For many days we had been pushing our way, as best we could, through one of the densest of South American forests. Late one afternoon we stopped by the side of a narrow but swiftly flowing river, and began to prepare our camp for the night. Suddenly we heard, at some distance from us on the other side of the stream, a great chattering and screaming, as if thousands of monkeys were moving among the trees and each trying to make more noise than all the rest.

“An army of monkeys on the march,” said our guide. “They are coming this way, and will most likely cross the river yonder where the banks are so steep, with those tall trees growing on either side.”

“How will they cross there?” I asked. “The water runs so swiftly that they certainly cannot swim across.”

“Oh, no,” said the guide; “monkeys would rather go into fire than water. If they cannot leap the stream, they will bridge it.”

“Bridge it! and how will they do that?”

“Wait, captain, and you shall see,” answered the guide.

We could now plainly see the animals making their way through the tree-tops and approaching the place which the guide had pointed out. In front was an old gray-headed monkey who directed all their movements and seemed to be the general-in-chief of the army, while here and there were other officers, each of whom appeared to have certain duties to perform.

One ran out upon an overhanging branch, and, after looking across the stream as if to measure the distance, scampered back and made a report to the leader. There was at once a change in the conduct of the army. Commands were given, and a number of able-bodied monkeys were marched to the front. Then several ran along the bank, examining the trees on both sides.

At length all gathered near a tall cottonwood, that grew over the narrowest part of the stream, and twenty or thirty of them climbed its trunk. The foremost—a strong fellow—ran out upon a limb, and, taking several turns of his tail around it, slipped off, and hung head downwards. The next on the limb climbed down the body of the first, and, wrapping his tail tightly around him, dropped off in his turn, and hung head downwards. And thus the third monkey fastened himself to the second, and the fourth to the third, and so on, until the last one upon the string rested his fore paws upon the ground.

The living chain now commenced swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The motion was slight at first, but gradually increased, the monkey at the lower end striking his hands against the ground and pushing out with all his strength. This was kept up until the end of the chain was thrown among the branches of the tree on the opposite bank. One of these the lowermost monkey caught and held fast. The chain now reached from one side of the stream to the other, forming a living bridge over which all the other monkeys, young and old, passed without confusion or delay.

The army was soon safely across, but how were the animals forming the bridge to get themselves over? Should the monkey at the top of the chain let go of the cottonwood branch, the other end of the bridge was so much lower that he, with those nearest him, would be dashed against the opposite bank or soused into the water.

The question was soon answered. A powerful fellow was seen taking firm hold of the lowest on the bridge, then another fastened himself to him in like manner, and this was continued until a dozen more were added to the string. These last monkeys then ran up to a high limb, and lifted that end of the bridge until it was several feet above that on the opposite bank.

Then the monkey who had formed the first link in the chain loosed his hold upon the cottonwood branch, and the whole bridge swung safely over. The lowermost links dropped lightly to the ground, while the higher ones leaped to the branches and came down by the trunk. The whole army then scampered away into the forest, and the sound of their chattering was soon lost in the distance.

—Mayne Reid.

By special permission.

A long, long time ago there lived in a quiet spot a young man and his wife. They had one child, a little daughter, whom they both loved with all their hearts. I cannot tell you their names, for they long since have been forgotten; but the name of the place where they lived was Matsuyama, in one of the provinces of Japan.

It happened once, while the little girl was still a baby, that the father was obliged to go to the great city, the capital of Japan, upon some business. It was too far for the mother and her little one to go, and so he set out alone, after promising to bring home some pretty presents for them. The mother had never been farther from home than the next village, and she could not help being very anxious at the thought of the long journey her husband was about to take. Yet she was proud, too, for he was the first man in all that countryside who had been to the big town where the king and his great lords lived, and where there were so many beautiful and curious things to be seen.

At last the time came when she might expect her husband to return; so she dressed the baby in her best clothes, and herself put on an embroidered blue robe which she knew her husband liked. You may fancy how glad she was to see him home again, and how the little girl clapped her hands and laughed with delight when she saw the pretty toys her father had brought for her. He had much to tell of all the wonderful things he had seen upon his long journey, and in the great town which he had visited.

“I have brought you a very curious present,” said the young man to his wife. “Look, and tell me what you see inside of this.”

