up into the netting, and so check the speed of descent. Mr. Coxwell more than once came safely to earth in this way. Only a short time ago, on July 24th, 1904, an incident bearing on this point occurred in France. A captive balloon, when some hundred feet from the ground, was torn from its anchorage by a sudden gust of wind. The nine passengers in the car were horrified to find themselves a few moments later sailing above the clouds. At ten thousand feet the pressure of gas had become so great that the silk envelope was ruptured, and the terrified travellers realised that they were falling rapidly. They then left the car, and climbed into the network. Fortunately, as the balloon collapsed more and more, it took the form of a parachute, and eventually landed two miles from the starting-point, with its passengers more terrified than hurt.



AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 343.)

CHAPTER XVII.

They walked on in silence. Soon they were able to distinguish some of the men. All of them were armed—some with swords, some with sticks, and one or two with bows and arrows. None, so far as could be seen, carried fire-arms. They soon caught sight of the Pages and Ping Wang, and stood watching the travellers as they approached.

Concealing their excitement, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang continued walking on until they came face to face with the men, who wore yellow cloths round their heads and also round their bodies and legs. One of them spoke sharply, and Ping Wang replied promptly and cheerfully. His reply evidently pleased them, for they spoke to him in a friendly manner. Charlie and Fred stood silently a foot or two in rear of their friend, and, as they did not understand anything of what was being said, it was easy for them not to show any sign of interest. Suddenly one of the men spoke to Charlie, who acted his part well, continuing to gaze at Ping Wang's back, and appearing ignorant of the fact that he had been addressed. Ping Wang turned round instantly, and, with a sorrowful air, spoke to the man. Charlie and Fred guessed from Ping Wang's manner, and the surprise which his words created, that he had declared that they could not speak or understand.

When the people had, apparently, expressed their sorrow, Ping Wang suddenly addressed the crowd in a loud voice. He pointed to Charlie and Fred, and, as he did so, his tone became more indignant, his manner more excited. When he had brought his speech to an end, the crowd behaved like a gathering of madmen. Swords, spears, and sticks were flourished about in a most reckless and threatening manner.

After the performance, which might be called a war-dance, had subsided, a portly Chinaman, with a red cloth tied round his head, and cloth of a similar colour covering his body and legs, advanced to within a yard of Ping Wang, and shook hands with himself. Ping Wang instantly shook his own hands. Having thus greeted each other, the two men entered into an earnest conversation, and it was clear that they were discussing a matter of importance from the manner in which the crowd closed on them, so as to hear everything that was said. And then it was that Charlie and Fred noticed that every man present was wearing either a yellow or a red cloth round his head. The majority wore yellow ones, those who were wearing red being, evidently, the bodyguard of the fat gentleman who was talking to Ping Wang.

At length the conversation came to an end, and from the smile on the portly Chinaman's face Charlie and Fred concluded, rightly, that Ping Wang had succeeded in pleasing him. But what followed puzzled them completely. The crowd moved back, leaving them with Ping Wang and the big man in the centre of a circle. Then three men advanced to join them. One was carrying a long cane, the second two lighted incense candles, and the third a handful of square pieces of paper, on which were written some Chinese characters. The fat man and Ping Wang then went down on their knees, face to face, and so close to each other that their noses almost touched. As they knelt, the man with the paper set light to one of the pieces, and tossed it in the air above the kneeling men. As he did so Ping Wang and the man opposite to him bent down their heads, and butted each other gently. When the kneeling men had butted each other seven times, the man with the cane struck Ping Wang one blow across the back. The butting ceased at once, and Ping Wang stood up, the crowd giving vent to harsh cries, which were meant for applause.

The fat man remained on his knees, and Ping Wang signed to Charlie to take the position which he had just left. Charlie was put through the same performance as Ping Wang, and when he rose up, Fred knelt down, and went through the same ceremony.

When the portly Chinaman had got on his feet, he shouted to some one in the crowd, and a man ran to him, carrying in his hand three pieces of yellow cloth. These were presented to Ping Wang and the Pages. Ping Wang did not don the yellow cloth, but placed it in his pocket, and Charlie and Fred followed his example.

The crowd now separated, some men proceeding towards Kwang-ngan, and others starting off to more distant villages. The Pages and Ping Wang went with the former; but, as they walked slowly, they were soon left behind, much to their satisfaction. Having looked round and satisfied himself that the nearest men were more than a hundred yards ahead of them, Charlie said to Ping Wang, in an undertone, 'What was the meaning of it all?'

'Simply this,' Ping Wang answered with a smile, 'we have been sworn in members of the Big Sword, or Boxer Society—a Society which exists for the sole purpose of ferreting out and killing foreigners.'

Before Charlie and Fred had recovered from the surprise of this announcement, the people in front started running quickly towards the town.

'The town gates are about to be closed for the night,' Ping Wang explained. 'We will stay out here until they are opened to-morrow. Let us hide among these bushes, in case any more men should come along and be suspicious of us for not hurrying.'

They pushed their way through the dwarf bushes until they came to a small clearing. Then they sat down and waited silently until the last townsman had hurried by.

'They have all gone,' Ping Wang declared a quarter of an hour after the last man had passed, 'so now I will tell you all about the Boxers. After we had exchanged greetings they told me that they were members of the Big Sword or Big Fist Society, commonly known as Boxers, and asked me to join them. I agreed to do so; if I had refused we should not be alive now. Then they told me that the Empress Dowager, Tsi-Hsi, and most of the mandarins were supporting them, and had approved of their plan to destroy every European and native Christian in the land. I asked when the rising was likely to take place, and was told that, as far as they knew, it would begin in about three weeks' time. Then I heard a man address you, and therefore declared at once that you could not speak, and after that I made a speech pretending to be very hostile to foreigners.'

'Don't you think,' said Charlie, 'that we ought to hurry back to warn Barton and his friends of the threatened rising?'

'We can warn them without going back to them. I will send word to my cousin. Since he has become a Christian, all the members of his family, excepting his youngest brother, have refused to speak to him. His youngest brother, who is in Kwang-ngan, is very fond of him, and when I tell him of his brother's danger, he will, I am certain, hurry off to warn him—and, of course, my cousin will tell Barton.'



Then they began to discuss once more the object of their visit to China—the recovery of the idol.

'I'm very anxious to get that treasure,' Charlie declared, 'but I feel just now as if I would willingly sell my share of it for a good meal. I'm both hungry and cold.'

'Then let us walk about,' Ping Wang suggested. 'It will keep us warm. Our hunger we shall have to put up with for several hours, I'm afraid.'

As they tried to get warm, Ping Wang told them of many curious customs of his countrymen, to make the time pass. But in spite of his stories they became very tired and hungry, and were exceedingly thankful when, at last, daylight appeared.

(Continued on page 354.)



THE EAGLE'S NEST.

Frank Ardlamont and his younger brother Dick had a liking for every kind of country sport, and were always ready for any adventure which required skill and daring. When, therefore, they were spending a holiday in the Highlands of Scotland, and learned that there was an eagle's nest built upon an almost inaccessible ledge on the steep side of Ben Galt, scarcely three miles away from the house where they were staying, they thought it would be a fine thing to try and capture one of the young. The lads had recently seen an eagle in one of the cages of a travelling menagerie, and they thought that if they could capture a young one, they might perhaps be able to rear it. They talked the matter over, arranged their plans, and finally proceeded to carry them out.

The nest was a little below the edge of a steep cliff, and there was a rugged, winding path, leading up to the top of the cliff. Having provided themselves with a strong iron bar, a rope, and several stout sticks, Frank and Dick started out for Ben Galt, accompanied by a Scotch gillie. They climbed to the top of the cliff without much difficulty, and drove the iron bar firmly into a crevice of the rock. Then Frank tied one end of the rope round his waist, and having fastened the other to the iron bar, he passed the middle of the rope round it in a loop, and told the others how to pay it out in sailor fashion. This done he dropped over the edge of the cliff, and began his descent.

