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Title: Merry's Museum, Volumes V-VI (1843)
Author: Various
Editor: Louisa May Alcott
S. T. Allen
Samuel G. Goodrich
Release date: May 30, 2024 [eBook #73736]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Bradbury & Soden, 1842
Credits: Carol Brown, Linda Cantoni, Jude Eylander, Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MERRY'S MUSEUM, VOLUMES V-VI (1843) ***
[Illustration]
ROBERT MERRY’S
MUSEUM:
VOLUMES V. VI.
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY BRADBURY, SODEN & CO.
NO. 10, SCHOOL STREET.
1844.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by
S. G. Goodrich, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court
of Massachusetts.
ROBERT MERRY’S
MUSEUM.
EDITED BY
S. G. GOODRICH,
AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.
VOLUME V.
BOSTON:
BRADBURY, SODEN, & CO.,
No. 10, SCHOOL STREET.
1843.
Stereotyped by George A. Curtis, New England Type and
Stereotype Foundry.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME V.
JANUARY TO JUNE, 1843.
A New Year’s Bow, 1
The Two Travellers, 2
Fidelity of a Negro Servant, 4
Maple Tree at Matibo, in Italy, 5
The Lost Found, 6
The Snow-Man, 8
An Intelligent Horse, 9
True Stories, 10, 42, 112, 167
Kindness and Sagacity of the Ass, 10
A Test of Christianity, 11
A Tahitian Christian, ”
Sir Matthew Hale, 12
David Saunders, ”
An Indian’s Illustration of Scripture, 13
The Force of Habit, ”
The Narval or Sea Unicorn, 15
Come and get it, 17
The Effects of Music on Animals, 18
Irishman’s Notion of Discount, 21
Winter Evening, or Ghost Stories, 22
The White Bear, 26
The Story of Hercules, 27
The Walk, 30
Discontented Betty, 31
Music――Hope, ”
Sources of History, 33
Something about Government, 36
The Law is Everywhere, ”
Equality, 37
A Boy Lost, 38
Arithmetic, ”
Anecdotes of Storks, 39
Conundrums, ”
Artificial Ice for Skating, 41
The Love of Nature, 45
True Stories for the Young, ”
Winter, 48
Smiles, ”
The Water-Spout, 49
Eccentric Old Maid, 50
Beauty, ”
The Elephant and Fox, ”
The Vain Search, 52
Varieties, 54
Imagination, 56
Sister, 57
Burning of the Tower of London, 59
The Gleaner, 60
Metals, 63
The Prussian Exercise, ”
Anecdotes of Bonaparte, 64
Catching Rabbits, ”
Amusements, 65
Contradiction, 66
Bull, ”
All by Themselves, 67
Profane Swearing, 68
A Roman Story, 69
The Rock of Gibraltar, 74
Order and Disorder, 75
The Little Mariner, 77
The Old Lady and her Cat, 78
Cornelia, 80
A Sliding Party, 81
A Roman Judge, 82
Patrick Henry, ”
The Old Owl, 83
A Fisherman’s Widow, 84
The Zebu, or Indian Ox, 86
The Bison, or American Buffalo, ”
Anecdote, 87
A Pious Mother, ”
The Medallion, 88
Good and Evil, ”
Little Leaves for Little Readers, 89, 121, 154, 185
The Mourner Comforted, 91
Inquisitive Jack, 92, 125, 155, 185
The Snow Drift, 95, 124
The Seasons, 96
The Revolutions of the Earth, 99
Alexander and his Mother, ”
Constantinople, 100
Wonderful Sagacity, 101
Tsze Pun Zu, 102
Language of Animals, 103
Fighting Crickets, ”
Lying, ”
Signs of the Zodiac, 104
Invention of Printing, 105
Comparison between Good and Bad Housewifery, 107
An Equinoctial Storm, 108
Yellow Hair, 109
April, 110
Shops in London, 114
Fishes Playing the Jewsharp, 115
Tea, 116
The Finland Mother, 118
Comets, 119
Things that have Happened, 121
The Mother Counselled by her Daughter, 122
Princess Anne, ”
The Blind Beggar and his Dog, ”
Mother’s Advice, 123
The Moon, 127
The Meadow Lark, 128
The Bird’s Nest, 128
Shrine of San Rosalia, at Palermo, 129
English Conundrums, 130
May, 131
Country Pursuits, ”
The Village of Economy, 133
God sees everywhere, 135
Mohammed, 136
A Fourth of July Oration, 138
Clean Clothes, 141
Subserviency, ”
Heathen Mythology, 142
The Elephant, 147
The Lion, 148
The Gnoo, 149
A Swedish Girl, 150
The Story of Gander, 151
