THE CHILDREN OF SWITZERLAND.
In the South Island of New Zealand, between Canterbury and Westland, runs 
a high range of mountains whose peaks are always white, with snow. These mountains are called the " Southern 
Alps." The name was given to them because
they were so like the high white mountains in Switzerland called the "Alps."

MONT BLANC, IN SWITZERLAND, THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN IN EUROPE.

Switzerland is very far away from New Zealand, but not so far from England. 
It is a country where many of the people
live in villages built upon the mountain-slopes. There the little 
rosy-checked boys and girls grow up sturdy and strong,
climbing over the rugged land they love so dearly.
In the summer, when the snows melt, except on the lofty peaks or in the 
deepest valleys, the cattle are driven high up above the villages to feed on the 
mountain-grass. In the autumn they must come down
from these high pastures, and live in sheds ; if they did not they would be 
killed by the cold storms.
At the foot of the hills lie the loveliest lakes, and dotted over the sunny 
slopes are vineyards, where rich and juicy
grapes are grown. Beautiful indeed is Switzerland, and many people from 
other countries love to go there in summer,
to see the grand snowy peaks and the pretty farms and villages. But the 
Swiss live there all the year round. They are
not afraid of the cold of winter or of the storms that shriek through the 
valleys.
The Swiss people are very brave, and the Swiss child learns to be brave 
like his parents. Even in the coldest weather,
boys and girls walk long distances to school along the steep 
mountain-paths. They must start from home very early
in the morning, for school begins at 7 o'clock in summer, and at 8 o'clock 
in winter.
Sometimes the way lies through a pine forest, where it is quite dark at the 
end of the day, when the children are going
back from school. Yet a young child, walking quite alone, will pass through 
the dark wood and not feel frightened. If he
hears a queer sound amongst the trees, and thinks of giants and wild beasts,
he says two little lines that make him quite happy again:
Dear God above, Thy child am I:
Keep bad things far, and good things nigh.
The Swiss child learns to be honest as well as brave. Sometimes the roads are planted with 
fruit-trees, but no boy or
girl is ever known to take fruit without leave. Not even the wild strawberries that grow on the hills 
are touched until
they are quite ripe. When they are really ready for gathering, the children will then go together and 
fill their baskets
with the sweet berries, which they either eat or sell; but it would be thought very shocking if a greedy child went to pick the 
unripe fruit before the proper time.
Besides being brave and honest, the Swiss child is polite. A traveller, who stayed a long time in 
Switzerland, could
not remember that he ever saw a Swiss boy or girl behave rudely. He wrote, "They may have their 
faults, as all
children have, but I must say that I have never found children better behaved than in this land of 
mountain and lake." If
they meet a stranger on a country road they always say, in their own language, "Good day," or "A 
pleasant journey to
you " ; and they are always ready to answer questions, or to take a great deal of trouble to show the 
road to any
person who has lost his way.
They take a great deal of trouble, too, to gather a little plant,* which strangers like to buy. It 
grows on the rocks and
ledges near the snow, and has a white flower that comes out in early summer. Children climb up for 
it, and tie the
white blossoms into tiny bundles. Then they stand by the wayside for hours, waiting until they see 
some traveller who
will pay for this pretty keepsake from the hills, and give the tired little one who sells it some 
money to take home.
At home, too, the children are very busy. Quite little girls make lace ; quite little boys carve 
pretty toys in wood. The
lace and the toys are sold, and bring in some more money to help the family. Then, every girl knows 
how to do things
in the house, to nurse the baby, and to sing the cradle song,
Sleep, baby, sleep. Thy father tends the sheep
Thy mother shakes the Slumber-tree, Down falls a tiny dream for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
There is another thing that Swiss children must do : they must learn how to fight for their country. 
At schools in
Switzerland all the boys are taught to be soldiers. They drill, and march, and learn to shoot, so that, if any enemy comes, every 
man in the whole country will be able and ready to fight.

* The edelweiss - pronounced a'del-vis. A species is found also in New Zealand.

And all the girls learn to dress wounds, to tie up cuts, and to keep 
up with their brothers on long marches, so that they can go out and be useful nurses in time of war.
 Such are the busy, brave children who live amongst the Swiss Alps. And how they do love their cold 
white hills, and
their beautiful  valleys where  the sheep and  cows feed with  bells round  their  necks,  making a  
pretty tinkling 
sound all day!
There is, however, one great danger that makes even these brave people afraid. Sometimes a great mass 
of snow
slips down a steep mountain-side, carrying along trees, and rocks, and everything in its way. It may 
fall into a valley,
and do no harm, or it may bury or sweep away a whole village. High above them the children may hear a 
sound like
thunder. Then they know that one of these great sliding masses is coming down. If it falls their way, 
house and garden may be buried, and parents and children killed.

SWISS CHILDREN.

But the Swiss mother teaches her little girls and boys to
say, night by night, a pretty hymn:
Look kindly down when we are sunk in sleep, And guard our roof.
And in the day the children laugh, and play, and work, and have no time to think about the terrible snow-slips.

MY LITTLE BROWN BOYS.
CHILDREN OF THE SOUTH SEAS.
Little brown fellows they are, and not black at all, as some people think 
them. Happy, bright, laughing, enjoying life,
with nothing on their minds, and nothing on their bodies either.
Nothing on their minds - yes, I think that is quite true. No horrid lessons 
to get ready; no dreadful sums which won't
come right; no stern schoolmaster; and no cane! Happy boys!
Nothing on their bodies - well, that is not quite true, for they have nice 
light tortoise-shell rings through their noses, a
string of small blue beads through each nostril, a dozen tortoise-shell 
rings in each ear, a necklace of blue beads, a
tight belt round their middles, giving them such wonderful waists, and - that 
is all. So they do have something on their bodies ; but they don't have the trouble of dressing or undressing - 
all that they have
on stays on always.
In the morning, when the cocks crow so, and the sun makes the men's house, where all the boys sleep, 
so bright
that the men begin to move about, a boy does not feel comfortable going on sleeping. The world has 
begun to move.
So he gets up, not having any sheets or blankets to hold him so tightly that he can't get up-or says 
he can't.
Washing before breakfast is not the fashion. All wait until the sun is well up, and nice and hot, and 
then they go,
splash ! right through a breaker and out beyond. They dive like porpoises, and are not a bit afraid 
of sharks or
anything. Then they turn and come in again on the top of a big breaker, all you can see of them - black 
heads bobbing
about in shining white foam, and little arms paddling as if for dear life to keep up with the breaker 
which is carrying
them home.
Why they don't land on their noses on the reef, or break their shins on it, I don't know. But they 
don't, and they go
out and come in a dozen times before they think they are nice and clean. Then out they come, and 
stand on the reef.
The sun wraps them up in its warmth, and dries them, and that is the only towel they know anything about.
Twenty little brown boys sitting on brown mats in a brown dried-leaf house; a large sheet of paper 
covered with short
words lying in the middle of them; the kind old teacher sitting on the floor with them - that is school.
It takes up only a small part of the day, and so no one minds going to it a bit; and afterwards, if 
the tide is out, what
a day for fishing!
Stand on the reef and throw your line into one of the hundred openings in it ; or stand knee-deep in 
the surf and fish
just this side of the breakers; or go out beyond the breakers and fish with your head just above 
water. It does not
matter if the waves go over you. If you don't like that, you can let them lift you up and put you 
gently down where you
were before. If that is no good, take your rod and lie on a bit of board and fish from that. You can 
stay for ever so long
then, and not be tired. If you catch a fish, bite its head, and string it round your neck.
What is the good of talking like that to my little brown boys? Why, they know much better than I what 
they should
do. And yet I am telling them.
Then, when the tide comes in, and there is no more fishing, there is still plenty to do, for life is 
never dull here.
Some one in the next village is dead. My little boys put on mourning - that is, they black their faces and chests, and go and mourn 
for a little while.
They don't cry, but they help the men and women who are singing the death-song. Then a basketful of 
yams and
some tasty shark is given to them for their trouble.
Or there is a pig-hunt in the bush. They use a strong net. Any one can help to drive wild pigs into it, and get a piece of the meat in 
the evening.