The boys had seen the eagles starting out upon their morning hunt, as they were on their way to Ben Galt. The birds were nowhere in sight when Frank swung himself from the cliff, and he had no fear of an attack. He was careful, nevertheless, to carry a good stout stick with him. He dropped upon the edge where the nest was built, and drew down just enough rope to allow him to move about freely. The nest was a flat pile or floor of sticks, covered with rushes, heath, and grass. It was not hollowed out, but the eaglets upon it were protected to some extent by the overhanging of the cliff itself. About the nest lay the scattered bones of hares, rabbits, and moor-fowl, with here and there a larger one which might have belonged to some young lamb or kid.

Frank stood looking at the nest for a few minutes before he took up one of the young birds. The eaglet gaped hungrily as he lifted it up, and made a sort of screeching noise, struggling apparently to reach something behind Frank. He turned quickly, and was horrified to see one of the parent birds sweeping up from the valley below. His first impulse was to give the signal for those above to haul him up, and to jump off the edge at once; but a moment's reflection showed him that it would be foolish to do so. The eagle was close upon him, and he saw that he would be much more helpless dangling at the end of a rope, than standing firmly upon his feet. So he withdrew as far as he could under the shelter of the overhanging rock, and waited, stick in hand, for the angry bird. As it came up, he hit out with all his force. It was well that he had remained where he was, for the eagle was placed at a disadvantage by having to draw in its wings in order to approach him. With gaping beak and extended claws it flew at him, but before it could touch him he delivered another heavy blow at its neck, and three or four in quick succession upon its shoulders. The first blow crippled it for the moment, and the succession of them so disabled it that it dropped in the air, and fell fluttering helplessly down into the valley.

Frank cast a quick glance across the sky, and saw the companion eagle returning high in the air. The pair had evidently been hunting in their usual way, one near the ground, and the other at a great height. He saw that he had no time to lose. He gave three sharp tugs at the rope, and sprang from the ledge. In a few minutes he was drawn up safely to the top of the cliff, carrying the eaglet in his arm. The returning eagle flew straight to the nest; then, hearing the cries of his wounded companion, he directed his course to where it lay. The two boys and the gillie, finding the eagles' attention diverted from them, made haste to return to the valley, glad to have escaped without injury.



FAIRY SONG.

Ding-dong, The Sun has gone: A crimson night-gown he put on: I saw him cover up his head: Ding dong, He's now in bed.

Fairy maid, Come to the glade: The meadow is with pearls arrayed: The moonbeams cling to every tree Lovingly. From thy bower To dance an hour Come, and leave the cosy flower That cradles thee.

Fairy man, Arise, arise! Stars are dancing in the skies: Leaves are dancing on the trees To the music of night's breeze. Come a-tripping, Come a-tripping, Time is slipping fast away, Ever slipping towards the day! Drag each lazy fairy-fellow From his sleepy bed; Dress him up in crocus yellow, Or in roses red. Arise, arise! Stars are kissing in the skies.

Ding-dong, The Sun has gone: A crimson night-gown he put on: I saw him cover up his head: Ding-dong, He's safe in bed.



REGIMENTS IN THE CITY.

The regiment of the Third Grenadier Guards not long ago changed its quarters from the Tower to the Wellington Barracks, and marched past the Mansion House in the City of London in full panoply of war, band playing, colours flying, and bayonets glittering in the bright sunshine.

Before, however, their Colonel could thus proudly lead his regiment through the old historic streets of London, he had to obtain permission from the Lord Mayor, who, by virtue of a power dating back to a very remote period, can refuse the marching of troops through the City without his permission.

Two regiments only are exceptions to this law, the 'Buffs,' or East Kent Regiment, and the Honourable Artillery Company; both these are descended from the old trained bands of the City, and therefore have the right to march through when they will, with arms and unfurled colours.

Unfurled colours, it may be mentioned, always claim great honour and respect. When first presented to a regiment, the officer receives them on bended knee, and to this day very many people raise their hats to the colours as they are carried by.



HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

IV.—THE STORY OF SINBAD THE SAILOR

(From the 'Arabian Nights.')

There once lived in Bagdad a poor porter, whose name was Hindbad. One day, during the excessive heat of summer, he was carrying a heavy load from one end of the city to the other, and, just as he was feeling very tired of his burden, came upon a street refreshed by a gentle breeze. The pavement was sprinkled with rose-water, and in a fine position, close to the street, stood a splendid mansion. Asking whose house it was, Hindbad was told that it was the residence of Sinbad the Sailor, 'that famous voyager who had sailed over all the seas under the sun.' Hindbad could not help thinking how different this man's situation was from his own, and he exclaimed in a loud voice, 'Alas, what a difference there is between Sinbad and myself! I suffer daily a thousand ills, and find the greatest difficulty in providing my wretched family with bad barley bread, whilst Sinbad spends his riches freely, and enjoys every pleasure. What has he done to be so happy, or I to be so unhappy?'

As he said this, he struck the ground with his foot angrily, and stood there looking at the house, the picture of despair. As he remained thus, a servant came out from the great house, and, taking hold of his arm, said, 'Come, follow me; my master, Sinbad, wishes to speak with you.' Very soon Hindbad was brought into the presence of the great man, who was surrounded by a crowd of officers and servants. He was a very grave and venerable person, with a long white beard. The poor porter felt very much afraid when he saw so much magnificence; but Sinbad drove away his fears by his kindness, and helped him to the choicest dishes.

After the feast Sinbad addressed Hindbad by the title of 'brother,' and asked his name and profession. Hindbad answered him faithfully. Sinbad wished to know what it was he had said in the street, and this also Hindbad told him. Then Sinbad pointed out how foolish the porter's anger and envy had been, since he did not really know whether this wealth had not been won worthily by toil and hardship; and when Hindbad began to see that he had spoken without thought, Sinbad went on to give some account of his adventures in seven voyages that he had made on different seas. We shall not narrate the whole of these adventures during the various voyages, but shall only take two of them, one of which has passed into a proverb.

When Sinbad was a young man, he spent the fortune he inherited from his father foolishly. But there came a day, happily while he was still young, when he saw his folly, and determined to use what was left of his fortune in a better manner. As a first step in this direction, he sought the advice of some merchants who traded by sea, with the result that he embarked with several of them in a vessel which they had fitted out at their united expense. It was a lovely day when they set sail, but before long the wind fell, and they were becalmed off a small island. The captain ordered the sails to be furled, and gave permission for those who wished to go ashore. Amongst those who took advantage of the permission was Sinbad himself. He and his comrades sat down to lunch on one of the greenest parts of the island, and had just begun their meal, when the island suddenly trembled, and they felt a great shock. They at first supposed that it was an earthquake, but in this they were mistaken, for the island turned out to be nothing more nor less than a huge whale! The most active of the party jumped into the boat, while others threw themselves into the water to swim to the ship. Sinbad himself was still on the 'island' when it plunged into the sea. He had only time, as he sank, to catch hold of a piece of wood which had been brought to make a fire with. A breeze had sprung up, and the captain of the ship set sail, leaving Sinbad, whom he had possibly not missed, to the mercy of the waves.

At last a great wave dashed Sinbad, nearly exhausted, on to an island which, this time, he found to be really good firm earth. The men of the island were kind to him, and told him that had he been a day later he would very likely have perished from starvation, for on the following day they were leaving that part of the island, with the horses which they were to take to the King.