Then he gave her a plain, white wooden box, and when she had opened it, she found a round piece of metal. One side of the metal was white like frosted silver, and ornamented with raised figures of birds and flowers; the other side was bright as the clearest crystal. Into its shining surface the young mother looked with wonder and delight, for there she saw smiling at her, with parted lips and bright eyes, a happy, joyous face.

“What do you see?” again asked the husband, pleased at her astonishment, and glad to show that he had learned something while he had been away.

“I see a pretty woman looking at me, and she moves her lips as if she were speaking, and—how very odd, she has on a blue dress like mine!”

“Why, you silly woman, it is your own face that you see,” said the husband, proud of knowing something that his wife did not know. “That round piece of metal is called a mirror. In the city everybody has a mirror, but in this country place no one has ever before seen one.”

The wife was charmed with her present, and for a few days could not look into the mirror often enough; for you must remember that, as this was the first time she had seen a mirror, so of course it was the first time she had ever seen the reflection of her own fair face. But she considered such a wonderful thing far too precious for everyday use, and soon shut it up in its box again, and put it away carefully among her most valued treasures.

Years passed on, and the husband and wife still lived happily. The joy of their life was their little daughter, who grew up the very image of her mother, and who was so dutiful and affectionate that everybody loved her. Remembering her own passing vanity on finding herself so lovely in the mirror, the mother kept it carefully hidden away, fearing that its use might breed a spirit of pride in her little girl.

She never spoke of the mirror and the father had forgotten all about it. So it happened that the daughter grew up as simple as the mother had been, and knew nothing of her own good looks, or of the mirror which would have reflected them.

But by and by a sad misfortune came upon this happy little family. The good, kind mother became ill; and although her daughter waited upon her day and night with loving care, the sick woman grew worse and worse, until at last they knew that she must soon die.

When she found that she must leave her husband and child, the poor woman felt very sorrowful, grieving for those she should see no more, and most of all for her little daughter. She called the girl to her and said: “My darling child, you know that I am very ill: soon I must die, and leave your dear father and you alone. When I am gone, promise me that you will look into this mirror every night and every morning: there you shall see me and know that I am still watching over you.”

With these words she took the mirror from the secret place where it was kept, and gave it to her daughter. The child promised, with many tears, to obey, and the mother, having become calm and resigned, died within a short time.

Now the daughter never forgot her mother’s last request, but each morning and evening took the mirror from its hiding place and looked in it long and earnestly. There she saw the bright and smiling vision of her lost mother; not pale and sickly as she was in her last days, but young and beautiful as in the days of long ago. To her mother at night the young girl told the story of the trials and difficulties of the day; and to her mother in the morning she looked for sympathy and encouragement in whatever might be in store for her.

So day by day she lived as in her mother’s sight, striving still to please her as she had always done, and careful always to avoid whatever might pain or grieve her. The maiden’s greatest joy was to be able to look into the mirror and say: “Mother, I have been to-day what you would have me to be.”

Seeing that his daughter looked into the mirror every night and morning, and seemed to hold converse with it, her father at length asked her the reason of her strange behavior.

“Father,” she said, “I look into the mirror every day to see my dear mother and to talk with her.” Then she told him of her mother’s dying wish, and that she had never failed to fulfil it.

Touched by so much simplicity, and such faithful, loving obedience, the father shed tears of pity and affection. Nor could he find it in his heart to tell the child that the image she saw in the mirror was but the reflection of her own sweet face becoming day by day more and more like her dead mother’s.

—From the Japanese.

King Edward I of England, commonly known as “Longshanks,” nearly conquered Scotland. It was from no lack of spirit or energy that he did not quite complete his troublesome task, but he died a little too soon. On his death-bed he called his pretty, spiritless son to him, and made him promise to carry on the war; he then ordered that his bones should be wrapped up in a bull’s hide, and carried at the head of the army in future campaigns against the Scots. Edward II soon forgot his promise to his father, and spent his time in dissipation among his favorites, and allowed the resolute Scots to recover Scotland.

Good James, Lord Douglas, was a very wise man in his day. He may not have had long shanks, but he had a very long head. He was one of the hardest foes with whom the two Edwards had to contend, and his long head proved quite too powerful for the second Edward, who, in his single campaign against the Scots, lost at Bannockburn nearly all that his father had gained.