From the " Wide World Magazine."]
SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS IN THEIR CANOES.

Or there are great bats wheeling round the breadfruit-trees, and now and then hanging on to them with 
their claws or
their wings. It is not bad sport to shoot these with a blunt arrow, and they are excellent eating if 
you get them.
Life is never dull, for there are hundreds of things to do - even a little work in the gardens if the 
boys are wanted by the
grown-ups. And if it is raining, and no one wants to play, or laugh, or even talk, why, they can go to sleep, whenever they like - 
and they do.
-By the Bishop of Melanesia, in the "Southern Cross Log."

THE CHILDREN OF ENGLAND.
Long ago in England - longer ago than your little heads can think of - the people were what we now call "Early Britons."
In those days a little boy was dressed in skins of wild beasts, or perhaps was only painted a pretty 
blue colour with
the juice of a plant called woad.
Later, when the country had grown less wild, a great many men, and women, and children from over the 
sea came to
live in it. Some of these people were called " Angles," and the country came to be known as "Angle-land," or
England. But still those times were rough and almost savage. The little Angles and their parents were 
heathens. They
loved to fight and kill, and they prayed only to gods like the sun and the moon.
A good man, named Gregory, far away in Rome, once saw some little Angles standing in the market-place. They had been stolen 
from their homes in England and sent across the sea to be sold 
as slaves.
Amongst the black slaves brought from other lands they looked so fair, with their blue eyes and 
yellow curls, that
Gregory said, " These ought not to be called Angles, but angels."
When he heard that the country where such lovely children lived was still a land of heathens, Gregory 
was not happy
until he had sent forty good men to build churches there, and to teach the people better ways. So it 
happened that,
soon after those sad little Angles had touched a stranger's heart in that strange far-off town, 
nearly all the English
people at home became Christians.
England is now a great, and rich, and beautiful land; fields of grass and corn grow where wild 
forests used to be;
grand cities are standing where those Early Britons built a few low huts. Let me now tell you 
something about the
girls and boys in the English homes of to-day.
A clever man has said that there are only two classes of children in all England: these are London 
children, and
country children. But children in all very large towns are much alike, and so we shall speak of 
English children as
town children and country children.
The town children are clever and quick. They live in such very big crowded places, with so much to see and to talk about, that, 
even before they go to school, they are sharp and bright. The country child is slower. It has been said of him, "If you ask him a 
question on Monday, he will give you an answer on Tuesday." He has always lived where there is plenty of room to move, and 
where there is plenty of time to think before he speaks.

HAPPY COUNTRY CHILDREN.

But the town child no doubt thinks that the country child must lead the 
happier life. With trees to climb and fields to
run about in, who could be anything but happy ? English country children 
can go blackberrying or nutting, for in many
places blackberries and nuts grow wild.  Buttercups and daisies can be 
picked along the pretty lanes. Cowslips are
to be found in the meadows, and bluebells and primroses in the woods. 
Our New Zealand has lovely flowers, too, in
the bush ; but they do not grow, as all kinds of wild-flowers do in 
England, under every hedge and by the side of every
country road.
England has colder winters than we have, and much more snow. Fields, and 
roads, and gardens are often covered
deep with the soft white mantle, and it lies thick on the housetops, just 
as you see it in pictures, or on the English
Christmas cards. The boys and girls have then great fun snowballing or 
making snow men. In frosty weather they
make slides, too, and go skating on the frozen ponds.
Christmas comes with the frost and the snow, for December is one of the 
coldest months of the year. When New
Zealand children are having a Christmas picnic, English children may be 
sitting indoors by a big fire. But when New Zealand children go shivering to school in June, the English children are saying, " 
How lovely to 
have the
summer again! "
Everywhere there are good schools, and both town and country children can learn all they want to 
know. And English
children, like little New-Zealanders, are very fond of reading. Not so very, very long ago there were 
very few bright,
easy books to read. Boys and girls learned their letters and how to spell, and then they had to go on 
to quite hard,
grown-up books. Even the prizes at school, or the presents at Christmas, would be only hard books of 
travel or
history. But now every year new pretty stories are printed, and new picture-books come out for the 
little ones; there
are girls' papers and boys' papers, and even the youngest child can find nice books to read.
But I must tell you about some hardworked little ones who have no time to read. In every country 
there are rich
children and poor children. In great cities like London some families are very rich, but others are 
very, very poor.
Sometimes a father may work all day from daylight to dark, and yet not earn enough to buy bread and 
clothes, and to
pay the rent of a house. Then each child must help to earn the food it eats, or go without food and 
starve.
Before and after school, with no time for books or for play, many children work shut up in close small rooms in narrow streets. 
Even then perhaps they can make money enough for only one 
meal in the
day. Good men are planning that, before long, in all the towns free breakfasts shall be given to 
those poor children
who come to school without having a piece of bread to eat.
The work done by the smallest children is light.

From " The Graphic," London.] [Photo by David Orr.
 COUNTRY COTTAGES IN ENGLAND.

They sew hooks and eyes on to cards ready for sale, or they make little useful things, such as wooden match-boxes. But they find 
that even easy work gets very hard when they have to do it for hours and hours. 
It is sad to think
that tired and hungry children in England to-day may not feel much happier than those little Angles who were sold as slaves long 
ago.
But kind people sometimes give the tired little workers a nice holiday. They take them right away 
from the narrow
streets in the smoky town to the sea-beach, or to some green country place. What a bright, different 
world that
seems to a child who has never before seen a field, or a cow, or a sheep, except in pictures on the 
wall in the town
school! And how these town children must love to run about the lanes and pick the wild-flowers!
Though poor children such as these are to be found in the large towns, most English children in both 
the town and the
country have very pleasant times. They have good food, good books, good schools, and good parents who 
love their
children. And it is because the children are so well cared for, and the parents are so kind, whether 
they live in a great
house or a lowly cottage, that England has been called " The Land of Homes." *

* This lesson should be further illustrated by means of the views of London forwarded to the school in January last.

KING EDWARD VII AND QUEEN ALEXANDRA.