The Dog of Montargis, 152
Natural Lamps, 153
The School Ma’am, 154
Lucy and Ann, 157
Truth Triumphant, 158
The Little Flower-Girl, 159
Dash won’t learn his Lesson, 160
To Correspondents, ”
Louisa Vinning, 161
Importance of a Fly, 162
June, 163
A Chapter of English Kings, 165
Geography, 170
The Bob-o-link, 172
The White or Polar Bear, 173
The Boy and his Mittens, 174
Idleness, ”
The Unfaithful Servant, 175
The Barber of Paris, 176
The World within a Plant, 177
The Kildeer Plover, 179
Force of Truth, ”
Early Impressions, 180
About the Chickadees, 181
The Two Travellers, 183
To our Correspondents, 184
Puzzle, ”
The Hoop, 188
Hay-Making, 189
The Moth, 190
Chapter on Spices, ”
Idle Mary, ”
The Balloon, 191
Sleepy Harry, ”
Mamma and Baby, ”
The Harrow, 192
Handsome is that Handsome does, ”
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by
S. G. GOODRICH, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court
of Massachusetts.
[Illustration: MERRY’S MUSEUM.
JANUARY, 1843.
Vol. V. No 1.]
A New-Year’s Bow.
Well, here we are again at the opening of a new year! It might seem
that New-Year’s day had come so often as to have lost its interest;
that by repetition it would become stale; that the words, “I wish you
a happy new year!” would cease to excite the slightest regard. But it
is not so. New-Year’s day seems always to take us by a kind of pleasant
surprise, and never fails to be welcomed by old and young, boys and
girls. It has been said by some old writers, that such anniversaries as
this of New-Year’s day, are, in the journey of life, like milestones
along the road, marking the distance we have travelled, and informing
us of the position we occupy in respect to the beginning and end of our
existence. If, indeed, we were to use them as such; if, on New-Year’s
day, we were accustomed to look over our past lives, to compare what we
have done with what is required of us; to see when we have performed,
and when failed in, our duty; to mourn over past errors and neglect,
and adopt new resolutions of improvement for the future――then, indeed,
would New-Year’s day be an instructive mile-stone on our journey, a
point of reckoning of the greatest benefit; and then it would not pass
by as a mere thoughtless holiday of pleasant speeches and profitless
amusement.
And why, blue eyes and black eyes!――tell me why we should not thus
use our New-Year’s day――or at least a little piece of it? I will not
ask you to give the whole day to a moral lecture. No! You may partake
freely of the frolics and festivities of the day; you may greet all
your friends and companions with that pleasant salutation――“A happy new
year!” It is a cheerful sound, especially when uttered from child to
child; from the child to the parent; from friend to friend. And you may
engage in the various amusements of the season, as freely as if old Bob
Merry were a child again, and romping with you, the gayest of the gay.
But, after your sports are done, just sit down in the chimney corner,
with me. Don’t be afraid, for I am not about to scold you; or if I do
scold a little, remember that I shall do it in all kindness; remember
that I am like old Baldwin’s dog, who had lost his teeth,――my bark is
worse than my bite. So, here we are! Now sit still, boys; don’t giggle,
you girls! John, Tom, Peter, silence! I am about to tell you a story of
New-Year’s day.
THE TWO TRAVELLERS.
Once upon a time, two young men, who were friends, set out to travel in
distant countries. Before they departed, each one had formed a plan of
proceeding. Horace determined to give himself up entirely to pleasure;
to go wherever his humor might dictate; and to keep no records of his
adventures. In short, he resolved to enjoy himself as much as possible,
and by no means to encumber his mind with cares, duties, or troubles of
any kind.
