Promising Philip that he would have him released when he reached Plymouth, for he was under seventeen, and handing him as a memento a small Testament, and commending him to the care of G.o.d, he was obliged to witness the rowing away of the boat that carried his young charge every minute farther out of sight.

Philip's capture would not have been brought about had it not been for the ill designs of the youths of his own age who were no friends to Arthur Pendrean. The scheme for decoying him into the immediate neighbourhood of the press-gang belonged to two of the worst characters in the village. But we will not enter into details of their scheming. It is enough to know that for the time being their wicked designs were successful, and we find Philip within a very short time on board the _Royal Sovereign_, one of the finest line-of-battle ships in Earl Howe's fleet.

The trouble and grief of his father and little sister when they learned what had happened was great. Owen at first refused all comfort. It was in vain that Mr. Pendrean promised to spare no pains to bring the lad home again: the bereaved father would not be comforted. It was in this state of mind that he set out for Falmouth, accompanied by Arthur Pendrean, as they thought it not improbable that the cutter might put into this port before proceeding to Plymouth. Her crew were, however, too wide awake, and the press-gang too anxious to secure prize-money, to run any risk of losing those whom they had captured, and pressed for his Majesty's navy; they therefore made straight for the fleet. How Philip Tresilian subsequently fought in the battle of the first of June, how he saw for the first time and understood something of the horrors of war, are all graphically described by the author.

(_Concluded on page 42._)

FOOTNOTE:

[1] This favourite book is by James F. Cobb. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., London.)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He told his son he would disinherit him and turn him out of doors."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "She was just high enough, and could light the lamps."]

HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

I.--'THE WATCHERS ON THE LONGSHIPS.'

(_Concluded from page 39._)

We shall now take a peep at the lighthouse and its first watcher. 'That will never be finished,' said one of the wreckers, when he saw the work slowly progressing on the lonely rock at Land's End. But it was finished. Arthur Pendrean wrote to many rich ship-owners in London and elsewhere, and at length, by the aid of their money and the toil of skilful workmen, a light began to burn in the Longships Lighthouse on September 29, 1795. Those were early days of lighthouses, and experience had hardly yet proved the risk and the danger of leaving one man alone on a solitary rock to attend to the lights, often cut off for days, or even weeks, from all communication with the sh.o.r.e. In these days things are very different. Three men, and sometimes four, are appointed to take charge of lighthouses, such as the Longships, Eddystone, and others.

One night a furious gale from the south-west raged along the coast; many were the watchers at Sennen and other villages along the sh.o.r.e, keeping a sharp look-out for wrecks; but whether owing to the lighthouse or to the fact that there were not many vessels about just then, the evil hopes of those who were longing to profit by the misfortunes of others were frustrated. Owen felt very anxious about the lonely lighthouse-keeper, whom he could not help thinking of as tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his lamps on the solitary rock with the roar of the ocean around and below him. He knew that one who had not been there could not possibly have any idea of the awful noise on the Longships Rock occasioned by the roaring and the raging of the waves in the caverns underneath. We cannot stay to describe all that Jordan, the lighthouse-keeper, in his loneliness experienced, nor to tell how the waves, leaping above the lighthouse, sometimes completely covered it. We see him as he walks about, now up and now down, almost terrified by the fierce yells and shrieks which fell upon his ears, and at last watch him, in despair, fling himself upon his bed. Oh, that he had never been tempted to come to this accursed, haunted rock--for haunted he felt certain it was! Like most sailors, he was more or less superst.i.tious, and the angry roar in the caverns beneath sounded to him like the roar of hundreds of imprisoned wild beasts, until, by-and-by, losing all his presence of mind, his hair turns white in a single night with terror, and he becomes a maniac. It was thus that Arthur Pendrean found him several days later, when, seeing, to his great grief, that the lamps were unlit, he put out to learn the cause in a little boat manned by Owen and one or two of his friends. How Owen and the others failed to effect a landing on the rock, and how the brave young clergyman made a bold leap, springing safely upon a projecting ledge of the Longships, is all thrillingly told in the chapter headed 'A Hazardous Voyage and a Bold Leap.'

Perhaps the most surprising part of the story is the bravery of Mary Tresilian, Philip's little sister, who, although only a child, when she sees that no man can be found to undertake the dangerous and difficult work of keeping the lamps lit on the Longships, begs her father most earnestly to himself undertake the task, and permit her to accompany him. At first he would not hear of it, neither would Arthur Pendrean; but the child pleaded so earnestly and fearlessly that, in the end, no one else coming forward to undertake the duty, they yielded to her prayers. And so we find the light burning again in the lighthouse, thanks to the courage and unselfishness of a brave little girl.