EMPIRE DAY.
"Empire Day" comes on the 24th of May, the birthday of the late Queen, 
Victoria the Good.
Perhaps you may learn to understand a little better what " Empire Day " 
means if you first listen to a little story about
some birds.
They were birds about the size of some you may, perhaps, have seen flying 
about in the streets or in the fields.
Sparrows ? No, not sparrows.
These birds were a little larger than sparrows; they had longer tails, 
fork-shaped, and much longer and stronger
wings, fitted for carrying them on long journeys, often far over the sea. 
Ah, now you can guess! They were swallows.
Well, a pair of swallows once built a lovely nest under the eaves of an 
old barn in England. The nest was made of mud
daubed together, and shaped much like a cup; the inside was nicely lined 
with soft grass and feathers.
The swallows were very proud of this little home, and loved it just as 
you love your home. In it the mother laid five
pretty eggs - white eggs with little brown specks all over them.
When the eggs were hatched both the mother and the father were very kind 
and good to the little ones. They worked
hard all day catching small flies and other insects to feed them. The
little ones enjoyed  their lives very much all through the lovely spring 
and summer time.
When they were old enough, how delighted they were to fly about in the 
warm sunshine!
The mother and father were very anxious that they should learn to fly 
well; they knew, better than the little ones did,
what was to come.
They knew that the warm summer sunshine
would not always last, and that cold, dark days would surely come. Then 
the ground would be frozen hard or covered
with snow, and there would be no insects flying about to feed upon.
They knew, too, that if they stayed in England to face that hard time 
they would be frozen or starved to death. So
they made up their minds to go far away to another country where they 
could find food and warmth.
They had to trust to their swift, strong wings to carry them for hundreds and hundreds of miles over 
the sea, with
hardly any rest by the way. Of course, they had to take their children with them, and the young birds 
looked forward
with great delight to going away from home and seeing strange places.
But the old birds were anxious about them, and in some ways they were sorry to leave the home in the 
cosy nest.
These were cares the young ones could not understand.
However, one fine day they started. They flew on, and on, and on, till they were so tired that they 
felt they could not
go any farther. But still they had to struggle on, for the wild, dark sea was beneath them, and if 
they had dropped
down into that they would have been drowned.
At last they reached a warm, sunny place where they knew they could live safely and find plenty of 
food. They
stayed there contentedly enough while the cold winter lasted in England, but in some wonderful way 
they seemed to
know when the warm weather was coming back again.
Then they got restless. They felt a great longing to see the old barn and the dear cosy nest once 
more. They were
homesick. The young birds were just as bad as their parents: they all wanted to get back to the old home. 
So once more they faced that long, terrible journey, over the hundreds of miles of land and sea. And 
all the way the
mother had but one thought, but one hope - that she might find her nest unbroken, undisturbed.
How they found the way I cannot tell; that is their secret, and they cannot tell us ; but, at last 
they did get back, safe
and sound, to
the dear old nest.
If you have ever been away from home for a long time, and felt homesick and lonely, you will know 
how delighted the
birds felt to be back. There the young birds found mates, and they and many others built nests round 
the old barn
until at last there was no room for any more.
Now, Britain, where these swallows build nests, is only a small country, but there are a great many 
people living in it.
Long ago, even before your fathers and mothers were born, the people in Britain began to feel that it 
would never do
for every one to stay there. They felt that, if they did, they would have to remain in poor homes, 
and would not have
clothes and food enough for all. Then, like the swallows, they would be starved or frozen when the 
cold, dark days of
winter came.
So some of the bravest and strongest men, and some who found it hard to get work and earn enough money in
Britain, made up their minds that they would go away, like the
swallows, to other countries. There they would have more room for homes, more land for farms ; there 
they could have
sheep and cows, and grow wheat and potatoes and other things for food.. Some of them took their 
families to
America, some to Africa, and some - our fathers and mothers, or grandfathers and grandmothers - came far 
across the
sea to Australia and New Zealand.
They had to travel thousands of miles in ships, and were tossing upon the waves for many weeks. 
Very often they
felt homesick, like the swallows, and wished to get back again to the dear old Home-land.
 But they could not go back so easily as the swallows; they could not spread wings and fly away 
whenever they
wanted to do so; they had just to stay in the new country and try to be contented.
They made cosy homes, and in time got to love the new place, though they never lost their love and longing for the old land. And 
the children born here, though they may never have seen Britain, have heard so much 
about it from their
fathers and mothers that they hope some day to see it.
And it is just the same with the British people who made new homes in America, and with those who went to Africa and to other 
countries belonging to Britain. They all remember and love the dear old Home-land they left, and they have all told their children 
about it.
Britain is like a mother with many children who have gone from her into other countries to earn their 
own living. She
still loves them; she sends them many kind messages, and helps them in every way she can. And the 
children, the
people far away from her, love her in return.
This little mother and all her big children we call the Empire, and we keep up Empire Day just as we 
might keep up
our mother's birthday in the family, to show that we are still her loving children.
-Adapted from the "Commonwealth School Paper."

PIETER VAN GLUCK.
I have been told that the little boys and girls of New Zealand would like to hear something about the 
boys and girls of Holland. As I am a Hollander, I will tell you some of the things we do.
But before I speak about the children in Holland I want to tell you that I feel very friendly 
towards you. You may wonder why. Well, many years ago one of our great sailors was the first to find
your land, and it was named New Zealand after Zeeland in Holland. I have been told this at school, 
and so, you see, I know something about you.
I have heard, too, that your country has great mountains. Ours is so flat that we never see a big 
hill or a mountain. I have been told also that in your country the ground in some places is so hot
underneath that, winter and summer, great hot springs are always flowing. For some months our country 
is fast locked in ice. The canals are frozen over, and on them the men skate to work and
the children skate to school.
But I have not told you my name. It is Pieter van Gluck, and you will think it a very funny name. I 
have many brothers and sisters: the eldest is my grown-up sister Gretel; the youngest is tiny
Hans, who can just toddle along with his hand in mine.
Most of us go to school. We have to go earlier and leave later than you do in New Zealand, and so we do not get so much time to 
play. We have many masters in our school, and we have to work very hard indeed.
Of course, we play games whenever we can. We are fond of games with balls, 
and we have our times for marbles and
kites, just as, I suppose, you have. Some of the bigger boys play your game 
of cricket. My sisters have their games,
too. They are very fond of skipping, and know a great many pretty 
skipping-songs. The girls whose parents are poor
play few games, for they must work very hard. Even while they mind their 
little brothers and sisters they knit the
stockings for the family.
The time we like best of all is the glorious winter. Then everybody skates 
as soon as the ice is strong enough. Along
the canals and rivers there are finger-posts to show us the way. The women 
skate to and from the market with baskets of butter and eggs on their heads; the farmer skates, dragging his 
load behind him on a sledge; the boys and
girls skate merrily to school; and even the doctor goes his rounds on 
skates. I think you would be amused to see the
butcher's boy and the baker's boy skating from house to house for orders.
We get so clever on our skates that we are as much at home on the ice as 
on the land. One man skated four miles in five minutes - nearly fifty miles an hour!
Near the crowded places on the ice, people have stalls for selling hot milk and buns; but they tell 
you that the cups
cannot be cleaned, as the cloths are all frozen stiff.
In the summer the fish-carts and the milk-carts are drawn by dogs. Sometimes the fish-cart dog quarrels 
with the milk-cart dog, and then there is much trouble before they are parted.
The saint of whom we are most fond is Saint Nicholas, and I am told he is your Santa Claus. He is the 
saint of the
sailors and the children. Perhaps you would like to hear one of our old stories about him.
Once upon a time, when Saint Nicholas lived on the earth, a rich man of Asia sent his three sons to 
Athens in search
of learning and wisdom. On their way they stopped one night at a shabby-looking inn, meaning to go on 
their journey
in the morning. But the landlord, seeing that they were richly dressed, made up his mind to rob them 
during the night.
The three boys went happily to bed. When all was quiet, the wicked landlord crept into their room and 
killed them.
Then he became afraid that people might find out what he had done, so he put the bodies into a great 
pork-tub.
The next morning the good Saint Nicholas appeared at the inn and asked the wicked landlord if he had 
any pork to
sell.
"No," answered the landlord.
"Then," said Saint Nicholas, "what is in that pork-tub ? "
At this the landlord was so frightened that he told of his wicked deed, and begged the saint to 
forgive him.
Then Saint Nicholas went into the house and waved his staff over the tub. At once the three boys 
stepped out quite
strong and well. Falling on their knees, they thanked Saint Nicholas for bringing them back to life.

THE EARTHWORM.
Of course, all the boys and girls in this class know what an earthworm is, for he can be found in 
damp earth
everywhere.
The worm likes damp earth, because he breathes through his skin, and not as we do ; and if he allowed 
his skin to
become dry he would very soon die. That is why he likes damp soil. That, too, is the reason why we 
seldom see him
in the daytime except during dull or rainy weather.
All day long he stays in his burrow, and comes
out at night to get food. He eats the dead leaves, stalks, and roots of plants; ; also bits of 
dead animals and
insects, and earth.
He has to swallow earth, for he sometimes has to make his burrow by eating away the earth in front of him. But the earth he 
swallows is very useful to him. He has no teeth, and cannot chew 
his food, but the
little grains of sand in the earth grind up the food in the worm's stomach.
The earth that the worm has swallowed can be seen lying on the ground in little heaps, which we call 
worm-casts.
Almost any morning or in wet weather you may see these on the lawn, or on the garden-paths.

THE EARTHWORM.
(1, The saddle; 2, worm-casts; 3, the hooks on each ring of the body.)