Ronald was as fond of amusement as Horace, but the mode he adopted
for the gratification of his wishes was quite different. In the first
place, he made out a scheme of his travels; he procured maps, read
books, and, after mature deliberation, adopted a certain route, as most
likely to afford him pleasure as well as instruction. In the formation
of this plan he spent several weeks, and in this occupation he found
quite as much satisfaction as he afterwards did in travelling. Thus
he obtained one great advantage over his idle and luxurious friend,
who foolishly thought that the essence of enjoyment lay in freedom
from thought, restraint, and toil. Even before they set out on their
journey, Ronald had actually found nearly as much pleasure as Horace
received in the whole course of his expedition.
Well; the two young men started together, and as we are speaking of
ancient days, when there were no coaches, canals, or railroads, we must
tell you that both set out on foot. They had not proceeded far before
they separated; Horace taking one road and Ronald another.
After the lapse of three years they both returned; but what a
difference between them! Horace was sour and dissatisfied; he had seen
a good deal of the world, but as he had travelled with no other design
than to gratify himself from hour to hour, he had soon exhausted the
cup of pleasure, and found nothing at the bottom but the bitter dregs
of discontent. He pursued pleasure, till at last he found the pursuit
to be distasteful and revolting. He grew tired, even of amusement. He
indulged his tastes, humors, and passions, until indulgence itself was
disgusting. When he returned to his friends, he had laid up nothing in
his memory, by the relation of which he could amuse them; he had kept
no record of things he had seen; he brought back no store of pleasing
and useful recollections for himself, or others. Such was the result of
three years’ travel for pleasure.
It was quite otherwise with Ronald. Adhering to his plans, he visited a
great variety of places, and each day he recorded in his journal what
he had seen. Whenever he met with an interesting object, he stopped to
contemplate it; if it was some aged relic, famous in history, he took
pains to investigate its story, and to write it down. If it was an
object of interest to the eye, he made a sketch of it in the book which
he kept for the purpose.
In this way, Ronald accomplished three good objects. In the first
place, by taking in pleasure in a moderate way, and mixed with a little
toil and industry, he prevented that cloying surfeit, which at last
sickened and disgusted Horace. Horace took pleasure at wholesale, as a
boy eats honey by the spoonful, and soon got sick of it. Ronald took
his honey, on a slice of bread, and while he enjoyed it heartily, his
appetite continued as good as before.
In the second place, Ronald greatly increased his enjoyments by the
plan he adopted. Merely executing a plan is agreeable, and a source
of great pleasure. It is natural to derive happiness from following
out a design; from seeing hour by hour, day by day, how results come
about, in conformity to our intentions. But this was not the only
advantage which Ronald received from his system. The very toil he
bestowed; the investigations he made; the pleasant thoughts and curious
knowledge that were unfolded to his mind; the excitement he found in
his exertions; the pleasure he took in drawing picturesque scenes;
all these things constituted a rich harvest of pleasure, which was
wholly denied to Horace. Thus it was that labor and industry, exerted
in carrying out a plan, afforded the young traveller a vast deal of
gratification. The very things that Horace looked upon as hateful,
were, in fact, the sources of his rival’s most permanent enjoyment.
In the third place, Ronald had come back laden with rich stores of
knowledge, observation and experience. Not only was his journal rich
in tales, legends, scenes, incidents, and historical records, but in
putting these things down on paper, his memory had been improved,
and he had acquired the habit of observing and remembering. His mind
was full of pleasant things, and nothing could be more interesting
than to sit down and hear him tell of his travels, and of what he had
seen. While Horace was dull, silent, and sour, Ronald was full of
conversation, life, and interest. The one was happy, the other unhappy;
one was agreeable, the other disagreeable; one had exhausted the cup of
pleasure, the other seemed always to have the cup full and sparkling
before him. It was agreed on all hands, that Horace was a bore, and
everybody shunned him; while Ronald was considered by all a most
agreeable fellow, and everybody sought his society.
So much for the two travellers; one, a luxurious lover of pleasure, who
thought only of the passing moment, and in his folly, abused and threw
away his powers of enjoyment; the other, a lover of pleasure also,
but who pursued it moderately, with a wise regard to the future, and
careful attention, every day, to rules of duty; and who thus secured
his true happiness.
Now, my young friends, this is rather a dull story; but there is truth
in it. Though it be New-Year’s day, still, remember that every day
has its duties, for those who would live and be happy, like our hero,
Ronald. And what is the peculiar duty of this day? Let me tell you.