The King received Sinbad in a friendly manner, and the wanderer stayed in the chief city for some time. At length, one day, when he was standing near the harbour, he saw a ship come towards the land. It was loaded with goods, and as he was looking he saw his own name on some of the packages, and knew them to be those which he had left behind him in the vessel. On making inquiries of the captain, whom he recollected as the captain with whom he had formerly sailed, he was told that the parcels belonged to 'a merchant of Bagdad, named Sinbad.' Of course, it took but a short time to convince the captain that the man to whom he was speaking was the missing passenger. Sinbad related his adventures, and was soon in possession of his merchandise again. He selected from it some of the most valuable things, and presented them to the King of the island. He sold the remainder for a good sum of money, and at length returned in the ship to his native land, where he was received by his family and friends with great joy.

(Concluded on page 354.)



HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

IV.—THE STORY OF SINBAD THE SAILOR.

(From the 'Arabian Nights.')

(Concluded from page 351.)

Sinbad bought a magnificent house and grounds, and thought of settling down and forgetting all the disagreeable things that had happened to him; but this state of idleness did not please his active turn of mind, and he soon gave it up and took to his travels again. He made no less than seven voyages before he retired and settled down with his family. On one of these voyages he was again wrecked, and after a narrow escape from drowning, was cast up on another island. He wandered along the shore for some time, and presently came upon a little stream. On the banks of this brook he saw an old man seated, who seemed to be very broken down and weary. 'I approached and saluted him,' said Sinbad to Hindbad, 'but instead of replying he made signs to me to take him on my shoulders and cross the brook, making me understand that he wanted to gather some fruit.' This Sinbad did, and when he had reached the other side of the stream with his heavy load, he stopped and asked the old man to get down.

But then a strange thing happened. 'This old man,' said Sinbad, 'who appeared so decrepit, nimbly threw his legs, which I now saw were covered with a hard skin, over my neck, and seated himself on my shoulders, at the same time squeezing my throat so tightly that I expected to be strangled. I was so alarmed that I fainted away.' The old man, however, would not loose his hold, but made his prisoner carry him and gather fruit for him, and work for him generally, without paying him any money or allowing him any liberty, merely raining down blows on him for all that he did.

But at last, one day, Sinbad's opportunity came. The old man having taken a drink which Sinbad had prepared for him out of some grapes he found, became drowsy, and began to sway about on the shoulders of his carrier, who, understanding how things were, threw his burden to the ground, and thus got rid of him. Overjoyed at being once again free, he walked towards the sea-shore, and here, to his great joy, he met some people who belonged to a vessel which had anchored there to get fresh water. He told them of his adventures, and they assured him that he had fallen into the hands of the Old Man of the Sea, adding, 'You are the first whom he has not strangled; he never left those whom he had once mastered till he had put an end to their lives. The sailors and merchants who land here never dare approach him except in a strong body.'

No doubt Chatterbox readers have often heard the phrase, 'The old man of the sea,' which is only another term for a weight that we have taken upon ourselves and cannot shake off. Thus, if a man is in debt, and cannot get clear, the debt is said to be a veritable 'old man of the sea' to him who carries the burden.

All Sinbad's fatigue at last ended, and he arrived happily at Bagdad, where he lived a quiet and worthy life till the hour of his death. Hindbad, when he heard the tale, was obliged to admit that the man whose riches he had so envied had not won them without fearful perils, and that his own miseries, as compared with those undergone by the owner of the mansion, were as nothing; and Sinbad, remembering what he had once suffered himself, behaved kindly and generously to the porter, making him his friend, and promising him that all his life he should have reason to remember Sinbad the Sailor.



AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 349.)

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Pages and Ping Wang were among the first twenty to pass in at the town gates, and the latter at once crossed over to an inn and peeped in at the door. The glance he gave satisfied him, and he beckoned to Charlie and Fred to enter. It was not an attractive-looking place, but there was a smell of roast pork, that made the hungry travellers sniff with delight.

The dining-room into which Ping Wang led the way was very dirty, and until Charlie and Fred were told what the room was they had no idea that it was there that they were to breakfast. They sat down on a form at a little, bare wooden table, and before long were enjoying a hearty meal of roast pork and tea.

'And now,' Fred said, when they had satisfied their healthy appetites, 'I should like to lie down and sleep.'

'So should I,' Charlie declared. 'What kind of beds do they have here?'

'We can lie on the floor here if we like,' Ping Wang answered.

'I'll do so,' Charlie said, and down he went on the floor, turned his face to the wall, rested his head on his arm, and closed his eyes: Fred followed his example at once.

Ping Wang waited until his friends were asleep, and then, having satisfied himself that their pigtails were not slipping off, and that there was nothing about their appearance to attract attention, he lay down beside them.

All three slept soundly until the landlord came in and awoke Ping Wang, who had an argument with him about the price of roast pork.

'What is our next move?' Charlie asked, quietly, when the landlord had left the room.

'To go and see my cousin,' Ping Wang replied, 'to warn him of the danger which threatens his brother and all other Christians.'

Ping Wang found his cousin—a fan-maker—at his shop. He had heard of the Boxers' intentions the day before, and had already been to his brother to warn him and his friends. This was indeed good news, and Ping Wang was anxious to tell his friends of it, but dared not, for his cousin's work-people were in the next room, and would probably hear them speaking English. He told his cousin, however, that his friends, who were standing at the door, were Englishmen, a piece of news which caused the fan-maker much uneasiness. He begged Ping Wang not to introduce him to the Englishmen, and urged him to get them out of the town as quickly as possible. Ping Wang chatted with him for a few more minutes and then departed.

The streets were now crowded with people, and Ping Wang whispered to his friends not to speak on any account until they were safe at another inn. He led them through numerous narrow streets, and was within a hundred yards of the inn where he hoped to get a room when a man came running along the street, shouting wildly, slashing about with a whip, and driving the people back against the houses on either side. Ping Wang pushed the Pages back quickly and stood in front of them.

A few moments later Charlie and Fred understood the cause of the excitement. A gorgeous palanquin was borne rapidly past them, but not so quickly that they were unable to see the occupant. He was a fat, cruel-looking man, and took no notice whatever of the kowtowing of the people. On his head he wore a yellow cloth, such as the Boxers had worn on the previous evening, and this was regarded, as it was meant to be, as a sign that he was in sympathy with the Boxer movement.

'Chin Choo,' Ping Wang muttered, as the palanquin passed out of sight, and Charlie and Fred knew that they had seen the murderer of their friend's father, and the possessor of the treasure which they had come to China to secure.

The inn to which Ping Wang led his friends was the best in Kwang-ngan. It was roomy, fairly clean, and was the only place of its kind that was two storeys high. The other inns had but one storey.

Ping Wang took a room on the first floor, and they entered into occupation at once.

'Let us sit in the middle of the room,' Ping Wang said, 'and then, if we talk very quietly, there will be no fear of any one hearing that we are not talking Chinese.'

Ping Wang then told his friends of what his cousin had said to him. They were very much relieved to hear that the missionaries had been warned of the danger that threatened them, but were rather worried by the difficulties before them.

'The easiest way to get into Chin Choo's garden,' Ping Wang said, 'will be by climbing over the wall. It is a high one, certainly, but I do not think that we shall have much difficulty in scaling it. What I do fear is that, as Chin Choo's house is in the busiest part of the town, we may have to wait days, perhaps weeks, before we find the road deserted, even at night. As soon as it is dark, we will go out and find the most convenient spots for climbing. In the meanwhile, are either of you hungry?'

Charlie and Fred had had such a hearty breakfast that they almost shuddered at the mention of food.

'Well,' Ping Wang said, 'I'm not hungry either, but we shall want some dinner.'

He went downstairs to give the order and have a chat with the inn-keeper. He was absent about twenty minutes, and when he returned the Pages saw that he had some news to tell them.

