(48

~ of one Monsieur Raboteau.

 

 

 

What a number there are, to be sure! Some
thousands at least. They leave the river, where
they have been sporting, and make their way to the
sandy plain close by, which only lately has been laid
bare by the receding of the waters, caused by the late
weeks of drought.

As soon as all are ready they set to work in a
very business-like manner. No drones are to be
seen. Why they are in such a hurry I cannot say;
but certain it is that they begin rapidly, in detach-
ments, to dig a trench with their fore-feet. This
trench is often two hundred yards long, and always
four feet broad and two feet deep. Here the turtles
deposit their soft-shelled eggs. Very often each one
of them leaves seventy, or even more. This done,
they set to work quickly to fill up the holes with
their hind-legs, or flaps, as they look like. This
whole undertaking is accomplished in about an hour,
and then the turtles make their way back to the
water. In their eagerness to get back to their or-
dinary haunts, many poor turtles topple over into
the unfinished trenches, and are buried alive.

The mothers think no more of their eggs, but leave
them for the sun to hatch; and in about three weeks
time (if ‘allowed) they come to life. But, you will
say, what is to prevent them? Ah, here comes the
point. Besides the turtles’ fat, the Indians like to
eat and to sell the turtles’ eggs. So directly the
innocent reptiles scamper off, well pleased with them-
selves, down come the natives on their luckless eggs,
pack them up, and carry them off, as a valuable
prize, both for their own hovel and to sell in the
markets. As we have seen, the turtles are not
always fortunate enough to escape themselves from
the hands of their cruel enemies. E. E. A.C.

 

 

A STRANGE REFUGE.

FTER the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in
the year 1685, the Huguenots being required to
renounce the Protestant religion or to run the risk of
passing the rest of their lives as galley-slaves, began
to escape from France to other less intolerant lands.
Among the many fugitives were the young daughters
They, indeed, had not
been threatened with the galleys, but they equally
objected to the choice offered to them—either of
instantly accepting for their husbands two Roman
Catholic gentlemen selected for them by the State, or
of retiring into a convent. In their perplexity they
applied to an uncle, who had long before settled as a
wine-merchant in Dublin, carrying on a brisk trade
with the French wine-growers, and now and then
sailing in his own ship to Rochelle, where, in happier
times. he had cultivated the acquaintance of his French
relatives.

With the best will to assist his nieces, Mr. John
Charles Raboteau had much difficulty in so doing,
owing to the efforts of the Government to prevent the
emigration of the unfortunate Huguenots.

It was possible to procure horses for the young
ladies, on which they were conveyed by night to a
house in Rochelle, where lodgings had been already
secured for them, but how to get them secretly con-
veyed from that house to the merchant-ship tossing
outside the town was the difficulty.

 

 

It was solved, however, at length. Mr. Raboteau
was in the habit of carrying with him to Ireland some
large casks of French apples, as part of his cargo, and
in two of these casks his young nieces were conveyed
on board in the terrible winter following the Revo-
cation. Despite anxieties and terrors, the girls
reached L...“lin in safety, finally settling and raarrying
there, and their descendants still live to tell the tale

From SMILES’ Huguenots.

 

 

THE TWO MARTINS:
THE FISHERMAN AND
THE HUNTSMAN.

' 7 < From the French.
(> HEY are two Martins, one a
fisherman, the other a hunts-
man. One might represent
the first with a line in his claw,
and the second with a gun
upon his shoulder.

However, their commonand
formidable weapon is a sharp
beak, which pinches and twists
with equal success both the
reptile and the fish. Who
doesnot admirethekingfisher,
with his rapid flight, his azure plumage, brilliant as a
ray of light? He conceals himself under his bower,
waiting upon a branch of a willow or young elm. At
his feet runs a river. Whilst the fish play with
confidence on the surface of the water, the kingfisher
listens, watches, chooses his prey, darts, plunges,
seizes, and holds his victim: in a moment he has
regained his post, enclosing in his beak his unfor-
tunate prey, who twists and struggles in vain, whilst
he knocks it against a branch with repeated blows.
When dead the victim is devoured, and the king-
fisher whets his beak, observes, and waits for a fresh
prey.

The martin huntsman of Australia, sometimes
called the gigantic kingfisher, though he never fishes,
does not shine by the side of our French kingfisher.
His plumage is dark like the robe of a monk, his body
heavy, his legs short, his head enormous, and his
beak prodigious. He takes long hops and staggers.
like a drunkard. One is always afraid that his great
head will overbalance him, and that he wil fall head
over heels. His great beak, always halt open like:
the disjointed blades of a pair of scissors, adds to his
grotesque and stupid air. He is a noisy and jovial
bird, gossiping and chattering like a magpie, and
laughing very much. His voice is not less odd than
his person. No stranger sounds could issue from a
stranger beak. He is very fond of society.
they return from the chase, one sees troops of hunting-

     

e

 

martins meet in a circle, hold counsel and talk together,

as if they were relating the adventures of the day,

whilst they make the silence of the wood re-echo with:

their loud bursts of laughter. Happy birds!

But who knows? perhaps this is only feigned:

mirth. The hunting-martin may wel! be a philoso-

pher who laughs at his deformity, for fear lest he:

should be obliged to weep for it. C.8. C.

When.

 

 

= aoe

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”