Chatterbox, 1906 Part 85

THE GRUMBLING ROSE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Is the bird alive or dead?'"]

'It is all very well,' said the Rosebud, That close against my window lattice leans, 'But April is as false as he is fickle, And there's never any knowing what he means.

He loitered just before me with a whisper Of mischief much too cunning to detect; But when I peeped with wonder at the garden, It wasn't what he led me to expect; For the rain fell fast On a rude and chilly blast, And it wasn't what he led me to expect.'

'It is all very well,' said the Rosebud, As April softly sighed a fond adieu; 'But after all, I'm sorry you must leave me, For May's a month I dread much more than you.

She prates of all the wonders of the summer; She promises--but only to betray, And those who tell the truth about the spring-time Are never complimentary to May; And e'en a baby Rose Can be pardoned, I suppose, For feeling some anxiety in May.'

And thus through all the months of happy summer This foolish Rose no cause for pleasure found, And when the winds of autumn swept the garden, They scattered all her petals on the ground.

Oh, let me urge this on you--to remember That no one should enlarge upon a wrong, For those who spend their time in idle grumbling Will find there's not a moment for a song, And sadly they'll recall, When the autumn shadows fall, The summer that was worthy of a song.

'AS YOU PLEASE.'

In the ancient times there lived a wonderfully wise man, of whom it was said that he could answer correctly any question put to him. There was one, however, who thought himself clever enough to outwit the sage. This man took a poor, captive bird, and clasped it so closely in his hand that only the head and tail were visible.

'Tell me,' said he to the renowned guesser of riddles, 'is the bird which I hold in my hand alive or dead?'

If the answer were 'Dead,' thought this artful plotter, he would just open his hand, and let the bird fly; if the answer were 'Alive,' he would with one little squeeze crush the poor bird to death.

But the wise man proved himself equal to the occasion, and replied, 'It is _as you please._'

Each one of you holds within his or her grasp the fair bird of life.

Which is it to be? A blessing or a bane? It is 'as _you_ please.'

THE PENGUIN.

There are several kinds of penguins, and several different names have been given to the same kinds, so that the number of names is rather bewildering. We hear of the Great Penguin, the Grey Penguin, the Cape Penguin, the Jacka.s.s Penguin, and several others; but, as they are all very similar in most respects, we will not trouble much about the kinds, but learn what we can of the habits and peculiarities of penguins generally.

These birds live mostly in the cold countries, especially islands, near the South Pole. They are aquatic birds, spending much of their time in the water, and living upon the fish which they chase and catch in the sea. For this reason they congregate upon the rocky sh.o.r.es, where they may be seen standing in thousands, like regiments of soldiers. Their webbed feet are placed very far back, close to the stumpy tail, and so the long body has to stand very straight up in order to balance itself.

This gives them a very odd, man-like appearance. Their wings are small and narrow, and look more like flappers, or stunted arms, than wings.

They are not covered with feathers, but with stumps, which look more like bristles or scales, and the wings appear to be set on to the body almost the wrong way about. They are not of the smallest use for flying, and the penguin never attempts to do that; but when it takes to the water, the wings are seen to be admirably formed and placed for swimming.

The penguin is lighter than the water, yet it swims with its body below the surface, never at any time having more than its head out. It is enabled to do this by the peculiar shape of its wings, which will carry it down and forwards, as the wings of air-birds carry them upwards and forwards. So well fitted for swimming are these curious wings that the penguin is more than a match for most fishes in their own element. When chasing its prey, it comes to the surface with a spring, and dives again so quickly that it is almost impossible to distinguish it from a fish leaping in the air. How confident it feels upon the sea may be imagined when we learn that Sir James Ross once saw two penguins swimming calmly along a thousand miles from the nearest land.

The penguin is an enormous eater. It has a very long stomach, which reaches to the lower part of the body, and is capable, in the case of a large bird, of holding more than two pounds of fish. The largest kind of penguin may be from three to four feet tall, and will weigh about eighty pounds. This is only about half the weight of a well-developed man, so that you may judge the capacity of the penguin's stomach by doubling it and comparing it with a man's. The bird, like many other birds, appears to swallow pieces of stone to help it to grind down its food, for Sir John Ross found ten pounds of granite and other kinds of stone in the stomach of a penguin which he caught--no light weight for such a bird to carry about.

On land the penguin uses its wings as fore-legs, and crawls or runs on four feet, as it were, so quickly that, on a gra.s.sy cliff, it might be mistaken for some kind of quadruped. Living in regions which are rarely visited by man, these birds have not yet learned to dread him, but often stand still until they are knocked down with a stick. They are very courageous. A naturalist tells us how he attempted to stop one as it was going down to the sea. He intercepted it, but the bird fought him and drove him backwards step by step. Every step the bird gained it kept, standing up erect and fearless before the naturalist, and continually rolling its head from side to side. Nothing short of heavy blows, he tells us, would have stopped it.