'What is it?' Charlie asked.

Ping Wang quietly turned the key in the door and then sat down beside his friends.

'There is to be a feast to-night. It's to be held at the other end of the town, and everybody who possibly can will be there. That will leave this end of the town nearly deserted. A better opportunity for climbing over Chin Choo's wall we could not possibly have. The road will be deserted, and most of Chin Choo's servants will be at the feast. Perhaps Chin Choo himself will be there. Don't let us talk about it just now. Our dinner will not be brought up for three hours, and in the meantime we had better get all the sleep that we can. We must be as fresh as possible this evening.'

Charlie and Fred agreed, and five minutes later all three were sleeping soundly.

They were aroused from their slumber by a terrific banging at their door.

'Who's there?' Ping Wang asked in Chinese, and the reply came, from the landlord himself, that he was their disreputable nephew, who would, if permitted to intrude his worthless body upon their exalted presence, lay the dinner.

Ping Wang replied instantly that if their intellectual uncle would condescend to demean himself by waiting on such idiotic monkeys, they would at once admit his glorious body to their ridiculous and contemptible presence.

These flowery Chinese compliments having been exchanged, Ping Wang opened the door to his 'uncle,' and his 'nephew' walked in and placed a couple of ducks on the table.

As soon as they had finished their meal, the Pages and Ping Wang went to the window and stood gazing down into the busy street. Charlie quickly noticed that nearly all the people who were proceeding in one direction were carrying provisions.

'Are they taking those things to give to their ancestors' ghosts?' he inquired.

'Well, no,' Ping Wang replied. 'The feast to be given to-night has been got up by the priests of Fo.'

'Who is Fo?'

'Buddha. Fo is our name for him. The Buddhists decided, many years ago, that the Confucians were to be blamed for neglecting to feast the ghosts of those who had been so unfortunate as to die without leaving any descendants, and agreed to do the work themselves. They published accounts of the terrible sufferings of the starving ghosts who had no descendants, and urged the people to contribute food to relieve their wants. The people gave willingly, and from that time the Buddhist priests have had feasts at intervals. I think that we shall be able to see part of this evening's performance. At dusk we will go out and examine the wall round Chin Choo's house, and when we have found the best place for scaling it, we will hurry off to the feast. We will stay there a short time, and then return to finish our job. By this time to-morrow I hope that we shall be back at Su-ching, with our pockets full of rubies. But Chin Choo is not likely to be merciful to any one found robbing him.'

'But we are not going to rob him,' Charlie declared. 'We are simply going to recover what he has stolen from you.'



'That is so,' said Fred; 'but Chin Choo will think that as much stealing as if we were taking from him something to which he had a perfect right.'

'Oh, well, don't let us look on the gloomy side of the affair,' said Ping Wang. 'We need not talk about it any more now. I must go out for a few minutes. Wait for me here.'

(Continued on page 366.)



INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

XI.—CATERPILLARS AND THEIR ENEMIES.

The feebler folk among Nature's children have many enemies; against these they are, as a rule, nearly powerless; but here and there, among the different groups of animals, we meet with strange devices for repelling attacks. Though these are by no means always successful, it seems clear that they are good enough to serve as a fairly sure protection. This is especially the case with the Caterpillars.



There are two methods of defence used by caterpillars. One of these is the device of squirting noxious fluids from the body; the other is found in the poisonous hairs and spines which are scattered more or less all over the body.



Those who have taken up the study of butterflies and moths, will do well to be careful in handling hairy caterpillars, especially those of the family known as the Bombyces. Some of the members of this family, such as the Fox-moth and the Brown and Gold-tailed moths, when in the caterpillar stage are thickly clothed with long stiff hairs, and these, if the creature be handled, pierce the skin and break off. In consequence very painful itching and irritation is set up. But this is nothing to the pain caused by the caterpillars of the wonderful 'Procession moth' (fig. 1). In these caterpillars the poison hairs are very loosely attached to the body, and studded with exceedingly fine hooks that curve inwards, as may be seen in the diagram of a magnified portion of one of the spines (fig. 2, D and E). Partly by adhering to the skin, and partly by means of a very fine dust with which they are covered, these hairs set up a very violent inflammation on the skin of men and animals, which is hard to get rid of. On this account, moreover, the neighbourhood of the nests of these larvae is dangerous, for the surrounding air is filled with the hairs and dust borne about by the wind. These are thus inhaled, and give rise to internal inflammation and swellings which have sometimes caused death.

One of the most remarkable of all hairy caterpillars is that of an American species (fig. 3), burdened by scientific men with the terrible name—Megalopyga! The shorter hairs are poisonous.



The caterpillar of our British 'Festoon moth' belongs to a very remarkable family indeed. All the caterpillars of this group, which is found in many parts of the world, are very slug-like in form, and many have an evil reputation as poisoners, though our English species is happily innocent. A small Australian species has the body armed with slight reddish knobs, four in the front and four in the hind part of the body. These knobs can be opened at will, and from them slight rays or bunches of stings of a yellow colour are thrust out. The wounds which these darts inflict are very painful. Of one Indian species a collector records that 'the caterpillar stung with such horrible pain that I sat in the room almost sick with it, and unable to keep the tears from running down my cheeks, for more than two hours, applying ammonia all the time.'

(Concluded on page 364.)



A FAIR-SIZED FIELD.

Hugh Martin had come home from Canada, where his father owned a ranch, on a visit to some English relations.

Willie Pearse was the cousin nearest him in age, and the two boys became great friends.

'It must be a jolly life out there, and money seems to be made much more quickly than in England,' Willie said one day. 'I wish Father would let me go out with you.'

'You would have to make up your mind to work harder than you do here,' Hugh told him, for he had noticed that his cousin was inclined to be lazy.

'Oh, I like that! Why, you were telling me how little there was to do in the winter, with everything frozen up! I thought that when you were not having a ripping time with sleighing parties and tobogganing, you just sat by the fire and read.'

'Compared with the summer, of course, the winter work is nothing. We just have to feed the calves every day, and ride round the field where our stock are wintering, to look up the cattle. But even that is more than you seem to get through, Will.'

'Not more than just ride round a field!' cried Willie. 'I should be glad if that ended my day's work.'

'Perhaps you do not quite realise the size of what we call a field,' Hugh said quietly.

'How many acres?' asked his cousin.

'Oh, a matter of two thousand acres or so,' was the answer, and then Willie began to think that if all the little jobs of work were on the same scale, perhaps only the energetic folk were the sort to go to Canada, and those who loved their ease had better stay at home.

M. H.



A STROLL AMONGST FERNS.

We cannot show in Britain such tall and beautiful natives of the fern tribe as may be found growing freely in tropical countries, but still we have some fine ferns belonging to our islands. These are much commoner in some parts than in others, and probably, many years ago, when a great part of the country was covered with damp forests or woods, there was a greater abundance of ferns generally than there is now. Indeed, even in the last few years, some ferns that used to be abundant have become quite scarce, often owing to the fact that unwise people dig them up, to carry the plants away from their haunts, and put them in gardens.

There are, fortunately, some ferns which such thefts do not harm, because they are plentiful. The well-known bracken, for instance, though quantities of it may be cut for wrapping or decoration, is not thereby thinned much, and it covers acres and acres of ground in some woodlands, especially about the western counties. The West of England is the home of ferns, big and small; but some southern counties, such as Sussex and Hampshire, have a good display. In Scotland, again, glens or copses, often the haunts of wild deer, are green with a thick growth of bracken.