We should all of us consider the past year; and reflect whether we have
done our duty to God, to our neighbor, and to ourselves. Do we love
our Maker, our Redeemer, better than when the past year opened upon
us? Is our reverence, our confidence, in him stronger? Do we live more
habitually in his presence? Do we yearn more and more to please him, to
be like him?
Do we love our friends, neighbors, all that we see and meet, better?
Are we more ready to forgive injuries? More earnest to promote peace?
More self-sacrificing; more regardful of the feelings, wants, and
wishes of others? Are we carefully cultivating the garden of the heart;
cherishing its flowers, and weeding out its noxious passions?
These are questions which we should put to ourselves, this New-Year’s
evening; and if we can answer them in the affirmative, it is well;
but if not, let us make new and vigorous resolutions to give a better
account of the opening year.
Do not be frightened from your duty by the idea that such thoughts
as these I suggest, are distasteful or painful, remember the story
of the two travellers; remember that if you adopt a good plan, the
pursuit of it will unfold new and unexpected pleasures. Remember that
all play and no reflection, is like unmixed honey, cloying to the
appetite; remember that a mixture of duty enhances pleasure itself, at
the same time improving the faculties and keeping the relish always
fresh. And remember one thing more, which is this: the heart needs
your constant care. Let me ask your attention to a homely practice in
the country――that of putting down a barrel of meat. You notice that a
quantity of salt is always put into it; for we all know that otherwise
the meat would become an offensive mass. It is so with the human heart:
it needs the salt――it needs a sense of duty, to keep it from spoiling!
Oh, my young friends, think of this; and save your bosoms from becoming
tainted with sin, and vice, and crime!
Fidelity of a Negro Servant.
Dr. L., a respectable gentleman, was confined for some time in the
King’s Bench prison, London, while his fortune, on account of a
law-suit, was unjustly withheld from him. During this distress, he
was obliged to tell his negro servant, that, however painful to his
feelings, they must part; his difficulties being so great that he was
unable to provide for him the necessaries of life. The negro, whose
name was Bob, replied, “No, master, we will never part. Many a year
have you kept me and fed me, and clothed me, and treated me kindly;
and now I will keep you.” Accordingly, Bob went out to work as a
day-laborer; and, at the end of every week, faithfully brought his
earnings to his master. These proved sufficient for the support of them
both, until, the law-suit being ended, Dr. L. became possessed of a
large fortune. He then settled a handsome sum on his faithful servant.
[Illustration]
The Maple Tree Temple at Matibo, in Italy.
The beautiful tree which our engraving represents, is one of the most
curious ornaments of a charming estate called Matibo, situated in the
neighborhood of Savigliano, in Piedmont. It was planted more than sixty
years ago, but it is not more than twenty-five or thirty years since
the idea was started of making it grow in the form of a temple, which,
after much time and perseverance, was completely realized.
This elegant little edifice consists of two stories, each of which has
eight windows, and is capable of containing twenty persons. The floors
are formed of branches twined together with great skill, and by nature
are covered with leafy carpets; all round the verdure has formed thick
walls, where a great number of birds have taken up their sojourn.
The proprietor of the island of Matibo has never disturbed those joyous
little songsters, but has rather encouraged them; and at all hours of
the day they may be heard fearlessly sporting and warbling, by the
delighted visiters, who, looking from the windows, admire the prospect
that opens before them.
The Lost Found.
In the south-eastern part of France is a range of mountains called
the Cevennes. The highest points are about as elevated as Mount
Washington, in New Hampshire. These mountains are remarkable for their
wild, rugged, and broken character, and for the furious storms and
tempests to which they are subject. In winter the snow falls to a great
depth, and sometimes the inhabitants, being buried in the drifts, cut
arch-ways beneath, and thus pass from one house to another.
These wild regions are not only celebrated in history as being the
places of refuge to which the Huguenots retreated during their fearful
and bloody persecution――about two hundred and fifty years ago――but as
producing a race of people of peculiarly adventurous habits. Surrounded
by natural objects of a savage aspect――grisly rocks, dark cavernous
ravines――and trees hoary with age; their memories tinged with the
traditionary romances attached to their ancestors; battling day by
day with a sterile soil and a rugged climate for subsistence; often
disputing with the bear and the wolf their very habitations; and,
above all, touched with the lights and shadows of religion, mingled
with various superstitions; these people present an interesting
subject of regard to the student of human nature. Leaving them to the
philosophers, however, it is our present design merely to tell a story
which may shed some little light on the modes of life which prevail
among these people.