You may see, too, the little round holes leading to the worm's burrow.
The worm has no legs or feet, such as you have, yet he is able to move along quite well. This is how he does it. His body is made 
up of many little rings. On each ring are eight hooks, all turned backwards. The picture shows you some of these rings and hooks. 
The worm can make the rings longer, and so stretch himself forward. Then he digs his hooks into the ground and 
shortens the rings
again. This draws his hind part forward; and so he moves along.
Look at the shape of the worm's body. It is long and pointed, like your pencil, except that it is 
pointed at both ends.
At one end is his mouth, but he has no proper head. He has no eyes, and therefore cannot see, but for 
all that he
knows darkness from light. He likes darkness best. He cannot hear, but he can smell and feel very 
readily.
You may notice that one part of the worm's body is rather swollen. Round this part, which is called 
the saddle, a little
case forms, and in the case the worm places her eggs. Then the little case is slipped off the worm's 
body, as you
might slip a ring off your finger. The ends of the case close up, and in it the eggs lie quite snug. 
Though there are
many eggs, only one hatches into a young worm. It is ready to come out of the egg-case in about three 
weeks.
Our little friend has many enemies. Worms are nice tit-bits for several larger animals. Birds are 
very fond of them. Did
you never hear the saying, " The early bird catches the worm " ?
Perhaps you will be surprised to hear that this queer little fellow is very useful to us.
Indeed, he is one of the most useful of all animals. The earth that he brings up from below and 
places on the ground
in the worm-casts makes very good soil for plants to grow in. A wise and clever man once studied worms 
for many years. He found that in five years the worm-casts would cover the ground with new soil an inch deep.
The roots of the plants, too, find their way into the burrows, and so reach the damp soil. This 
enables them to grow
quickly. Rain also runs down the burrows and refreshes the thirsty plants. So you see that even so 
humble an animal
as the earthworm is given his proper work to do. And how earnestly he does it!
Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm.
What thou wouldst kill with careless pride
Required a God to form.
Let them enjoy their little day,
Their humble bliss receive;
Oh! do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give.

"I am sorry I cannot buy some of your pretty flowers," said a lady to a little flower-girl. "I should like to, but I have left my 
money at home."
"Oh!"  cried the child, " you have done me just as much good as if you had. Most people say, ' Go 
away, child!' You
have spoken kindly, and I feel much better."
Kind words are cheap enough, and they make people
feel "better." 

THE SPIDER'S STORY.
I am only a spider, and I know that most people do not like spiders. They 
think we are ugly and cruel. It is true that
we kill and eat flies and other insects, but we do it only to get our food. 
Besides, flies are nasty, dirty creatures, and
we help you to get rid of them.
Look carefully at my body. When you know how well it is made you will not 
call us ugly. My head and chest form the
front part of my body, and a slim waist joins the front and back parts 
together.
I have eight long legs, and I know how to use them, for I can run very 
quickly. I can jump, too, when there is any
need for me to do so.
On the front of my head I carry a pair of feelers and a pair of sharp 
little nippers. Down each of my nippers runs a
tube. At the upper end of the tube is a little bag of poison. When I pinch 
a fly with my nippers, a little drop of poison
runs into its body and it is soon dead. Then I cut it up into pieces and 
have my dinner.
Do you know where my home is ? I live up there in that corner. I run up the 
wall to get to it, but I let myself down by
a long thread. I can also climb up by my thread if I wish.
Across the corner I have made, as you see, a net in which I catch flies 
for my dinner. You call it my web. It is made
of very fine threads, which come out of those tiny knobs on the hind part 
of my body. By means of little combs which
are on my hind legs, I twist many of the threads together to make them 
into a stronger thread.
When I begin to make a web I place a number of threads across one 
another. They look like the spokes of a wheel.
Then I begin at the middle, and, walking round and round, I spin my 
thread and fasten it to the cross threads with
little drops of sticky stuff like gum. Then I hide away to watch till a 
fly is caught.
This little ball that I am making is a bag to hold my eggs. In it I shall 
lay a great many eggs, and shall then hide it in
a safe place. By-and-by my little baby spiders will hatch out.
When I was a baby I had ever so many little brothers and sisters. But we 
did not all live to grow up, for many were
eaten by birds and by big insects.
When I was growing and getting bigger and bigger my skin became too small 
for me. One day it split and fell off, but
underneath there was a new skin all ready to take its place.
How proud I was of my new suit ! But it also became too small, and had 
to be cast off. I kept on getting new suits
until I was full-grown, as you see me, and now I shall not get any more new suits.
Would you like to hear about my cousins ? I have a great many, and some of them are very clever.
One of them lives under the water, making a nice little silken room for a home. It is fastened to the 
plants that grow at
the bottom of a pond, and looks something like a thimble with the open end downwards.
Now, like the rest of us, this spider cannot live without air. What do you think he does? On his body are hairs, and,
when he dives down, little bubbles of air stick to these. With his hind legs also he carries down a 
large bubble.
When he reaches his home he lets go the air, which rises to the top of the nest. He keeps on bringing 
down more air
until the nest is full. In such a nest under the water the mother spider lays her eggs, and her young 
are born in its dry
and cosy room.
Another clever cousin of mine makes a little room for himself by digging a hole in the ground. He 
makes it snug by
covering the walls with a silk curtain, and by closing the opening with a little round door. When he is inside he shuts the door 
tight, and is then quite safe.
None of my family living in this country will do you any harm, except one. He is a little black fellow with a red mark on his 
back. He lives by the seaside on the sandhills, or among dry wood.

WATER-SPIDERS
TRAP-DOOR SPIDERS.

Keep out of his way, for if he bites you he may cause a nasty sore, or may even make you very ill.
Now let me go, please, for I want to hide away my little bag of eggs and then go to taste that nice fat fly that has just flown into 
my web.

A LETTER FROM ITALY

MY DEAR FRIENDS,
I am writing to you to tell you what I saw and liked best in some of the 
places we visited while on a trip through
Europe.
We first went to South Africa, calling at many ports on the way. Then we 
got into a German steamer. In her we
steamed along the east coast of Africa, visiting a big island called 
Madagascar. Then we passed through the Suez
Canal, and went on to Naples. Here we left the steamer, to stay for a 
while in Italy.
We arrived off Naples at night, and the ship crept quietly into the Bay. 
The twinkling lights of the city looked so lovely
that we longed to see the place by day, As we came in we were leaning 
over the side of the steamer. Mother, who
was on the other side, called us to come to see the great volcano, Vesuvius. You may be sure we ran at once. There we dimly saw 
the dark mountain. The top was
streaked with hot, dull-red lava. Over it hung the sulky, smoky cloud which for many, many years has often crowned Vesuvius.

From a stereograph copyright by Underwood and Underwood, London, New York, and Melbourne.]
NAPLES AND MOUNT VESUVIUS.

At the foot of the mountain we could see the tiny lights from the villages, which seemed to have forgotten that hundreds of years 
ago the volcano buried two cities under showers of mud and ashes.
We slept on board that night. Next morning we were awakened by the sound of some one singing. Looking out we
saw a boat rowed by two men. In it were also two little girls who played mandolins, and a small boy who played a
fiddle.
 The girls were dressed very prettily, and had
brightly coloured handkerchiefs pinned round
their shoulders. Now and then they danced a
few steps, and then passed up flowers to the
people on deck, as if they were giving them as
presents. But they were sad rogues. As soon as
the people took the flowers, the children held out
umbrellas, upside down, and asked for money.
Then, over and over again, they played two tunes we knew well. Other boats also came round, and the people in them
played the same tunes. So often did we hear those two tunes that we wished they could be tied to a large stone, and
dropped into the deep, blue waters of the lovely Bay of Naples.
Oh, dear! I wish I could bring you all to this lovely country. Here the great purple grapes hang in bunches, begging to
be plucked by thirsty little boys and girls, and the oranges and lemons with their golden skins grow in beautiful
groves. The sea is so blue that only the blue Italian sky can equal it.
Every Italian boy and girl is, I believe, born with a smile. Even when they come round to beg for a small coin they cannot hide 
the smile. I wish I had time to tell you of all we saw in 
Naples, and afterwards
in other Italian cities, but I think I must tell you a little about the boys and girls of Italy.
There are, mother told us, many very poor children in Italy. But somehow, with their happy faces and 
curly hair and
their bright dark eyes, they do not look so miserable as the poor children we saw in colder countries.
I did not see the Italian boys and girls playing many games. But then, you see, they have to work 
hard while yet very
young. Perhaps that is why they like to sit down and rest when not working.