A well-known writer, who lives where ferns abound, says that the bracken is the fern of ferns in the British Islands. The shelter of it is a pleasure and a safeguard too, not only to the tall deer and their fawns, but to thousands of quadrupeds and birds, whose home is amid the copses, shady lanes, or moorlands. In sandy wastes, this fern only grows a foot high; along the paths in woods it will attain to six or seven feet, or grow taller still in a lofty hedge, or in a clump of supporting trees. Even in the winter months the ferns have their uses; it is delightful, after walking over some moist lowland, to come upon a hilly ridge of ground, where, amongst the birches and the fragrant firs, the brown ferns grow freely.

Grand in its growth, but only to be found in a few places, is the Osmund or Royal Fern, which throws up a tall spike bearing the spores or seeds of the plant. Sometimes, in moist places, the crown of the root is a clump of more than a foot high, from which the stem rises. Of late years, this kingly fern has become still more rare, and happy is the fern-hunter who comes upon a specimen.

Who can help admiring the beautiful Lady Fern, which seems to be most at home when growing near a streamlet or pond? It is stately and graceful, with large fronds of clear green, and the tips of its sprays bend like plumes. What is called the Male Fern grows in hedges or banks, and indeed almost anywhere; a handsome cheery-looking plant, though of moderate size. It will even manage to live in a London back-garden, or area, and many cottagers have it amongst the flowers of their small garden plots. Occasionally, by the side of a copse, we may come upon a great bed of the male fern, which frequently keeps green all the winter. Often, about the same spots where the male fern flourishes, the Shield Fern displays its fronds, larger and broader, but fewer in number, and prettily toothed along their edges. Fond of damp hollows or the sides of ditches is the handsome Hart's-tongue Fern, which will also, now and then, choose to grow on a cracked wall, or perhaps down a well.

We must not forget the Polypody, which delights to creep amongst the trees and bushes of a lane, and looks very fresh in June, keeping its fronds till some sharp frost brings them off. It took the name of Polypody from its jagged leaves, upon which the seeds or spores appear in bright orange spots. The humble Wall Rue and the Wall Spleenwort grow on walls chiefly, sometimes on rocky banks. The true Maiden-hair Fern is amongst the rarest of our native ferns. What is so commonly grown by gardeners, and used for bouquets and buttonholes, is the Black Maiden-hair, a rather stronger plant.



THE CONTENTED PANSY.

'I wish,' said the Pansy, 'I had not been planted To catch the full force of the wind from the east; But, somehow, the gardener takes it for granted That that's not a hardship I mind in the least. 'Twas all very well while the laurel was growing, Her glittering leaves were a capital shield; But now she is gone, and the chilly winds blowing Can whistle unchecked from the neighbouring field.

'The pinks and the roses are grandly protected, They're touched but by winds from the south and the west; Yet here, in exposure, I'm always expected To blossom in colours my brightest and best. The sun on my home his warm light seldom squanders, And only when night is beginning to fall; While if through the garden the honey-bee wanders, He never looks twice at my corner at all.

'But light is my heart as the fairest of roses, For yesterday morning, in kindliest tone, I heard some one say, who was gathering posies, "I'm fond of that pansy that blossoms alone." Just think of it! Some one has noticed me growing! I don't want the wind from the south and the west, And, spite of the hurricane bitterly blowing, I'll blossom in colours the brightest and best.'



HOW HETAIS WORE HIS MEDAL.

A True Story.

Hetais was a French sailor, a carpenter of the Ville de Paris, and he and his ship-mates took part with our soldiers in the siege of Sebastopol in 1854, where Hetais, having shown great gallantry during one of the sorties, was adjudged that coveted decoration, the medaille militaire—a medal that is only given to privates and non-commissioned officers.

The presentation of this medal was to be made on a certain evening, and on the morning, as he and his mates were on duty in the trenches, the chief subject of conversation was the honour that had befallen Hetais.

He was a modest, brave-hearted fellow, and though much pleased at the prospect of his medal, was pleased, too, to think of the treat he meant to give his comrades to celebrate the event.

'Look here,' he said to his particular chum, 'I have just drawn out all the money owing to me, and I mean you fellows to have a good, hot supper to-night at the canteen, and I foot the bill!' and as he spoke he pulled out a handful of silver from his pocket and showed it with a laugh to his friend.

Hot suppers were a rarity in that camp, and the very thought of such a treat was cheering to the half-starved men.

'You are a good fellow, Hetais,' said one of the men, 'and you deserve your luck.'

'Hold your tongue, you silly fellow,' said Hetais, with a good-natured thump on the speaker's back. 'Get on with your coffee-making, and do not talk nonsense!'

'All right,' said the man, cautiously lifting his head above the shelter of the trench, so as to see what the Russians were about. 'The "Moscos"' (so the French termed the enemy) 'seem keeping quiet to-day, and we shall be able to enjoy our coffee in peace,' he continued.

A fire was lighted, and the water put on to boil in a saucepan, the men all sitting round in eagerness, for it was bitterly cold in the trenches, and a hot cup, or rather tin, of coffee seemed to warm and cheer them better than anything else.

'Now then,' at last said the coffee-maker, 'hold out your mess-tins, and we will divide fairly.'

Every man held out his mess-tin—but not one drop of coffee was to be drunk by any of them, for at that very moment a bomb from the Russian battery landed in their midst, upsetting the saucepan of coffee and exploding in the midst of the little crowd of men.

It seemed as if none could escape! Yet, strange to say—for this is a true story—of all that group, no one was hurt, except the brave Hetais, whose head had been all but blown away by the bursting of the bomb.

It is impossible to describe the grief and consternation of his comrades, who felt, one and all, that each could have been better spared than the man who lay dead at their feet.

Just then the officer in charge of the party came up, and the senior man told him how Hetais had met his death. The officer was no less sorry than the men, for Hetais was popular with all ranks.

'Poor fellow! he was a brave man if there ever was one,' said the officer. 'Carry his body back to camp, my lads; he shall be honoured in death, if he has just missed it in life,' for the officer was thinking of the medal and the ceremony of presentation which was to have taken place that evening.

The men extemporised a sort of bier out of a litter on which the dead man was lying and their muskets, and thus they reverently carried him back to camp, the relief party presenting arms as the funeral procession passed by them.

When the General in command was informed of the death of Hetais, he issued the following order to the troops:

'I was to have presented Hetais, of the Ville de Paris, with the medaille militaire, and his untimely death must not deprive him of this honour. I shall fasten the medal on him at his burial.'

A few hours later, all the sailors and soldiers who could be spared from the trenches were drawn up in a hollow square outside the camp around the body of Hetais, who, wrapped in his cloak, slept his last calm sleep on the rough litter in which he had been carried from the trenches.

The deep silence was at last broken by the loud voice of the commanding officer: 'Present arms!' Then he took off his helmet, and followed by another officer, who carried the medal, he advanced towards the bier, and read out the brief account of the gallant action which had gained Hetais his medal.

Then, taking the medal from the hand of the subaltern, he fastened it on to the cloak of the sailor, and, turning to the assembled soldiers and sailors, he thus addressed them:

'A glorious death has ended a noble life,' he said, in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by all; 'but death, though it has robbed us of a brave comrade, shall not rob him of the honour due to his services. In the name of the General commanding the forces in the East, I confer on our dead comrade the medaille militaire!'

Then all ranks passed in turn, bare-headed, past the still figure of Hetais, lying all unconscious of the honour done to him; and thus were the last honours paid to a brave man.



TWENTY POUNDS REWARD.

It was the visit to Dan Webster which brought it all about; but for the fact that the handle of Charlie's bicycle got badly bent, so that only the village blacksmith could put it right, the most exciting incident which ever befell the boys would probably never have taken place.

It happened thus.

'Dan,' said Charlie, as he and his brother Sydney were waiting while the blacksmith finished a job he was at work on when they arrived, 'how would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'

'I should like it amazingly well, sir,' was the reply; 'a third of that sum even would be a godsend to me.'

