Round-about Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fancy Part 17

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHILD AND THE EAGLE.]

Many years ago, among the mountains of Switzerland, an Eagle pounced down upon a little girl, and carried her away. Her parents were harvesting in the field, and they did not notice the danger of their little daughter, until the great bird had lifted her up in his talons, and was flying away with her to his nest in the mountain crags.

I remember having read all the particulars of this remarkable affair, but I forget whether the child was rescued alive or not. At any rate let us hope that she was.

But this incident suggests the following question: Ought little girls to be allowed to play out of doors in countries where there are Eagles?

Many a child, after looking at such a picture as that upon the opposite page, might reasonably stand in awe of the national bird of our country; but I will state that it is my firm belief that a child runs quite as much risk of being swallowed up by an earthquake as it does of being carried away by an Eagle.

There have been a few instances where the bald-headed Eagle of this country--(so called, not because its head is bald, but because it is gray)--has attacked children, but these cases are very rare indeed.

The Eagle which carried off the little girl in Switzerland was of a very different kind from the national emblem of America,--much more powerful and fierce. But even in Switzerland, if the children all lived until they were carried away by Eagles, the country would soon become like one great school-house yard.

So, looking at the matter in all its various aspects, I think that we may reasonably conclude that little girls, when they play out of doors, are in more danger from horses, dogs, snakes, and bad company, than of being attacked by Eagles, and the children may all look upon the picture of the Eagle of the Alps and its baby prey without a shudder on their own account.

CLIMBING MOUNTAINS.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

There is nothing which can give us grander ideas of Nature than to stand on the top of a high Mountain. But it is very hard to get there.

And yet there are very few Mountains in the world which have not been ascended by man.

For hundreds of years, Mont Blanc, that lofty peak of the Alps, was considered absolutely inaccessible, but it is now frequently ascended.

Even ladies, and some of them Americans, have stood upon its summit.

But few persons, except those who have actually made the ascent of high and precipitous Mountains, have any idea of the dangers and difficulties of the undertaking. The adventurers are obliged to wear shoes studded with strong iron spikes to prevent slipping; they carry long poles with iron points by which they a.s.sist themselves up the steep inclines; they are provided with ladders, and very often the whole party fasten themselves together with a long rope, so that if one slips the others may prevent him from falling.

Where there are steep and lofty precipices, crumbling rocks, and overhanging cliffs, such as those which obstruct the path of the party whose toilsome journey is ill.u.s.trated in the accompanying engraving, the feat of climbing a Mountain is hazardous and difficult enough; but when heights are reached where the rocks are covered with ice, where deep clefts are concealed by a treacherous covering of snow where avalanches threaten the traveller at every step, and where the mountain-side often seems as difficult to climb as a pane of gla.s.s, the prospect seems as if it ought to appal the stoutest heart.

But some hearts are stouter than we think, and up those icy rocks, along the edges of bewildering precipices, over, under, and around great ma.s.ses of rock, across steep glaciers where every footstep must be made in a hole cut in the ice, brave men have climbed and crept and gradually and painfully worked their way, until at last they stood proudly on the summit, and gazed around at the vast expanse of mountains, plains, valleys, and forests, spread far and wide beneath them.

In Europe there are regular a.s.sociations or clubs of mountain-climbers, which at favorable periods endeavor to make the ascent of lofty and difficult Mountains. Nearly every peak of the Pyrenees and the Alps has felt the feet of these adventurers, who take as much delight in their dangerous pursuits as is generally found by the happiest of those who are content with the joys of ordinary alt.i.tudes.

We have very many grand Mountains in our country, but we have not yet reduced their ascent to such a system as that which these Alpine clubs have adopted. But very many of our countrymen have climbed to the loftiest peaks of the White Mountains, the Catskills, the Alleghenies, and the Rocky Mountains.

Mountain-climbing is certainly dangerous, and it is about the hardest labor of which man is capable, but the proud satisfaction of standing upon a mountain-top repays the climber for all the labor, and makes him forget all the dangers that he has pa.s.sed through.

ANDREW'S PLAN.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Oh, Andy!" said little Jenny Murdock, "I'm so glad you came along this way. I can't get over."

"Can't get over?" said Andrew; "why, what's the matter?"

"The bridge is gone," said Jenny. "When I came across after breakfast it was there, and now it's over on the other side, and how can I get back home?"

"Why so it is," said Andrew. "It was all right when I came over a little while ago, but Old Donald pulls it on the other side every morning after he has driven his cows across, and I don't think he has any right to do it. I expect he thinks the bridge was made for him and his cows."

"Now I must go down to the big bridge, Andy, and I want you to come with me. I'm afraid to go through all those dark woods by myself,"

said Jenny.

"But I can't go, Jenny," said Andrew; "it's nearly school time now."

Andrew was a Scotch boy, and a fine fellow. He was next to the head of his school, and he was as good at play as he was at his books. Jenny Patterson, his most particular friend, was a little girl who lived very near Andrew's home. She had no brothers or sisters, but Andrew had always been as good as a brother to her, and therefore, when she stood by the water's edge that morning, just ready to burst into tears, she thought all her troubles over when she saw Andrew approach.

He had always helped her out of her difficulties before, and she saw no reason why he should not do it now. She had crossed the creek in search of wild flowers, and when she wished to return had found the bridge removed, as Andrew supposed, by Old Donald McKenzie, who pastured his cows on this side of the creek. This stream was not very wide, nor very deep at its edges, but in the centre it was four or five feet deep, and in the Spring there was quite a strong current, so that wading across it, either by cattle or men, was quite a difficult undertaking. As for Jenny, she could not get across at all without a bridge, and there was none nearer than the wagon bridge, a mile and a half below.

"You will go with me, Andy, won't you?" said the little girl.

"And be late to school?" said he. "I have never been late yet, you know, Jenny."

"Perhaps Dominie Black will think you have been sick, or had to mind the cows," said Jenny.

"He won't think so unless I tell him," said Andrew, "and you know I won't do that."

"If we were to run all the way, would you be too late?" said Jenny.

"If we were to run all the way to the bridge and I was to run all the way back, I would not get to school till after copy-time. I expect every minute to hear the school-bell ring," said Andrew.

"But what can I do, then?" said poor little Jenny. "I can't wait here till school's out, and I don't want to go up to the school-house, for all the boys to laugh at me."

"No," said Andrew, reflecting very seriously, "I must take you home some way or other. It won't do to leave you here, and no matter where you might stay, your mother would be troubled to death about you."

"Yes," said Jenny, "she would think I was drowned."

Time pressed, and Jenny's countenance became more and more overcast, but Andrew could think of no way in which he could take the little girl home without being late and losing his standing in the school.

It was impossible to get her across the stream at any place nearer than the "big bridge;" he would not take her that way and make up a false story to account for his lateness at school, and he could not leave her alone or take her with him.

What in the world was to be done?

While several absurd and impracticable projects were pa.s.sing through his brain the school-bell began to ring, and he must start immediately to reach the school-house in time.

And now his anxiety and perplexity became more intense than ever, and Jenny, looking up into his troubled countenance, began to cry.

Andrew, who never before had failed to be at the school door before the first tap of the bell, began to despair.

Was there nothing to be done?

Yes! a happy thought pa.s.sed through his mind. How strange that he should not have thought of it before!