ITALIAN BOY.

Wherever we went through Italy we could not help seeing that the parents of the little Italian boys and girls were very fond of 
their beautiful children. I think it is no wonder that the great painters of the olden days were so fond of painting them.
When in Naples mother bought a book of stories for little Italian boys and girls. I could not read it, but she could, and this is -one 
of the stories she read out to us :
An old man and  his wife were once working in the fields near Rome. They were grumbling very much at 
their hard
lives.
" See," said the old woman, " how hard we work. If it had not been for that stupid Adam and Eve we 
should have
nothing to do but walk about and enjoy ourselves."
" Yes," said her husband, " we should not have been so foolish and so curious as they were."
Now, their master, who was a rich count, heard what they said, and made up his mind to try them. So 
he went up to
them and said,
"Would you like to come and live in my palace?
You will have plenty to eat and drink, and very little work to do."
"Yes, yes!" said the old couple eagerly. "It would be just the thing for us."
" Very well," said the count, " but you must remember that there is one dish the cover of which you must never raise.
If you do, you will lose everything, and have to go back to your hard work again."
Then the old people were very glad. They told the count that they would not be so foolish as to touch 
the dish, but
would obey his orders in every way.
" Come along, then," said the count, and he brought them to his palace. He told his servants to treat 
them as if they
were master and mistress ; but if they touched the covered dish in the centre of the dining-table, he was to be told at once. Having 
said
this, he bade the old couple good-bye.
The old man and woman walked about the palace and the beautiful gardens, and were very much pleased with their
good fortune.
When dinner was on the table, they sat down and enjoyed the many dishes that were placed before them by the
servants. In the centre of the table stood the covered dish that their master had forbidden them to touch. After a while
the old woman, pointing to it, said, " That is the dish we must not look into."
" Yes," answered her husband, " I think we had better leave it alone."
" Who wants to look at the old thing," said the old woman crossly. " Though I am sure I don't see why we can't look."
"Well," replied the old man, who had now finished his dinner, " I don't know why we can't look, but I certainly think we
should not."
" Oh, nonsense! " said his wife, " who would know ? "
" I must say," said the old man, " I should like to know what is in it."
And so the curious old couple sat and watched the dish until at last the old woman jumped up and said, "I don't care, I am going 
to look."
"All right," said her husband, " one peep can't hurt anybody."
So they gently raised the lid of the dish, but could see nothing. Then they raised it a little more, and still could see
nothing.
"Oh, give me the cover," said the old woman crossly, " I'll show you."
With this she snatched off the cover, and out flew a little bird that had been hidden in the dish all the time.
Then there were angry words, and each scolded the other. They ran about the room, vainly trying to catch the bird.
Suddenly the door opened, and the count walked in.
" So, you foolish old people,"  said he " you have looked into the dish after all. Go back to your work, and never again let me 
hear you say that you would be
better than anybody else."
Yours truly,
E. M.

THE CURLY SNAIL'S STORY. 
It was a warm night in spring, and the stars peeped over the edges of the clouds that slowly floated across the sky.
The snails had all come out from their hiding-places, and were looking for the nicest plants in the 
garden.
One of them was telling his story to his friend the worm; and this is what he was saying:
" How can you eat those bits of dead leaves that you are always dragging into your burrow ? I like 
nice young green
leaves, and plenty of them.
"Look at my tongue. It is covered with rows of sharp teeth. There are very many of them, but I never 
have tooth-ache,
and never have to go to the dentist. As fast as my teeth wear out, new ones take their place. With my 
tongue I am
able to rub the leaves into little bits small enough to swallow.
" I always feed at night, for I do not like the hot sun. If I came out in the daytime, too, those nasty birds would soon catch me. 

THE SNAIL.

Look at those broken shells near that stone over there. That is where the thrushes have been eating my 
poor brothers.
" Thrushes are those great brown things with legs and wings, and such sharp beaks. One day one of 
them nearly
caught me. I stayed out
a little too long in the early morning, and, just
a moment after I had hidden myself, along came
a thrush. What a fright it gave me, to be sure!
I am not safe even at night, for the gardener comes with a lantern to look for us. I wish he would 
leave us alone.
"How funnily you go along, Mr. Worm. Now, I slide gently about on my foot. My foot is always moist, 
and that helps
me to move smoothly.
"I can climb up the stalks of most plants just as easily as I move along the ground. I often find the 
nicest leaves at the
very top of the plant.
" This round curly thing I carry on my back is my house. I take it with me wherever I go. When the 
sun rises, I
crawl into a snug corner and draw myself into my house. Then I go to sleep. That is better than 
having to find the way
back to a burrow, as you have to do.
" How do you manage to find your way, Mr. Worm? You have no eyes. I have two. They are at the ends of 
my long
horns. When danger comes, I can draw my eyes into my

horns. If you could see, I would show you how I do it.
" I can draw my horns into my body, and my body into my shell. Then I am safe from most of my 
enemies, except thrushes and gardeners.
" All the summer I live in the garden, and come out from my shelter at night to feed and to lay my 
eggs. My eggs are those little round white things lying in the soil. Please do not touch them.
" Very soon my little baby snails will hatch out from the eggs. They will be just like me, only 
smaller.
" When the cold days come, I shall find a cosy spot under a stone, or against a fence. Here I shall 
pass the winter, snugly asleep in my house. Before I go to sleep I shall block up the
doorway of my house by means of a tough skin. Then I shall feel quite safe.
" Long ago we snails lived in the water, and many of my cousins live there still. They have thick 
shells that look much like mine. Many of their shells have little stony doors, which can be opened
and shut.
" Another of my cousins is the slug that may be seen in this garden. His shell is very small, and is 
hidden under his skin.
" But the sun is rising now. I must hurry away to my hiding-place, and you must go back to your 
burrow. Good morning."

THE SNAIL.
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, 
house and all Together.
Within that house, secure he hides When danger to himself betides Of storm, or other harm besides Of 
weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch, His power of drawing back is such, He shrinks into his house 
with much Displeasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, Except himself has chattels none, Well satisfied to be his own 
Whole treasure.
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, Nor partner of his banquet needs, And, if he meets one, only 
feeds The faster.
Who seeks him must be worse than blind His house and he are so combined, If, finding it, he fails to 
find Its master.
-V. BOURNE.


BABIES IN OTHER LANDS.   

INDIAN BABY IN CRADLE.

How would you like to see the babies in this country thrown into the water to play, or hung up on pegs in their cradles to sleep ? 
You would be filled with horror. Yet in the floating houses in Siam, the mothers, having tied something to their babies to keep 
them afloat, put them into the water to play. When the babies are tired and wish to sleep, they are laid in their cradles, but, 
instead of the cradles being allowed to stand on the floor, they are hung from the ceiling. The Eskimo baby is put into a warm 
hood in the mother's skin coat. The Red Indian baby, on the other hand, is put into what might be called a tight-fitting cradle. It is 
a flat board
having round it a frame of thin wood shaped somewhat like a child's body.Dry moss is placed in this to make it, soft and warm, 
and the baby is bound up in it so tightly that it can move only its arms and head.
The mother takes the little one out now and then to allow it to kick, but only for a short time. Red Indian mothers think that long 
noses are handsome, so they take great care to pull baby's nose now and then to make it long.
 The baby's cradle is carried mostly on the mother's back, but the mother will sometimes place it against the trunk of a tree or 
hang it on one of the branches. When she goes to church she hangs the cradle up on a peg.
Strange to say, in a certain land, where snow and ice cover the ground for a great part of the
 year, babies are put into their cradles without,
 any clothes on. That is in Lapland. One
would think that the little ones would be frozen
 to death, but they are laid on soft furs and
moss, and more furs and moss are put over them.
 Thus they are very warm and comfortable.
The Lapland cradles are shaped like boats,
 and, like those of the Red Indians, are often
hung up on pegs. When a Lapland father and
mother take a journey they hang the cradle on
the horns of the reindeer pulling their sledge.
-The School Newspaper.