'How would you spend it?' asked Sydney, with an amused smile.

A serious look came into old Dan's face. 'I'd send my daughter away to the seaside for a change,' he said. 'The doctor tells me it would do her more good than all his medicines. But what's all this,' he asked, 'about twenty pounds reward? I suppose it's some joke of yours, young gentlemen?'

'It's no joke,' said Charlie; 'at least, Lady Winterton does not think so. She is on a visit to our house, you know; and this morning she discovered that she had lost a valuable necklace. Father was so angry that such a thing should have happened that he at once offered twenty pounds reward for the recovery of the necklace.'

Dan thought seriously awhile. Then he said, 'I wonder if the young chap who roused me up this morning at six o'clock, because his horse had cast a shoe, had anything to do with it?'

Both boys were instantly on the alert. 'What was he like?' they asked, in a breath.

Dan described the stranger as minutely as he could. 'He had a small bag slung round him,' he finished, 'and seemed in a great hurry to be off.'

'That's the thief, you may depend upon it,' said Charlie. 'If we can only track him, Dan, you shall share the profits.'

Dan laughed. 'He didn't look much like a thief, now I come to think of it,' said he. 'He had too honest a face for that.'

'Oh, you never know,' was Sydney's comment. 'I dare say he's a thorough bad 'un, if the truth is known. Which way did he go, Dan, when he left you?'

The blacksmith then told all he knew, and the boys, as soon as Charlie's bicycle was ready, started off, as they fondly hoped, on the track of the thief. After a good long ride, they suddenly came upon the object of their search. He was leisurely taking photographs on the outskirts of a wood. No horse was visible, so he had evidently been home to breakfast, and had started forth again.

As the lads drew near he eyed them with interest, his idea being to photograph them.

Charlie, plucking up all the courage he possessed, went straight to the point. 'I wonder if you would mind,' said he, growing very red, 'if we looked into that case of yours?'

'And what for, young stranger, may I ask?' was the reply, given with a slightly American accent.

'Because—because,' stammered Charlie, 'we think you have something there belonging to Lady Winterton.'

'Upon my word,' laughed the young fellow, 'you are a "cute" chap. As a matter of fact, I have, but how did you know it?'

'We guessed it,' said Sydney, thinking it was time he put a spoke in the wheel; 'and now, if you will give it up to us, without making any fuss about it, we won't give you in charge.'

'Very kind of you, I am sure,' replied the thief. 'How am I to reward you for your goodness?'

'Oh, Father is going to give us the reward!' cried Charlie, very pleased with himself. 'It's twenty pounds, you know.'

'Is it, indeed?' said the young man, looking rather mystified. 'Tell me all about it, and what you are going to do with the money?'

There was something so winning about this innocent-looking criminal that the boys grew quite confidential, telling him the history of the whole morning.

'Dan said you had too honest a face for a thief,' said Sydney, at the close of the recital. 'I wonder what made you do it?'

The stranger was nearly doubled up with laughter, which he turned away to hide. 'Well, you see,' he replied, as gravely as he could, 'Lady Winterton left it about so temptingly that I really couldn't help it. It's my first offence, though.'

'Yes, so I should say,' Charlie's voice was eager as he spoke, 'and we should like you to get off, awfully. You are much too nice to go to prison.'

'Thanks, old chap, you're very kind,' said the thief; 'if you really mean to let me off scot-free I will be making a move. Take this case'—here drawing forth from his satchel a small package—'to Lady Winterton, with my regrets and apologies.'

* * * * *

'We have got the necklace!' So cried Charlie, as with flushed, triumphant faces the boys entered the dining-room, where the whole family party was assembled together.

'My dear boy, that's impossible,' replied Lady Winterton, 'for I found it myself, only ten minutes ago, behind a chest of drawers.'

'Then what is this?' cried poor Charlie, looking very surprised. He then told his story, which was certainly a very strange one. However, the mystery was soon cleared up. The case contained nothing but photographs, one of which was a portrait of Lady Winterton taken with her daughter, Alice. Clearly this was the theft to which the stranger (a wealthy, if somewhat eccentric, young American) alluded. He was Alice Winterton's accepted lover, and, half in earnest, half in jest, had taken the photograph for his own use.

The reward was not paid, after all. But when Mr. Hereford and Lady Winterton heard, from Charlie's story, of the blacksmith's trouble, they put their heads together, with the result that Dan Webster's daughter spent a happy time in a seaside home, and came back very grateful, and quite restored to health. The amateur detectives had done some good, after all.



WHY THE SEA SOBS.

The Sea no father has, Nor any mother: A trouble quite enough One's mind to bother. That's why, my dear, Where'er it be, We sometimes hear A sobbing Sea.

If we no fathers had, Or loving mothers, No little sisters fair, No baby-brothers, We'd shed a tear, (Poor You, poor Me,) And sigh, 'Oh, dear,' Just like the Sea.



WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

XI.—THE GROTTOES OF ADELSBERG

About twenty miles north-east of Trieste, which stands at the north of the Adriatic Sea, is the little town of Adelsberg. It is a market town, and would have no more claim to notice than thousands of similar places in Europe, had it not chanced to have been built within a mile of one of the natural wonders of the world.

Thousands of years ago, when Europe was covered with dense forests, and savage man was struggling for existence with savage man and yet more savage beast, living in rude huts and ignorant of any kind of civilisation, Nature was hard at work deep below the slopes of those Adelsberg mountains. Age after age, with her simple tools of water, lime, and carbonic acid, she dug, scooped, carved, and built, fashioning by slow degrees vaulted chambers, halls with lofty domes, arches, and galleries, all gleaming like frosted silver set with diamonds, far more wonderful than Aladdin's palace, or the marble halls of the Arabian Nights. And all the while, even when Christianity and civilisation spread over the country, no one thought of the beautiful world down below those grassy slopes; though now and again some one might wonder why a deep basin in the hills, where according to tradition a lake once existed, should have been turned into dry pasture, with only the little river, Poyk or Pinka, running through it; or some more inquiring mind might have been puzzled to know why that little river should suddenly bury itself in the ground and vanish utterly from sight.

At last some enterprising being, a boy most likely, climbed into the fissure down which the waters went, most probably in the summer-time when the stream was low, and there discovered a cavern nearly three hundred feet long, now known as the Old Grotto. For ninety years this was one of the sights of the country; and then a large piece of stalactite was broken from the end, and the entrance to a far more superb cavern, known as the New Grotto, lay bare.

This New Grotto is ten times larger than the old one. It is furnished with stalactites and stalagmites of huge size and of every imaginable shape, forming arches, pillars, cornices, and fringes of exquisite beauty. The roof and walls are covered with lacework and pendants of crystals, to which great fissures, leading into narrow galleries, form backgrounds of dense shadow. The ornamental work was effected from outside by damp lime and carbonic acid, but the actual excavator was simply the river Poyk, which in time drained the lake and carried its waters through soft spots in the rock below. Every little drop that poured in did something of the digging process, and when the snows on the mountains melted, and great floods came to help, the river was able to tear away the rocks above, beside, and beneath its channel. Sometimes, for a long time together, it found itself imprisoned and could get no further, and then it would whirl round and round, boiling with anger and beating against its rocky walls, until it had hewn out quite a lofty chamber. Then sooner or later it would reach some softer formation which would yield, and the great volume of water would rush through, tearing down everything in its way, until it last it found itself once again in the sunshine.

Now, with its work in the Adelsberg Grottoes done, the river Poyk is taking a well-earned rest, and flows gently through the Grottoes, reflecting in its waters the lofty bridges and vaulted roofs hewn out by its former toil. Not that the Poyk has grown lazy! It only desires fresh worlds to conquer; after enjoying a little run in the daylight, it changes its name to the Laybach, and again plunges into the Grottoes of Reifnitz, where with all its old energy it is working as hard as ever to make the Laybach Caves as celebrated as those of Adelsberg.