'Trust me, I will be a match for them, somehow or other,' said Nichols, when he knew who the new lighthouse-keepers were. 'I have an old grudge against that Tresilian, and I mean to pay him out. As to that parson, you all know what I think of him.'

'Well, John, there's many a chap here will be glad enough to help you,'

said Pollard.

A very exciting chapter is that ent.i.tled 'A New Conspiracy,' which tells how Owen, coming ash.o.r.e with some fish, was waylaid by a ruthless gang of wreckers and smugglers, who tied him up as a prisoner, and would have left him to starve had it not been for one of them with a little more heart than the rest, who cut the cords that bound his wrists, seeing there was no chance of his escape from the cavern into which they thrust him, bolting and barring the gate that closed it. A more wretched dungeon could scarcely be imagined. Dark even in brilliant noon-day, damp and dripping with slimy sea-weed, the ground full of pools of stagnant sea water, the air so chilly that it seemed to freeze one to the very bones, such was the place to which these cowardly enemies consigned the unfortunate man. And he? His thoughts were of his little child. Truly his troubles were great; his wife was dead, his son torn from him, and now his daughter, his only child, doomed, as he thought, to a terrible fate, while he, her father, was a prisoner and powerless to help her. But was he powerless? Could he not pray? It was this thought that caused him to fall on his knees in his lonely prison and entreat protection for her from the Father in heaven.

And Mary, what was she doing? At first, when she found that her father did not come back, she gave way to grief. The darkness coming on and the tempest rising, with trembling hands she tried to make a fire. Suddenly the thought struck her that the lamps were not lit, and she determined, brave child that she was, to light them herself. She had often watched her father do it, and she knew how. She stood on tip-toe to reach the lamps, but they were far, far above her. Nothing daunted, she piled one thing above another until every article that she could lay hold of was in use except the old Bible. Being a very reverent little girl, she could not bear the idea of treading on the Holy Book; but, at last, when she had reflected that her standing on the book for the purpose she had in view, the saving of the lives of many poor sailors, could do it no harm, she placed it reverently on the top of the pile, and above it, that she might not tread directly on to it, a large basin. And now she was just high enough, and found, to her great delight, that she could light the lamps. Great was the surprise of Nichols and his companions when they saw, as they ascended rising ground with their false light, the bright rays of light streaming out from the Longships. For a minute or two they could say nothing; then a volley of wicked words proceeded from them.

'Who would have thought it? That child has managed to light the lamps, and there they are burning as brightly as ever.'

'Who would have thought it indeed?' exclaimed Nichols. 'If it had ever entered my head that the girl would have been up to those tricks, I'd have rowed out in Tresilian's boat, carried her off from the lighthouse, and locked her up with her father; and now here's all my fine plan spoiled.'

For the beautiful ending of this attractive story, of Owen's release and Philip's rescue from drowning by his own father, and of the punishment that befell the wicked men who occasioned the deaths of so many brave fellows, we can only say that our young readers should go to the book itself, where they will find these facts all set forth in a thoroughly interesting manner. To-day a new lighthouse stands on the Longships, and the light shines out at an elevation of one hundred and ten feet above high-water mark, and is visible at a distance of eighteen miles.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

II.--SOME WEAPONS OF OFFENCE.

The sting of the bee and the lancet of the gnat, although fashioned of very different materials, bear a close likeness in their mechanism. In each case the piercing organ is, in the first place, a gouge-like weapon which prepares the way for more delicate lancets. But in the spider we find a very different piece of machinery for the injection of the poison. It is formed by a pair of peculiarly modified legs which act as jaws, and are armed each with a powerful claw, at the tip of which, as in the poison-fang of the viper, is a small hole. Out of this hole a drop of poison oozes when the prey is seized, and this has the effect of paralysing the victim. The poison is formed in a curious bag, or 'gland'

(G.L), which communicates with the claw by means of a long tube or duct.

Many people feel a remarkable repugnance or even dread for spiders.

This, in many cases at least, is due to the supposed venom in their bite. Yet, except the famous 'Tarantula,' no spiders really inflict a painful wound. Tales of fearsome black spiders are common enough. One of the spiders known as 'line weavers' is reputed to have a very poisonous bite. To test the truth of this, one authority on spiders repeatedly allowed himself to be bitten, yet suffered no inconvenience! In the early and barbarous days of medical practice, a spider was frequently applied to the wrists of patients suffering from fever.

