strangers were glad enough when it was all over, and they could retire in peace to the splendid palace that had been arranged with every imaginable luxury, and hosts of servants to wait upon them and do their bidding.

The next day they presented the generous monarch with the Pope's letter, and a small bottle filled with the oil used for the silver lamps in the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. The Khan saw, from the reverent manner of the travellers, that this oil must possess rare virtues, and he received it with much gratitude. He was an intelligent man, and he asked many questions about their journey, and about matters and things in Europe, the Polos having become well acquainted with the Mongol language during their former stay, so that they could talk without an interpreter. His Royal Highness was particularly pleased with Marco, and said that he would give him an important position at once in his household.

The young man immediately began to study the language, laws, and customs of this strange country, that he might be able to perform the duties of his office, and the Khan soon had such confidence in him that he sent him on affairs of importance all over the empire.

It was in this way that Marco Polo learned so much about Cathay, and the book of travels which he wrote was read for a long time with the greatest interest. Now it is looked upon as an ancient relic; and the pictures are particularly funny. In one of them is a representation of the Khan in a portable room carried on the backs of four elephants, which are shaped very much like pigs, and have gorgeous rosettes on their backs, supposed to be intended for saddles. A crowd of people gaze with awe upon their sovereign as he is borne triumphantly along in this very novel manner, the front side of the room being open, so that all can see him.

Another picture, which is intended for an elephant hunt, represents the elephants shorter than the horses on which the hunters ride and shoot at them with bows and arrows—as though elephants would mind that!—while the trees seem to be growing on the elephants' backs.

Khubla Khan was at war with the sovereigns of the provinces south of his kingdom, and his friends the Polos were of great use to him by showing him how to make and use the European machines, called catapults, for hurling immense stones against the walls and towers of besieged cities. These were highly thought of before the invention of artillery.

The monarch was very much delighted, and as soon as the machines were ready he sent the learned Venetians to head a fresh attack upon the important city of Sa-yan-fu. The banner of Khubla Khan was soon waving above the crushed walls, and the Polos were liberally rewarded with wealth and honors. Marco, who was the Khan's especial favorite, was made a noble of the empire, with a more magnificent palace and a larger retinue than ever.

After spending seventeen years of this exciting life, the Polos longed to see their native city again; but the monarch, who was now an old man, would not consent to part with them. Fortunately, however, for the homesick visitors, the Khan's granddaughter was to marry the King of Persia, and started on her journey to that country; but after travelling for eight months, the Princess and her attendants found that many of the provinces through which they had to pass were at war, and they turned back to Cambalu.

The Polos, seizing this opportunity of escape, promised to convey the bridal party safely by sea; and the Khan agreed to let them go, on condition of their returning to him again after a short visit home. Among the monarch's parting gifts were caskets of magnificent rubies and other precious gems.

It was eighteen months before they reached Ormuz, and during that time two or three of the envoys and six hundred of the Princess's attendants had died. The Persian bridegroom was dead also, and so was the monarch of Cathay, Khubla Khan.

The Polos now were freed from their promise to return; and after staying nine months in Persia—for they liked to explore every place at which they stopped—they started on their long journey to Venice. They arrived there in safety, after an absence of twenty-four years; and at first no one would believe that these outlandish-looking travellers were the real Polos. But they soon proved their identity, and became known far and wide as the most wonderful travellers of the time.

Marco was a prisoner in Genoa for four years, after a battle with the Genoese, and he amused himself during this dreary period by writing an account of his travels and his life at the court of the Khan.

FROG-CATCHING.

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

When a man dwelling in the Drowned Lands of Canonoque, Canada, is capable of accumulating a small fortune by catching frogs for the New York market, surely some of our young people who are now spending their vacations near the shores of our lakes, rivers, and ponds ought also to make considerable pocket-money, if not as large a fortune as that of Pat Bowman, of the Drowned Lands, who follows up the frogs from early spring until late in the fall.

It is not only the pocket-money that is to be picked up, but while on the frog-hunts many lessons are to be learned in aquatic natural history. Then there is the fun of the thing. It's fun to get sunburned, and have a brand-new skin at the end of a week to attend church in. It's fun to step into a bumble-bees' nest, and have the bees chase you until you are only too glad to take refuge in the water, where they can't find you out. And it's fun to break through a musk-rat or turtle run, and to have your companions pull you out covered with black peat; then come the washing out of your clothes, and hanging them in the sun to dry; and while they are drying, then the sand-flies and mosquitoes come swarming about you in clouds, until in sheer desperation you conclude to do as the cows do—stand in the water and splash. And after you have stood in the water a few minutes, you find the horse-leeches and boat-flies have discovered you have legs, and are having a feast on them. By this time your clothing is dry. All this sort of experience was fun to me when I was a boy, and I often sigh for those happy days to return.

At the age of thirteen I became a frog-catcher. I discovered there was a demand in Fulton and Washington markets for frogs' legs, and that the price paid for them, as they ran, large and small (not very, very small), was one dollar and a half per hundred. But here was the trouble: how could I manage to keep the frogs alive and healthy until I had one hundred of them ready for market? At last I hit upon a plan, which was no less than to construct a pond in our then very large garden, and plant it with pond-lilies, sweet-flag, and cat-tails; in fact, to make it as picturesque as possible. To have the pond hold water, the bottom and sides were lined with clay to the depth of half a foot. To fill the pond we made a series of wooden gutters that connected with the garden pump. Every night we pumped and pumped, until we thought the old pump would surely go dry.

In our house lived a blind sea-captain; he was a bright, kind-hearted, good-natured old gentleman. He could navigate all over our large garden without tramping down the smallest radish, and as for thinning out carrots and beets, he could do it beautifully; he knew every weed by touch and smell. He was just as good as good could be, and all we boys thought the world of him, and he thought we were the best boys ever born. Now the captain liked everything in nature that had a voice, such as birds, crickets, locusts, katydids, and tree-toads, with which we kept the garden well supplied, so that at night there was nearly a full orchestra of nature's musicians. On bass, basso, and basso-profundo we were short, but knew full well that as soon as the intended inhabitants for the pond were secured, those voices of