OUR HOT SPRINGS AND LAKES.
Every boy and girl has seen a pool or a pond. Some may have seen a large lake. All, however, will not 
have seen
pools or ponds or lakes of hot or warm water.
Most of you know, too, what a spring is like. The water bubbles out of the ground cool and clear, and 
usually very
pleasant to drink. But there are, places in New Zealand where the water that comes out of the ground has a very unpleasant taste, 
and is so hot that you could not bear your hand in it.

Photo by Muir and Moodie.]
BATHING IN THE WARM POOLS.
There are hot springs in the South Island, chiefly in Canterbury; but those best known are found 
near Rotorua in the
North Island.
There the steam rising from the hot water can sometimes be seen miles away.
In some of the pools the water is so hot that it boils and bubbles just as water boils and bubbles in 
a kettle. In other
pools the water is so nice and warm that you would like
to bathe in it, and bathe all day. How the little Maori children do enjoy bathing and diving, and 
playing with one
another in these pools !
Sometimes a spring will throw a stream of water high in the air, just like a great fountain. It may 
do this often, or it
may do it only now and again. It may even be quiet for a very long time, and then, without warning, 
begin to spout up
again. But when it does play it is always a beautiful sight, and people run to watch it.
So hot are some of the springs that the natives cook their food in them. They catch fish in the cool 
lakes, and then
cook them in the hot water of the springs. Potatoes and other vegetables, too, are put into pots and 
cooked in the hot
water.

Photo by the Tourist Dep  N.Z.]
SPOUTING WATER.

Many of these hot pools are very, very pretty ; but there are also pools 
of nasty boiling mud that are not at all pretty.
The mud boils just like porridge does, but is black, and has a very 
unpleasant smell.

Photo by Josiah Martin, Auckland.]
THE MAORIS COOKING THEIR FOOD IN THE HOT WATER.

People from all parts of New Zealand and from other countries visit these 
hot springs and enjoy a pleasant holiday
swimming in the pools, bathing in the baths, and watching the queer 
antics of the little Maori children. Other people
go there because they are not in good health, for the waters of the hot 
springs and pools can cure many diseases.


    
A LETTER FROM FRANCE.
MY DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS,
The last time I wrote to you was from Italy, where we enjoyed ourselves so 
much that we were very sorry to leave.
We have been in France for the last three weeks, and by the time we have to leave it I think we shall be almost as
fond of France as we were of Italy.
The south of France is very beautiful, and is so like Italy that, if it 
were not for the people, we might think we are still
in the land of the dark-eyed Italian children.
We landed at a port (Marseilles) in the south which has a wonderful 
harbour. The masts and funnels of the vessels
lying at the great wharves rose like trees in a forest. The streets of the 
city are very beautiful, and are kept spotlessly
clean, while the people themselves are so clean
and well dressed that they look much better off than the Italians.
One of the strangest sights we saw in the south of France was in one district which is so marshy that 
the people go about on stilts. On the stilts they herd their sheep and cattle, and knit
stockings just as if they were on the ground.

From "Over Land and Sea---Europe," published by Wm. Collins, Sons, and Co.]
A SHEPHERD ON STILTS.

I don't think I have ever seen such busy people as the French are. If two women meet to have a talk they both knit furiously all 
the time. Even the boys who mind the sheep help to knit the family stockings.
French boys and girls leave school at a very early age - I  mean, of course, the children of
parents who are not well off. As  soon as their schooldays are over they go to work of some kind. In 
the towns they may be sent to look after horses, to clean out stores, or to run messages.
Those in the country work in the gardens and fields, and then, when the crops are ripe, they help to 
take the fruit, vegetables, and other things to market.
Many and heavy are the loads that the boys and girls carry to the towns, for not all of them have the 
patient donkey that is such a help to the small French farmer. Sometimes the boys go
over to England with onions and other vegetables. These they carry from village to village, sometimes 
walking as far as twenty miles in a day.
The boys and girls, although browner than English children, do not look so strong, nor do they seem 
to play so many games. The girls often look as if they were afraid of dirtying their pretty
clothes. But mother tells me that from among these slim little boys and girls of France have sprung 
many of the great men and women of the world.
We went through France seeing many beautiful places. Among them was Paris, the chief city. I have not 
time to tell you even a few of the things we saw in this most beautiful town which French
people love so well. But I must not forget to tell you that we went up
the great tower you see in the picture, to gaze with wondering eyes at the 
city and the river far, far below.
In Paris we stayed with a French lady who knew mother. She had a little 
daughter who had been at school in
England, and therefore could speak English.  In the evenings we told her 
about New Zealand, and she told us stories - and how prettily she told them ! Here is one:
A poor fisherman one day caught a beautiful fish. Its sides shone in the 
sun like silver and gold, and round its neck
was a golden collar.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the fisherman, " this will fetch a good price in the market."
But as he opened his bag to put it in, the fish called out, " If only you 
put me back into the water, I will send you
many of my subjects. Will not that be better than only one fish ?"
" Who are you, then ? " asked the astonished fisherman; and the fish 
replied, " I am the king of all the fishes in the
sea."
The fisherman thought for a while, and then said, " Very well, I will do as 
you ask. But you must first promise to save
me should I ever be in danger in a storm."
" Be it so," said the king of the fishes.
Then the fisherman let him go, and soon the net became so heavy with fish 
that the man had all he could do to draw
it in.
Many days passed by. The fisherman  grew rich, and all his friends and neighbours wondered at his 
luck. But at
length he was caught in a storm, his boat was upset, and he thought he was sure to be drowned.
Just as he was sinking he felt something catch him by the collar. He was lifted above the top of the 
water, where he
found that thousands and thousands of fishes had formed themselves into a great bank under him.
In the midst of them was the king.

PARIS, THE BEAUTIFUL CAPITAL OF FRANCE.
THE OCTOPUS.

He was attended by an octopus that held in one of his arms a bottle, from which the 
fisherman was invited to drink.
This he did, and at once felt himself sinking, sinking, sinking,
until he reached a strange place. There all the streets were paved with gold, the lamps were made of 
large diamonds,
and the drinking-cups were pearls. The man was welcomed by the king of the fishes and his court, and 
was very
happy and contented for a time.
But at last he went to the king, and said,
"I am very happy in this place, but I have a wife and family on the earth, and must return to them."
Then the king said, " You may go when you will, and may take from the streets as many golden stones 
as you can
carry."
So the fisherman filled his pockets with the golden stones and bade good-bye to the king, who gave 
him a purse that
could never be empty. He also sent a large fish to guide the fisherman back to the sea-shore near his 
village.
Now, when the fisherman's friends saw him coming they asked, "Who is this with the long hair, and 
pockets full of
stones that are golden ? "
And the fisherman replied, " I am your comrade who left you a few days ago. I have now returned.''
But the people mocked him, and said, " The comrade of whom you speak was drowned many, many months 
ago.
You cannot be he " (so rapidly does time pass in the kingdom of the fishes).
But he told them his tale, and showed them the purse and the golden stones. Then they believed him, 
and, taking his
hands, led him to his home, where he was joyfully welcomed by his wife and children, who had long 
given him up as
dead.
Yours truly, E.M.

A VISIT TO TOYLAND 
There is one part of Germany which I think little boys and girls would like very much to visit, for 
everywhere there
they would see things to play with. It really ought to be called " Toyland " !
Let us take, in fancy, a trip to a town in Toyland, and enter a nice little cottage, where we hear a 
buzzing noise. Here
we see a carpenter's bench and a turning-lathe,* at which a man is very busy. His two boys are 
helping him. On a
table in a corner is a pile of funny little things made of wood. What are they ? Why, dolls' arms and 
legs ! They are
made in two parts, but are not put together yet. The man at the lathe and his sons make these all day 
long.