The tall Scottish castle of Roxburgh stood near the border, lifting its grim turrets above the Teviot and the Tweed. When the Black Douglas, as Lord James was called, had recovered castle after castle from the English, he desired to gain this stronghold, and determined to accomplish his wish. But he knew it could be taken only by surprise, and a very wily affair it must be. He had outwitted the English so many times that they were sharply on the lookout for him.

Near the castle was a gloomy old forest, called Jedburgh. Here, just as the first days of spring began to kindle in the sunrise and the sunsets, and warm the frosty hills, the Black Douglas concealed sixty picked men.

It was Shrove-tide, and the festival was to be celebrated with song and harp and a great blaze of light, and free offerings of wine in the great hall of the castle. The garrison was to have leave for merrymaking and indulging in revelry.

The sun had gone down in the red sky, and the long, deep shadows began to fall on the woods, the river, the hills, and valleys. An officer’s wife had retired from the great hall, where all was preparation for the merrymaking, to the high battlements of the castle, in order to quiet her little child and put it to rest. The sentinel, from time to time, paced near her. She began to sing:—

She saw some strange objects moving across the level ground in the distance. They greatly puzzled her. They did not travel quite like animals, but they seemed to have four legs.

“What are those queer-looking things yonder?” she asked of the sentinel as he drew near.

“They are Farmer Asher’s cattle,” said the soldier, straining his eyes to discern the outlines of the long figures in the shadows. “The good man is making merry to-night, and has forgotten to bring in his oxen; lucky ’twill be if they do not fall a prey to the Black Douglas.”

So sure was he that the objects were cattle, that he ceased to watch them longer. The woman’s eye, however, followed the queer-looking cattle for some time, until they seemed to disappear under the outer works of the castle. Then feeling quite at ease, she thought she would sing again. Spring was in the evening air; and, perhaps, it was the joyousness of spring which made her sing.

Now, the name of the Black Douglas had become so terrible to the English that it was used to frighten the children, who, when they misbehaved, were told that the Black Douglas would get them. The little ditty I have quoted must have been very quieting to good children in those alarming times.

So the good woman sang cheerily:—

“Do not be so sure of that,” said a husky voice close beside her, and a mail-gloved hand fell solidly upon her shoulder. She was dreadfully frightened, for she knew from the appearance of the man he must be the Black Douglas.

The Scots came leaping over the walls. The garrison was merrymaking below, and, almost before the disarmed revellers had any warning, the Black Douglas was in the midst of them. The old stronghold was taken, and many of the garrison were put to the sword; but the Black Douglas spared the woman and the child, who probably never afterwards felt quite so sure about the little ditty:—

Douglas had caused his picked men to approach the castle by walking on their hands and knees, with long black cloaks thrown over their bodies, and their ladders and weapons concealed under their cloaks. The men thus presented very nearly the appearance of a herd of cattle in the deep shadows, and completely deceived the sentinel, who was probably thinking more of the music and dancing below, than of the watchful enemy who had been haunting the gloomy woods of Jedburgh.

The Black Douglas fought with King Robert Bruce at Bannockburn. One lovely June day, in the far-gone year of 1329, King Robert lay dying. He called Douglas to his bedside, and told him that it had been one of the dearest wishes of his heart to go to the Holy Land, and recover Jerusalem from the Infidels; but since he could not go, he wished him to embalm his heart after his death, and carry it to the Holy City, and deposit it in the Holy Sepulchre.

Douglas had the heart of Bruce embalmed and enclosed in a silver case, and wore it on a silver chain about his neck. He set out for Jerusalem, but resolved first to visit Spain and engage in the war waged against the Moorish king of Granada. He fell in Andalusia, in battle. Just before his death he threw the silver casket into the thickest of the fight, exclaiming, “Heart of Bruce, I follow thee or die!”

His dead body was found beside the casket, and the heart of Bruce was brought back to Scotland and deposited in the ivy-clad Abbey of Melrose.

Douglas was a real hero, and few things more engaging than his exploits were ever told under the holly and mistletoe, or in the warm Christmas light of the old Scottish Yule-logs.—Sir Walter Scott.

—Eliza Cook.

When I was a little girl, I caught a grasshopper and put him into a bottle. Then I sat down outside the bottle, and looked at the grasshopper. He sat inside the bottle, and looked at me.