Various animals live in these caverns, of which the most celebrated is the 'Proteus,' a creature which has greatly perplexed naturalists. At first sight it looks like a lizard, but its movements are those of a fish. The head, lower part of the body, and tail resemble an eel, but it has no fins, and its breathing organs are quite unlike those of fishes. Round its neck is a ruffle, which seems to help it to breathe, although it has perfect lungs and can breathe, as well as move, equally comfortably on land and in water. The front feet are like hands, and each has three fingers, whilst the back limbs have only two. The eyes are very tiny, like those of the rat or mole; its mouth is well set with teeth, proving it to be a beast of prey, and its organs of smell are fully developed. A great authority has declared its spine to be like those of the monster animals of pre-historic ages known as Saurians. The most extraordinary part of the Proteus' history is that it seems perfectly able to live without food. It has never been seen to eat in captivity, and one has been kept alive for years by occasionally changing the water in which it lives. These animals were originally discovered in the Grottoes of Laybach, and later on at Adelsberg, being rare in dry seasons, but plentiful after heavy rains.

HELENA HEATH.



INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

XI.—CATERPILLARS AND THEIR ENEMIES.

(Concluded from page 357.)

The caterpillar of the North American Great Peacock moth (fig. 4) is armed with numerous tufts of prickles ending in minute black points which pierce the hand if touched, and cause severe pain. These spines, as shown in the illustration (fig. 2, A B, on page 357) are hollow, and filled with liquid poison. 'A' is the portion which breaks off; 'B' the hollow base which contains the poison.

In some few caterpillars the poison spines take the form of balls armed with short prickles and one large spike; hence they are known as caltrop spines (fig. 2, C), from their likeness to the cruel weapons, known as caltrops, which used to be scattered over the ground in time of war to repel the attacks of cavalry; the spikes forced their way into the horses' feet when trampled on, and so disabled them.

The spines of the caterpillar of our Oak Eggar moth are very brittle, and in handling these insects, great care must be taken, as cases are known of blindness having been caused by the spines being carried into the eyes by the fingers.

Let us now turn to the liquid squirts with which some caterpillars are provided. Our Spurge-hawk caterpillar, for example, when threatened, squirts from the mouth a spray of poison. In our illustration (fig. 5) it is shown repelling the attack of the dreaded ichneumon fly by means of this spray. The quaint Puss moth, which many Chatterbox readers must have seen, can squirt out an irritant fluid, generally supposed to be formic acid, from the mouth, when alarmed, and this, if it enters the eye, causes acute pain.



The caterpillars of the Swallow-tailed moths, when irritated, give out an offensive smell, but they are unable to 'spray.'

Many beetles have the power of forcing drops of blood from a minute hole in one of the legs. This blood is saturated either with a fluid which causes a burning sensation on everything it touches, or with an intolerable odour; in either case the result is the same—they are given a wide berth by all who have discovered their power. The little lady-bird beetle, for example, sends out, when frightened, a tiny drop of a yellow fluid from the 'knee-joint,' which has a smell like opium. The Javanese 'violin-beetle' gives off a fluid which is said to paralyse the fingers for twenty-four hours.



W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.



THE BLACK SWAN.

The Black Swan is an Australian bird, and was not known in Europe until that continent began to be explored, although black swans had been often spoken of before that time as a kind of fabulous monster. The ordinary white, or mute, swan, which graces our rivers and lakes, has been admired, and even protected by laws, for many centuries, and its plumage is so beautifully and uniformly snowy that we can hardly be surprised if people thought that all swans must be white, and should regard a black swan as impossible, like the two-necked swan sometimes painted upon inn-signs. But travellers have discovered many strange animals in unexplored countries, and we now know that there are not only black swans, but even swans that have a black neck and a white body.

The plumage of the black swan, with the exception of the quill feathers, which are white, is entirely black. The bill and the skin between the eyes are a beautiful red, which contrasts handsomely with the black feathers. The tail of the bird is very short, and, next to the colour of the plumage, this is the chief peculiarity which distinguishes it from the white swan.



The black swan frequents the swamps and secluded bays on the Australian coast. It is not a very shy bird, and is frequently seen by the sportsman and the camper-out. It enjoys the companionship of its kind, and congregates usually in small flocks. August and September are, it is believed, the breeding months, and shortly before this the swans leave the swamps and seek the nesting-grounds, which are usually on the islands in the bays. Western Port Bay, not far from Melbourne, is one of their favourite haunts. The nest is a collection of reeds, and in this the female swan lays five or six eggs of a whitish-grey colour, and a little smaller than those of our white swan.

The black swan is rather strong upon the wing, and, when flying, it frequently utters a musical cry. But, being a heavy bird, its flight is very exhausting, and it appears to have more confidence in its webbed feet than its wings. It is said that when it is startled it tries to escape by swimming, if it can, rather than by taking flight. As the birds breed upon islands on the coast, they may occasionally swim out, or be drifted out, to sea. A short time ago, two black swans were picked up off Norfolk Island. They were miles away from the nearest part of Australia, and they must have been driven from their native land by winds and currents until they were lost. They were greatly exhausted when taken up, but a bath in fresh water and a good supply of food soon put them right again.

This incident is not only interesting because it shows the endurance of the swans and how long a journey they may sometimes make almost by accident, but because it illustrates the way in which animals which are natives of one country may be carried to a new one. If these two swans could have continued on to Norfolk Island, which is about nine hundred miles from Australia, and, after arriving there, could have recovered their health, made a nest, and reared a brood of young ones, then there might have been black swans in Norfolk Island as well as in Australia. These swans were probably too much exhausted to have accomplished this long journey, but we have many reasons for believing that animals have often been unwillingly driven by winds and currents to new homes across the seas, and have thus helped to extend their species over a larger portion of the earth.

W. A. ATKINSON.



AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 356.)

CHAPTER XIX.

When Ping Wang returned, he locked the door and signed to his friends to come and sit in the middle of the room.

'I have bought some offerings for us to make to the ghosts,' he said, and produced from his pocket a handful of pieces of coloured paper.

'It doesn't look very satisfying food,' Charlie remarked, 'but I dare say that it is good enough for ghosts.'

'This is not food,' Ping Wang replied—and, as he spoke, he took from the heap several round pieces of paper—'it is money. Our ghosts, according to the belief of our wise men, lead a life, in some invisible world, which is very much like what they lived here; but, as they don't appear to have a mint, we offer them money—this money. To-night we shall have the pleasure of burning those pieces of round paper, which my countrymen believe pass in the form of money into the ghosts' possession as they disappear from our sight. We will not, however, confine our gifts to money. Here are houses, carts, wheelbarrows, horses, and suits of clothes, all made of paper, to be burnt. The ghosts, my countrymen think, will find them very useful.'

Ping Wang was now in the humour for talking, and held his friends interested nearly the whole of the afternoon. Just before darkness came on they had some tea, and then paid the landlord and departed.

The people by now were flocking, or had already gone, to that part of the town where the feast was to be given, and consequently the Pages and Ping Wang found the track round the ten-foot wall of Chin Choo's house almost deserted. For this they were very thankful indeed, as it gave them a better opportunity for examining the wall.

'This will be the place,' Ping Wang said when they had gone about half-way round the wall. He pointed to several holes in it just large enough to insert the toes or fingers.

After taking note of the surroundings so that they would be able to find the spot again, they continued their journey until they reached the place from which they had started.