* Lathe-machine on which wood is rounded and shaped.

But we must see who makes the rest of dolly. In another cottage we find big tubs full of a kind of 
paste, and moulds
in which dolls' heads are formed. Then we come to a house where the dolls' bodies are made. These are 
sometimes
of kid, sometimes of a kind of linen, and are stuffed with wool, hay, or other things. And they are 
of all sizes - some
quite small, some for dollies as big as the baby sister who was two years old last week.
From Toy-land come rag dolls, wax dolls, talking-dolls, jointed dolls; dollies with dark hair or with 
golden hair; dainty
baby dolls, smart little girl dolls in all sorts of pretty frocks - in fact, all the different kinds 
that you gaze at in shop
windows just before Christmas.
But we have not yet seen how all the bits turn into real, whole dolls, have we? For that we must go 
to a doll-factory.
But first we shall peep in at a house where a woman and her daughter are busy making dolls' clothes. 
These have
been cut out at the factory, and the mother stitches them together with a sewing-machine, whilst two 
young girls help to fold hems and run gathering-threads.
At last we come to the factory, and are delighted to see the workmen putting the different parts of 
the limbs together
on wires, so that they can be moved about, and then fastening them to the bodies.
After that the head is put on the doll, and it gets its pretty hair. This 
is a wig, of course, and is made by women. It is
made mostly of mohair,* which is beautifully silky-looking; though 
sometimes the wig is of real hair.
Then dolly is dressed. Her hat and shoes and stockings are made somewhere 
else. So you see it takes a great
many people to turn out even one of the dolls that Santa Claus puts in his 
sack for good little girls.
In other houses in Toy-land you will see whole families very busy, not 
making dolls, but making carts, barrows,
Noah's Arks, and other things, which the younger children paint bright 
colours.
Wooden cows and horses and sheep and pigs also are made in this delightful 
place ; boats and ships, too, and
railway engines and carriages - all of wood.
For, you see, there are great forests in this country, so that there is 
more wood than people want for their own use.
As there are big rivers, too, people can send the toys in boats to a 
beautiful old town called Nuremberg, where there
is a large toy-market. People in all parts of the world get playthings from 
Nuremberg.
There is another city, not very far away, where a wonderful fair is held 
twice a year. Only dolls are sold at it, and it lasts for ten days.
-Josephine Bullen, in the " Child's Own Magazine."

* Mohair - the hair of a goat which is a native of Asia Minor.

COOK AND NELSON.
On the 8th of October, 1769, Captain Cook landed in New Zealand.
On the 21st of October, 1805, Lord Nelson was killed at the Battle of 
Trafalgar.
During the present month the children might read the articles on Cook and 
Nelson that have already appeared in the
School Journal. For stories of the life of Cook see Part I -1907 - May, 
page 6; June, page 25; October, pages 82, 91,
and 95; 1908 - April, page 39; and October, page 133: and for stories of 
Nelson's life, Part I -1907-October, pages 86
and 93; and 1908-October, page 130.
Attention is directed also to the note in Part III.

MY NATIVE SCHOOL-CHILDREN.
We live in the North Island, many miles from the nearest town, and a few miles from the nearest white people.
The school-building is a new one. It was opened during the last Christmas holidays, and we had a 
grand time on the
opening-day. The mothers of the children had made many good things at home, and these they brought to 
the school
in the morning. A fire was made in the playground, and sweet potatoes (kumaras) and fish were cooked 
in camp-ovens. There were plenty of cakes, too, and water-melons, rockmelons, and plums.
In the morning the children played games. Then came lunch, followed by sports, and drill with clubs, 
poles, and dumb-bells. About four o'clock we had tea, and afterwards a little concert was held. The mothers with 
their babies sat on the
floor at one end of the schoolroom. Perhaps they did not understand all the English words, but they 
enjoyed hearing
and seeing their children. Before dark all were away and in their homes.
Every morning, about half past eight o'clock, the children come running down the hills to school. 
There are about
thirty merry boys and girls, all ready for the day's work and the day's play.
School-work does not begin until ten o'clock. I go in at nine to get the work ready, and often, when 
I hope to have a
quiet time, in come the children, smiling and saluting, and saying, " Good morning, ma'am." They 
know they are
welcome if they behave nicely.
One day I said to some of the little ones who came in early, " What can you sing to me ? " .

MY PUPILS.

A boy answered, "We sing 'Men of Harlech.'"
Then they sat down in a row on the floor, twined their arms round one another, and away they sang, swaying their
bodies all the time. Some of them could not speak many English words, but they knew the tune and 
enjoyed singing it.
Arithmetic and drawing are the lessons they all like best. Drawing is the last lesson on certain 
days, and very often a
boy will say, " Please put the clock back, ma'am - it is too quick " ; or, in a coaxing way, another 
will say, " Never
mind the time, ma'am."
They have not seen a street, a train, a tramcar, or a town, but they like to hear of the big world 
somewhere far away.
How eagerly they listen when I tell them of great men and women who lived long ago, and of some who 
are alive to-day ! They are fond of pictures, too, and they know all about airships, and about the women at Home 
who are trying
to get votes. Sometimes they run about calling out in fun,
"Votes for women! "
My little Maoris speak English only at school, and it takes a long time for them to learn how to use 
little words you
always use.
If I ask a boy, " What were you doing this morning ? " most likely he will reply, " I make wood," or, 
"I go with my
father, we work kumara."
One day a little girl said, " Our dog is dead, ma'am."
"Oh ! I am sorry," I said.
"Yes, ma'am," she went on, " and my mother he cry to the dog."
More than once new little scholars have come running hand-in-hand to me, with big tears rolling down their brown cheeks. I 
have asked them what has frightened them. "Oh, ma'am! European traveller "
(pakeha tarawhera). Each time I told them that the white man would not hurt them. Now they bravely 
stand and watch
the white men ride along the beach and over the hill.
Some of the children sent letters to children in a large London school. When the packet of replies 
came, what joy
there was! Each letter was in an envelope with the boy's or girl's name written on it. How proud they 
were as they
read the letters over and over again, and then took them home to show to their parents!
In summer some of the children wear hats. The Maori women make most of these from the long leaves of 
plants. One
tan-coloured soft felt hat came to school for weeks, but not always on the same head. It was handed 
down in one
family, and was then passed on to another. When I said to a boy, " Rore,* hang your hat up," the 
reply was, " It is
not my hat now, it is Mark's."
A big boy, almost a man, came in it at first. When it got too limp to suit him, his sister turned it 
up in a smart style,
and was proud of it for a time. Then one day little Moni, a fat boy about six years old, wore it with 
the brim hanging
down over his eyes. I have not seen that hat for a long time, but it is sure to come again.

*Rore-  Ro-ra.

The little boys like to roll up their caps and poke two long sticks under them to look like horns. 
Then they make ugly
faces and chase one another. This is a terribly exciting game for the tiny ones. Their eyes grow big 
and they rush
about wildly, crying out at the top of their voices.
They play in sunshine and in rain. They like to be all together, big and little, girls and. boys. 
Last winter and early
spring, cricket was the game.
" We play wickets," they said; and it was fun to see the odd sticks they stuck up and the stocking 
balls they played
with. Little groups would stop at any few yards of flat ground, stick in the stumps, and bowl away. 
Then they would
pull up the wickets and go on to the next likely place.
After school is over at three o'clock, the children play for a little time; then they go home, where 
they all have work to
do. There is no bush near the pa, so some children take kits and go to the beach to get firewood ; 
others have a
horse, and a sledge with a large box nailed on it. This makes a good cart for wood. The boys are very 
fond of horses ;
they all ride well, and most of them have one or two horses of their own.
Some of the native houses are built like those of white people, but generally the kitchen is a little 
way from the house.
In this kitchen the food is cooked and eaten.
I once said to a boy, who was looking after a
frying-pan on an open fire, " Are you a good cook ? "
"Yes, ma'am," he replied; " I cook this."