The penguin lays one egg, of a whitish colour, about twice as large as a goose's egg. It is said that the female bird hatches its egg by keeping it close between its legs, and that if it be disturbed at this time, it will carry its egg away with it. While the female bird is hatching its egg, the male goes to the sea to catch fish for them both; and, when the young one is hatched, both parents go to sea and bring it food. They do this so well and so unselfishly that the young bird grows quite fat, and is scarcely able to walk, while the old birds themselves become thin.

The young bird takes its food in a very curious way. When its mother has just returned from the sea, she stands up over her little one, and makes a great noise something between the quacking of a duck and the braying of an a.s.s. After that has gone on for a minute or so, she puts down her head and opens her mouth, and the young one thrusts its beak in and takes out its food.

Living in such cold countries, and spending so much time in the cold water, the penguin needs to be well protected from the cold. And so it is. Its short feathers are closely packed, and form a water-proof coat.

Under the skin there is a thick layer of fat, which helps to keep out the cold; and, as we have already seen, the penguin eats enormous quant.i.ties of food, much of which is no doubt used up in keeping the bird warm. Some people tell us that the penguin's flesh is not disagreeable to eat, while others say that it is far too oily to be pleasant. In Newfoundland it used to be burnt upon the fires in place of wood. The flesh is, indeed, so oily that in some places a lamp is said to be made by sticking one end of a piece of moss into the body of a dead penguin and lighting the other. The penguin's body serves as an oil-vessel, and the moss as a wick.

W. A. ATKINSON.

CUTTING IT DOWN.

Those who follow their friends' advice in everything soon find that they have to obey a good many different masters. A man was once setting up in business as a hatter, and he consulted all his acquaintances as to what he should set up as a sign outside his shop. He proposed 'John Thomson, hatter, makes and sells hats for ready money,' with the sign of a hat.

But the first friend he asked suggested that the word 'hatter' was not wanted, because the rest of the sentence showed that Thomson was a hatter. So 'hatter' was struck out.

The next remarked that 'for ready money' was unnecessary; few people desired credit for articles such as hats, and, in any case, the hatter would know best whether credit could be given. Another omission was therefore made.

The third friend declared that n.o.body cared to know who _made_ the hats, so long as they could be bought. Accordingly, the sentence was cut down to 'John Thomson sells hats,' with the sign.

But the last friend who was consulted objected to the words 'sells hats.' 'The sign of the hat,' he said, 'will show your business; and n.o.body expects you to give the hats away.'

Thus, by following the advice of all his friends, the hatter cut down his announcement simply to 'John Thomson,' with the sign of a hat.

'A WILL OF HER OWN.'

Rosa was a Swedish girl. She had so often heard people say, 'Rosa has a will of her own,' that she began to think it rather a fine thing, and when people think it is rather a fine thing to be naughty, trouble is sure to follow.

One beautiful summer day Rosa's mother said to her: 'Put on your Sunday frock, Rosa, and take these eggs to your grandmother. You may stay to tea, and play a little; but you must be back by seven o'clock.'

This pleased Rosa, for she was not often sent alone to her grandmother's, although she lived quite near. Soon she was ready. She looked very smart in her scarlet petticoat, bright ap.r.o.n, and white blouse, and started off proudly with her little basket of eggs.

Her grandmother was a beautiful old lady with gold spectacles and enormous white cap. She thanked Rosa for the eggs, gave her delicious tea with strawberries, cream, and cakes, and then said, 'You can play in the garden until the bell rings. Only do not go near the river.'

'Thank you,' said Rosa, meekly, and walked away.

When she had shut, the door, she gave her head a little toss and her shoulders a little shake, and said: 'I only said "Thank you," not "Yes, thank you," for I mean to go near the river. There is nowhere else to play. Mother always lets me go by the river, so why should Grandmother forbid it?'

Now, the stream where Rosa generally played was only a tributary, and was not nearly so deep and wide as the main river where she now was.

Rosa stood on the bank watching the great pine-trunks, which, in Sweden, are always floating down by the rivers to the sea. The woodmen cut the trees down, mark them, and let them float where they will, and the owners claim the logs when they reach the Baltic. Rosa and her brother Rolf used to jump on these trees sometimes when they struck near the sh.o.r.e, float down the stream a little way, and then jump off again. It was always a dangerous game for children to play, but much more dangerous on the large river than on the little tributary.

After a few minutes Rosa saw three large trunks, firmly bound together, coming close up to her.

'What a lovely boat!' she cried. 'Oh, but I have on my best clothes!'