'Now for the feast,' Ping Wang said, quietly, and they started off in the direction of the ghosts' feast. It was a merry, jovial crowd they joined. Most of the people were carrying provisions as well as offerings for the ghosts, and Ping Wang, not wishing that he and his friends should be conspicuous, purchased three legs of pork. Then they walked on again, but, before long, came to a large and excited crowd gathered round a poster on the outside wall of a joss-house or temple. Ping Wang, leaving the Pages in a dark corner, hurried forward to read the placard, and, to his horror, found that his fears were realised. It was an anti-foreign poster, and the following is what he read:—

'We publicly announce that the foreigners who entered our Middle Kingdom many years ago have made plans to seize our territory. They ignore the teachings of Confucius, and have already taught the people their false religion, and have practised their sorceries upon them. Now the right-minded and superior men of our land are boiling with rage at the harm which the foreigners have done, and are determined to kill them. Every foreigner must be killed, and every house, shop, and church which they inhabit must be destroyed. Any one who shelters a foreigner will be killed, and all converts to the foreign religion who do not recant immediately will be executed. Kill the foreigners who are hoping to seize our country and introduce their barbarian customs! Kill the men who have made friends with them! Kill the foreigners! Kill the foreigners!'

Ping Wang turned away. He knew that the placard would have the desired effect of rousing the people to a state of frenzy. Already hundreds of people were shouting, 'Kill the foreigners!'

The cry was, by this time, familiar to Charlie and Fred, and there was no need for them to ask Ping Wang what was printed on the poster.

By a slight movement of his head, Ping Wang signed to the Pages to follow him. He walked a few yards down the crowded street, fearing every moment that his friends would be detected by the mob and killed before his eyes, and then turned into a narrow lane, dark and almost deserted. The people had evidently flocked into the main road. He sighed with thankfulness, and, having glanced round and seen that the Pages were following, he quickened his speed. It was some years since he had traversed the bye-streets of his native town, but they were not changed to any great extent, and he had no difficulty in finding his way. He led his friends through street after street—gloomy and squalid places, but happily deserted by the residents. At last they came into a main road which led to the town-gates; not the ones at which they had entered early that morning, but those on the other side. He could see them in the distance. They were open, and he was tempted to lead his friends straight out into the country, and away from the danger which threatened them. At any rate, it seemed to him that he would be doing an unfriendly action if he did not tell them that escape was still easy.

'There are the gates,' he said in an undertone. 'Shall we go out and hurry off to Barton?'

'No,' Charlie said, firmly; 'not until we have got your treasure.'

'But do you know what was on that poster?'

'We have a very good idea, I fancy. An order to kill all foreigners, was it not?'

'Yes. Shall we escape?'

'No. Hurry on to Chin Choo's.'

Ping Wang again led them through narrow, dirty streets until they caught sight of Chin Choo's house. When they were about fifty yards from it, they saw the gates thrown open and the mandarin's palanquin borne out. From the shouts of the man with the whip who ran ahead of it, they knew that Chin Choo was inside.

'That is good,' Ping Wang whispered. 'Now that Chin Choo is out, the servants will start gambling and smoking opium. We need not fear being disturbed by them.'

In less than five minutes they arrived at the spot where they had decided to start their undertaking. They looked up and down the road, and, seeing no one about, Ping Wang climbed the wall.

'It is very easy,' he said, when he reached the top; 'the drop on the other side is only about six feet.'

He disappeared into Chin Choo's grounds and Fred at once scaled the wall. Charlie was about to follow him, and had already climbed five or six feet from the ground, when he heard some one approaching, and, before he was able to decide whether to jump down or continue climbing, his left foot was seized and tugged so viciously that he came down with a rush on top of his assailant.

In an instant he was on his feet again, ready to defend himself from any further attack. Looking down at the person on whom he had fallen, he saw to his astonishment that it was the cart-woman who had caused him so much annoyance before.

She lay glaring at Charlie, speechless and panting. But he had barely recognised her when he heard a shout of 'Foreigners!' and looking round saw the woman's husband running at him. He jumped quickly aside, and to defend himself snatched up one of the legs of pork, which had been left on the ground.

He rushed at the Chinaman, who, being a great coward, immediately turned about and fled. But Charlie was upon him in a moment, and with the leg of pork dealt him a blow on the back of the head, which sent him sprawling on the ground. A knife fell from his hand and Charlie at once seized it. The woman, seeing what had befallen her husband, scrambled to her feet and toddled to him shouting, 'Foreigners!' as she went. To prevent her being heard Fred clapped his hand over her mouth, and, in spite of her biting it, kept it there.

Meanwhile Ping Wang and Fred had scrambled back, hearing the noise. They joined Charlie, and between them managed to tie the Chinaman's pigtail round the woman's neck, so that neither could move without difficulty.

'Now let us leave them,' Ping Wang said, and they started running. But before they had gone many yards they heard the Chinaman and his wife shouting frantically, 'Foreigners! Kill the foreigners!'

Their shouts were heard by others, also, and a man rushed forward to stop them, but Charlie raised his knife threateningly and the fellow ran. Nevertheless, he too shouted 'Foreigners!' and, gathering together some friends, started in pursuit. At every few yards others joined in the chase.

'Where are you going to take us?' Charlie asked of Ping Wang, after glancing back at the mob pursuing them.

'To the gates,' Ping Wang answered. 'This is our way.'

They turned into one of the narrow streets which they had traversed earlier in the evening, and, as they ran at full speed along it, here and there men came out of their houses to see what the noise meant. They heard the shouts of 'Foreigners!' but the average Chinaman has a great respect for his skin, and consequently not one of the men who saw the Pages and Ping Wang rush by attempted to stop them.

'I'm done up,' Ping Wang gasped before long; 'our only chance is to hide.'

The next street was a short one, and the Pages were surprised after what Ping Wang had said about being tired to see him sprint along it. They followed close on his heels, and when he stopped at the end of it, they did the same. Instead of crossing the wide road which faced them, Ping Wang turned to the right, and after walking quickly for about thirty yards made another turn to the right which brought them into a narrow street running parallel with the one down which they had sprinted. There was no one visible; all the residents were evidently at the feast. Ping Wang stopped at the second house and pressed his hand against the door, which opened. He peeped into the place, and, seeing no one, entered stealthily, the Pages following quickly and equally cautiously. As soon as they were in, Ping Wang shot the bolt of the door. It was a dark and dirty room in which the fugitives found themselves, and by the faint light of a lantern they could see that it was a poverty-stricken place.

(Continued on page 374.)



CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

XI.—MODERN AERONAUTS AND THEIR AIR-SHIPS.

At an electrical exhibition held at Paris in 1881, most of the sightseers were very interested in a little model balloon which had been made by two famous balloonists, Messrs. Gaston and Albert Tissandier. It was quite unlike any balloon ever seen before. The silk bag for containing the gas was long and pointed at either end, and floated horizontally in the air, so that at a little distance it was not unlike a fish without a tail, though a sheet of canvas, shaped like a fish's tail, was placed beneath the balloon at the rear end to be used as a rudder. Suspended by a number of slender ropes, which met under the centre of the gas-bag, were the car for the sailors and a small electric engine for driving a powerful screw, the wings of which striking against the air would propel the 'ship' at the rate of some nine feet a second. The baby balloon may be said to have set the example for all modern air-ships, though others something like it had been built before. Two years later Messrs. Tissandier made a large copy of their model, and ascended on October 8th, 1883. As the screw succeeded in driving the balloon forward at a greater speed than that at which the wind was blowing, they were able to steer a course, just as the steamboats on the St. Lawrence River are able to shoot the rapids in safety by putting on full steam and over-racing the current. Messrs. Tissandier repeated their experiment in November, 1883, and actually drove their balloon against the wind for a short distance. As night overtook them while on this triumphant journey they did not attempt to return by balloon to Paris, but descended in the country two hours after leaving the capital.