In a little hamlet embosomed in the mountains, lived Pierre Bec, a poor
laborer, with his only daughter, Aimee. Their house was of rough stone,
laid in mud, and covered with pieces of bark as a roof. Here they dwelt
with no other companions than a dog, named Tonnerre, which, in English,
means _thunder_.
Aimee’s mother died when she was an infant; and after she could run
alone, the little girl was left pretty much to her own guidance. The
hamlet where she dwelt, consisted of only a dozen hovels, much like
her own home. These were situated on an elevated ridge, in the very
bosom of the mountain, and surrounded with wooded cliffs and dizzy
precipices. A scene more wild, remote and lonely could scarcely be
imagined.
Here Aimee grew to the age of nine years, and at that period she had
not only become familiar with the scenes around, but, like the wild
goats, she could climb the cliffs and thread the dells as fearlessly as
if she had wings to support her, in case her foot should slide. Nor was
this all. She could even go to the market town of Laperdu, a distance
of seven miles, and return in the course of the day, having carried and
sold a pair of stockings which had been made with her own hands.
In all these mountain excursions, old Tonnerre was the constant
companion of Aimee, and he contributed not a little to her amusement.
His activity knew no bounds. He must plunge into every thicket; put
his head into every cave and crevice; smell up the larger trees;
course through the ravines, and take, in short, a careful survey of
the country over which they passed. He must banter with every squirrel
that took refuge in the trees, daring him down with many a noisy shout.
He must give chase to every hare that glanced across his path. He must
mark the track of the wolf and bear with cries and howls of defiance,
though in such cases he used to keep near his mistress, either for her
safety or his own.
Such was Aimee, and such old Tonnerre, the hero and heroine of our
tale, when, on a fine summer morning, they set out on a visit to
Laperdu. They reached the place, and on their return were about two
miles from their home, when one of the violent thunder storms, common
in the mountains, began to darken the sky. It was already sunset, and
in a few minutes the darkness became intense; at the same time the
rain began to fall in torrents. In a short space, the ravines were
spouting with waterfalls, and torrents were dashing madly down the
glens. At the same time the roar of the thunder was perpetual, and the
lightning, flash on flash, seemed to array the scene in garments of
fire. Accustomed to such scenes, Aimee pushed on, following the lead of
the dog, who kept close, and with fidgety anxiety turned round at every
step to fortify her heart with a look of cheerfulness and courage.
There was that in his face which seemed to say, “Don’t mind it, my dear
little mistress――don’t mind it――it’s nothing but thunder and lightning,
and wind, and rain, and tempest, and dark night, and we’ll get the
better of it all, yet. Keep a good heart, and we’ll soon be home!”
Aimee did keep a good heart, but the storm was indeed fearful; and
at last a bolt of lightning, falling upon a tree near by, tore it in
splinters, and dashed the little girl to the ground. Here she lay, in
a state of insensibility. The dog came to her side, and in a beseeching
howl, seemed to try to awaken her. He at last began licking her face,
but all was in vain. He remained with the poor girl till it was near
morning, when, having used every art and device of which he was master,
to recall her to consciousness, he set off with a round gallop for the
hamlet. Panting and out of breath, he rushed up to his master, and with
a piteous howl, did all he could to tell his melancholy story.
Pierre knew at once that something had befallen his child. He instantly
announced his fears to his neighbors, who rallied at his call, and set
out in search of Aimee. Her absence during the night had been remarked,
and all the people had feared some accident, though Pierre had solaced
himself with the idea that Aimee had been kept at Laperdu by the storm.
Tonnerre took the lead, and bounded forward like a deer. He went in
long leaps, his hinder heels flying high in the air at every jump. He
whined, howled, and came often back upon his track, as if to hasten
forward the too tardy party. At last Pierre, who was the most anxious,
and the leader of the group, came near the place where Aimee had
fallen. The dog then leaped forward, and placing himself by the side of
the girl, once more licked her face. She instantly raised herself so as
to sit up, and putting her arms around the neck of her friend, embraced
him, while the tears began to flow down her cheeks. Her father soon
arrived, and the rest of the party coming up, all were rejoiced to find
the poor girl unhurt. She was a little bewildered, and it was not until
after several minutes, that she was able to tell her story. At last she
arose upon her feet, on her wooden shoes, which had been knocked off by
the lightning, and went home.