COLLECTING TIMBER ON THE BEACH.

" What do you call it ? " I asked.
He told me it was " fried flour " (paraoa parai) - flour and water mixed, and fried in fat. The other 
boys, who were
watching and waiting, told me that it was very good (ka pai).
As a rule the kitchens have earthen floors, over which flax mats are laid. On these the food is placed. Each person has a dish or 
plate of food, but knives and forks are not needed. The food is 
chiefly kumara,
sow-thistle, maize, fish, wild pork, and mutton.
The school is near a wild, rough coast. When the weather is warm, the children bathe in the sea. They 
are very good
swimmers. Some take boards out into the surf, get on to them, and then come dashing shorewards on the 
top of the
big waves. Then they lie on the hot sands to rest before going out again.
 Now and then the men go out for a day's fishing, getting away at sunrise. When we finish school in 
the afternoon,
anxious eyes look out across the sea.
" The boat, the boat," the children cry out, when a white speck of a sail is seen. All who have 
horses bring them down
to the beach, hoping to get a big load of fish to carry home.
The men must be most careful when steering the boat amongst the rocks. When at length she grates upon 
the shore,
everybody tugs hard to get her up high and dry. The chief man gives out the shares of fish, and 
everybody makes
straight for home and a good meal. Then Night spreads her wings over the hills and the sea, and my 
little pupils
cuddle down on the mats on the floor to sleep and dream the hours away.

WHAT THE LIZARD TOLD WILLIE.
Little Willie had caught a lizard. He kept it in an old cardboard box with a glass lid, and so he was 
able to watch it.
He was kind to his pet, and fed it every day on live flies or little worms. He gave it also clean 
fresh water to drink.
Soon the lizard seemed to know him, and to be very fond of him. It would run about on his hand, or up 
his arm, and, as he was kind to it, it did not seem at all afraid.
After a time the lizard told Willie a great deal about itself. Do not ask me how it did this. Perhaps if you keep a pet, and are kind 
to it, it may tell you its story. The only way to make animals tell us about themselves is to be fond of them, and to watch them 
carefully. 
Well, this is what the lizard told Willie:
"When you found me on the hillside I was quite a young lizard.
"My mother had laid some eggs, and had hidden them in the earth.


Photo by Mr. Jas. Drummond.]
THE TUATARA LIZARD OF NEW ZEALAND.

The heat of the sun made the eggs hatch. My brothers and sisters and I used to run about on the grass.
and play among the stones.
"We had quite a busy time looking for flies and worms, for, as we grew up, we wanted plenty to eat.
"I soon found my skin becoming too tight, so I had to throw it away. Another skin quickly grew and 
took its place.
"My life was very happy, except when a nasty cat came along and tried to catch one of us. But we were nearly always too quick 
for her. My long, narrow body is just the right shape for running through the grass, or for pushing in among the stones."
Just then Willie happened to touch the lizard's tail. "I am very proud of my tail," the lizard went on. "Very few animals have 
such pretty ones. It is the second tail I have had.
"My first tail came off when a boy tried to catch me. How funny he looked when he found nothing but a tail in his hand!"
It was now time for Willie to put his pet back in the box and go to school. Next day
the lizard went on with its story.
" Would you like to see how I catch flies? Very well, then, watch that one over there."
Willie saw something which seemed to shoot out of the lizard's mouth and pop quickly in again. The 
fly was gone and the lizard was quietly chewing.
" How did you do that ? " Willie asked.
" Watch again," said the lizard. This time Willie watched more carefully He saw that it was the lizard's tongue that caught the fly.
"Yes," said the lizard, " I can jerk my tongue out and in very quickly.  It is covered with
sticky stuff which holds the fly.''
 Willie noticed a little smooth patch of skin behind each of the lizard's eyes. " Those," said his 
little friend, " are my ears. They do not stick out as yours do." 
Another day the lizard told Willie about his relations. "My skin is only plain brown," he said, "but on our hill there lived one of 
my cousins who was very pretty. He had a bright green skin. He looked as if he were made of green velvet.

THE FRILLED LIZARD OF AUSTRALIA.

"An old uncle of mine who lives in this country is a large dark-brown fellow, with spikes along his 
back. He is called the tuatara. He
is very lazy and slow, and you hardly ever see him move.
" In other lands I have very strange relations. Some wear great frills round their necks, and some 
can climb trees.
" Another always lives in a tree, and he can change the colour of his skin.
"The largest of my cousins lives in the rivers of hot countries. He is very fierce and cruel. Men 
call him the crocodile. But I have talked so much that I am quite hungry, and must catch my dinner. There's a big fat fly. Good-
bye.''

THE CROCODILE OF THE RIVERS OF INDIA.

THE LYRE-BIRD.
I was filled with wonder when I first heard a lyre-bird, and with delight when I first saw it. We 
were in the south of Queensland. We had reached a nice place for our camp an hour before sunset,
and were putting up our tent when we heard what seemed to be a birds' concert, with strange sounds in 
between the songs.
There was the screech of a cockatoo, the whistle of a parrot, and the ringing notes of a bell-bird. 
Then, without a pause, we
heard the crow of a cook, the cackle of a hen, and the song of a magpie. Then came the crack of a 
stockwhip, the bark of a
dog, and the swish of a pit-saw.
My friend laughed, saying, " That is a lyrebird. It can repeat any sound it hears."
" What a clever bird it must be! " said I. " I should like to see one."
"You will most likely see one in the morning if you go quietly up that gully. You must make no 
noise, for they are very shy."
Before sunrise next day I crept quietly through the ferns in the gully. Soon I came to a clear 
place with ferns and trees all
round it. I sat down behind some bushes to watch.
 After a time I heard some low sounds like
those a cock utters when he calls the hens to
eat a worm or a grub. Then two birds ran into
the clear space.   They were about the size of
game fowls, one being larger than the other, and having a longer tail.

THE LYRE-BIRD.

I knew this to be a male lyre-bird and the other to be a hen bird.
The male mounted a heap of earth and stones that he must have made for a playground. He drooped his 
wings, put his tail erect, and spread out the
feathers like a turkey. Then he folded his wings, lowered his tail and pecked at the stones, giving out his coaxing notes again. But 
the hen did 
not move ; she only watched
him. She seemed to admire him very much.
The male then ran to the hen, and back again to his mound. Still the hen did not move. Then he sang 
the notes we had heard
the day before, almost in the same order but added some others. Now that I was close to him I could tell what a perfect mimic he 
was.

THE LYRE.

The sun's rays now reached the male, and I had a good view of him. He had a graceful form, and his 
brown feathers shone like
bronze. His erect tail was plainly seen against the dark background of ferns. Its likeness to the shape of a lyre was easily seen.
The hen's feathers were of a dull-brown colour, and her tail was of common 
feathers of the same colour.
I moved my body a little, but the male saw the movement at once. He gave a 
quick note of alarm to warn his mate,
and jumped into a tree. He sprang from branch to branch till he reached the 
top. Then he spread his wings and tail,
and soared through the air far up the gully. He passed from my sight like a 
gleam of bronze and white in the sunlight.
When soaring, there was a slight flutter of the wing-feathers. I saw also 
that he took great care of his tail-feathers,
folding them when passing near twigs and leaves.
These birds live upon insects, scratching up the soil with their strong 
claws and legs. Thy male always makes a
mound for a playground on which to show off his fine feathers.
The hen makes a nest on the ground near a rock. She makes it of bark and 
fine roots, and lines it with feathers.
Then, for shelter, she builds round it a mound shaped like an oven, and 
with an entrance in the side. She lays one
egg, of a purple-grey colour, marked with brown.
Lyre-birds are now somewhat scarce, and it is against the law to shoot them.
-Queensland School Paper.