Even the virulence of the dreaded Tarantula's bite has been greatly exaggerated. It was supposed to cause the disease known as Tarantism: the victim was seized with a mad desire to dance. The mania, while it lasted, was accompanied with leaping, contortions, gesticulations, and wild cries, until finally the fit of hysteria, for such it was, wore itself out. The methods of treatment were many and curious. One of the most favoured was to bury the patient up to the neck! But the dulcet strains of music were believed to be the most powerful of all cures, and certain peculiar tunes came to be regarded as especially effective, and hence became known as Tarantella!

Parts of India now desert are said to have been deprived of their inhabitants through the dread caused by certain huge spiders known as the Galeodes. Their bite is without doubt extremely painful, and may cause violent headache, fainting fits, or even temporary paralysis.

Camels and sheep are sometimes so severely bitten by these spiders that death results.

Occasionally the spider catches a Tartar, for wasps and bees now and again get entangled in the web spread for more helpless victims. Rushing out in a blind fury, the spider closes with his captive, and then follows a fight to the death. Sometimes the spider wins, but as often as not the sting of his would-be victim is thrust home with deadly effect, for the soft and pulpy body of the spider offers a target not easily missed.

There is a saying that we should 'eat to live,' but the dragon-flies seem to have reversed this rule, for they appear almost to 'live to eat,' their appet.i.tes being enormous. This is especially true of the larval or infantile stages of growth, and the manner of capturing their prey is peculiar.

Readers of _Chatterbox_, who combine a love of natural history with a fondness for boating, have probably many a time watched the gauze-winged dragon-fly hawking for flies. But how many have realised that, below the surface of the stream, the coming generation of dragon-flies was waging a precisely similar war--a war, too, even more relentless? The full-fledged dragon-fly cannot bring himself to venture out, even to eat, unless the sun be shining; but the budding dragon-fly has not yet learnt to be so particular, and hunts incessantly, be the weather fine or wet. The apparatus by which his prey is captured cannot, however, be easily described. The mouth of an insect is made up of many separate parts, and that which in other insects forms the 'under-lip,' is in the young dragon-fly peculiarly modified to form what is known as the 'mask.' This remarkable piece of apparatus may be compared to a pair of nippers mounted on a jointed and freely movable handle. When not in use these nippers are kept folded up close under the head; but as soon as prey comes within reach, the nippers flash out, and the victim is seized and brought to the powerful jaws, where it is rapidly torn to pieces.

The weapons of offence of the spider and dragon-fly larva differ in one important particular from those of the bee and the water-bug, and similar insects: the former are used for the capture of victims intended as food, whilst the latter are employed, in the case of the bee, for attack or defence; and in the case of the water-bug for robbing the animal or plant of a small and quite insignificant quant.i.ty of its blood, or sap, as the case may be.

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

[Ill.u.s.tration:

1. Young Dragon-Fly and "Mask" (magnified).

2. Dragon-fly.

3. Poison Gland of Spider (much magnified).

4. Spider and Bee Fighting.]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 38._)

Thoughts of the ill-favoured tramp had once or twice come into my head while I ate my eggs and bacon, but, perhaps as one result of the meal, I felt very little doubt that he had by this time got some distance ahead, while the rest which I had determined to take would allow him to leave me still further behind. On coming into the street again, however, I took the precaution to look to the right and left, and rejoiced to see no sign of the man. The houses of Broughton soon grew farther and farther apart, but I had to walk a mile or more without seeing any tempting resting-place. The sun was very hot, and my legs were beginning to ache, when, at the foot of a slight hill, I saw that the road was edged on each side by a thick wood, whose shade looked particularly inviting. As soon as I reached the shade, I found that I was not alone, for sitting in the road were two men wearing wire spectacles and breaking stones with a hammer. They paid not the slightest attention to me, while, for my part, I felt rather glad of their presence. The shade made the spot seem more lonely than the road I had as yet traversed, so that I stepped into the wood on my right with a pleasant feeling of security. A few yards from the road I lay down at the foot of a large beech-tree, and resting my head on my bag, after listening for a few minutes to the ring of the hammers in the road, I must have fallen asleep. On reopening my eyes I instinctively felt for my watch, and when I realised that I should never see it again, it seemed that I had lost a familiar friend. The sun now shone lower in the sky, and it must in any case be time that I continued my journey.

Throwing the bag over my shoulder, I walked towards the road, when what was my dismay to see the tramp, who I imagined had long left me behind, seated by the roadside, smoking a very short, black pipe and gazing silently at the stone-breakers. Although he took no notice of my presence, I now began to wonder whether he had deliberately followed me from Broughton, or whether his presence in this shady part of the road was merely a chance coincidence. It was quite possible that he had hidden himself while I was in the coffee-shop, watched me from its door, and set forth in my wake. If this were the case, his purpose seemed scarcely doubtful, for he had certainly seen me receive the money for my watch and chain.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "His left hand gripped the collar of my jacket."]