It began to grow upon my mind that the grasshopper looked much like an old man. His face, with the big, solemn eyes and straight mouth, was like an old man’s face. He wore a gray coat, like a loose duster. He had a wrinkled greenish vest. He wore knee-breeches and long red stockings. The more I looked at him, the more he looked like a little, grave, old-time man who came to visit my aged grandfather. But I thought my grasshopper in the bottle felt like a prisoner. I said, “Now you may go, my Old Man of the Meadow.”

I took the cork out of the bottle. The grasshopper at once leaped up, and sat on the rim of the bottle. Then a strange thing happened. The Old Man of the Meadow spread out two wide brown wings. They had a broad, lemon-colored band on them. They were gay as the wings of a butterfly. On them he sailed away.

I could hardly believe my eyes. I ran after him to a tall stalk of golden-rod. There he sat, a plain, gray-green old man. But again he spread out the wide wings, and was gone. My Old Man of the Meadow had then this splendid dress-coat under his sober overcoat. Seated at rest, he looked plain and quiet,—a creature of the earth. Lifted into the air, he was nearly as fine as a butterfly.

The grasshopper lives much in the grass, and his chief motion is in hops, or long jumps. He has another name, “the murmurer.” This is given him because of the noise or song he makes. His song is loud and shrill. It is made by rubbing his wings one upon the other. He has a little piece of skin like a tight drumhead set in each wing. As he moves his wings, this tiny drum vibrates, or trembles, and makes the shrill sound. Mrs. Grasshopper does not have this drum in her wings.

Let us take a closer look at the grasshopper. As he is an insect, he should have a body made in rings, in three parts, with four wings and six legs set on the second, or chest part. His front pair of legs is shorter than the others. This hinders him in walking over a level surface. But it helps him in walking up a tree, or small plant, or a wall. See the hind legs! They are more than twice as long as the others. The thigh, or upper part, is very long and strong. By means of these big legs the grasshopper is a famous jumper.

Now, if you have a grasshopper to look at, you will see that the feet have four parts. The part of the leg between the foot and the thigh has sharp points like the teeth of a comb. The hind part of the body is long and slender, and, being made of rings, can bend easily. In the great green grasshopper all the body is of a fine green tint.

Let us look at the wings. The upper pair, or wing-covers, are large and long. Notice two things about the wings: they lap at the tips, and are high in the middle. When they are shut, they have a shape like a slanting roof. The upper ones are longer than the lower ones. These wing-cases have large veins. Lift up a wing-case and pull out a lower wing. It is folded very closely, in lengthwise plaits. Where these wings join Mr. Grasshopper’s body, you will find his drum plate for making music. One kind of grasshopper has very short wing-covers. In that kind, both Mr. and Mrs. Grasshopper make music. There is also one grasshopper, a little green fellow, that has no drum, and is silent.

The upper side of the grasshopper’s chest is shaped like a great horny collar. The head is large, and has two big glossy eyes. There is, also, a knob on the forehead. Between the eyes are set the feelers. They are very long, even longer than all the body. The mouth of the grasshopper is wide, and it has strong jaws. But they are not so strong as those of his cousin, the cricket.

Grasshoppers prefer vegetable food. They will sometimes eat animal food. When two are shut up in a box, they will fight, and the one which is killed will be eaten by the victor.

If you could look inside the grasshopper’s body, you would see that he has a gizzard much like that of a chicken. It is made of little bands set with fine teeth. These teeth chew up into a pulp the leaves which the grasshopper has eaten. After he has eaten for a long time, he sits quite still. He looks as if he were thinking. Sometimes, when he sits in this way, he moves his mouth as if chewing. From this action, people used to think that he chewed the cud, as cows and sheep do. But he does not chew the cud. If you watch him well, in these silent times, you will see him gravely licking his long feelers and his lips. He seems to be cleaning them. To do this, he runs out a long, limber tongue, shaped much like yours.

The color in the grasshopper does not seem to be laid on the surface of his coat, as on that of the beetle. It is not put on in plumes and scales, as the butterfly has it. But it is dyed through and through the wings and body. The wing-cases and the rings of the body are not hard, like horn or shell, as in the beetle tribe. They are of a tough skin, and are dyed with the color.

The grasshopper does not change its home. It dies near where it was born. Frost and cold kill it. It does not outlive the winter, as butterflies, bees, and wasps do. Each grasshopper lives alone. He does nothing for his neighbor, and his neighbor does nothing for him.

—Julia MacNair Wright.