But then we do not know anything about Senegalian mosquitoes, and the
accounts which Dr. Livingstone and other travellers give of the
insects in Africa, ought to make us feel pretty sure that these
woolly-headed folks on the platforms know what is good for them.
THE CANNON OF THE PALAIS ROYAL.
[Illustration]
In the Gardens of the Palais Royal, in Paris, there is a little cannon
which stands on a pedestal, and is surrounded by a railing. Every day
it is loaded with powder and wadding, but no one on earth is allowed
to fire it off. However, far away in the realms of space, ninety-three
millions of miles from our world, there is the great and glorious Sun,
and every day, at twelve o'clock, he fires off that little cannon,
provided there are no clouds in the way. Just before noon on bright
days, the people gather around the railing, with their watches in
their hands,--if they are so lucky as to have watches,--and precisely
at twelve o'clock, _bang!_ she goes.
The arrangement which produces this novel artillery-practice is very
simple. A burning-glass is fixed over the cannon in such a manner that
when the sun comes to the meridian--which it does every day at noon,
you know--its rays are concentrated on the touch-hole, and of course
the powder is ignited and the cannon is fired.
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