An occasion like this, would be noticed with pleasure, in any country;
but these wild mountaineers appear to be peculiarly sensible to
everything that is beautiful, even though it be but a display of the
activity with which animals are endowed by their Creator. Accordingly,
the tale we have told, was commemorated by an anniversary; every year,
on the day in which the event occurred, the people used to go to a wild
spot in the mountain, where a dog was wreathed with flowers, in honor
of the feats of old Tonnerre.
[Illustration]
The Snow Man.
Of all the sports of winter, I know of none that used to delight me
more, when I was a boy, than the making of a snow man. To do this
successfully, it required what is called a moist snow, so that it would
adhere like mortar, and take any desirable shape.
And of all the fellows I ever knew, for this kind of sculpture, Bill
Keeler――the companion of my early days――was the cleverest. He could
indeed turn his hand to anything, and such was his dexterity, that
whatever was going forward, he seemed always to take the lead. If we
were skating, Bill was sure to cut the most fantastic circles and
evolutions, and beat the best at a race. If we were leaping, Bill went
just an inch further than the largest boys of the party. At a hop,
either on the left or right foot, he surpassed his competitors by a
quarter of a yard. In setting a trap for a woodchuck; smoking out a
fox; coming Yankee over a rat; making wind-mills, kites, or chestnut
whistles, Bill was the transcendent workman of the village.
But in nothing was his genius more conspicuous than in making a snow
man. In this, as in sculpture, the great art lies more in the model,
the design, than the finish. Bill’s figures, in this line, always meant
something. He did not leave the effect to accident――not he! He knew
what he was about, and could always accomplish, by the skill of his
hand, what his mind conceived. I remember one remarkable instance of
this.
In the days of which I speak, economy was a great point in matters
touching the town-school; and consequently it was customary to employ
cheap schoolmasters. A man who failed in everything else, was supposed
to be fit to teach a school. According to this rule, one William
Picket, was deemed worthy to preside over the West Lane Seminary, in
Salem, some forty years ago, particularly as he underbid everybody else.
Picket was essentially a dunce, and believed that there was more
sense, knowledge, and virtue in a birch stick, than in anything else.
Accordingly, his chief efforts consisted in applying it to his pupils.
At the same time he was a man of uncouth appearance. His neck was
long――his nose prominent――the nostrils flaring, and always lined with
snuff. His ears were large, and stood aloof from his head, like two
mushrooms upon sharp stones.
Well, during the administration of Mr. William Picket, there came a
fall of snow, about two feet deep, moist and malleable,――and “hurra!”
it was for a snow man! Bill, who, by this time, was as celebrated
in this species of fine art, as our Boston Greenough is in making
marble statues, at once took the matter in hand. Up rolled the snow in
huge masses, and Bill stood ready to give it shape and conformation.
I recollect perfectly well the queer, quizzical air with which he
presided over the operation. He said nothing, but held the point of his
tongue, half twisted, like an auger, between his teeth.
The image grew into life rapidly, beneath his magic hand. At last it
was done, and all at once the wonderful resemblance it bore to the
schoolmaster flashed upon the spectators. What a shout rose to the
sky! The long neck――the trumpet-shaped proboscis――the flaring ears――it
was impossible to mistake them――it was impossible to resist the
ludicrous likeness.
Many a wild thought was now suggested. “Let us give him a lesson in
birch!” said one. “Let us snowball him!” said another. But all this
time Master Picket was looking out of the school-house window, and I
must say that he had the sense to take the joke. Alas for poor Bill!
how his jacket was strapped that day! But so it is――genius is often
made to suffer, and my friend consoled himself that, like many great
men whose story is told in history, his very cleverness was the cause
of his misfortunes.
* * * * *
AN INTELLIGENT HORSE.――We read an anecdote the other day of a horse in
England, belonging to a brewery, which is so tractable that he is left
without restraint, to walk about the yard, and return to the stable as
he pleases. In this yard there are some pigs, which are fed entirely on
grain and corn, which the horse has taken a great dislike to. This he
manifests in the most striking manner. There is a deep trough in the
yard, which holds water for the horses, to which this one goes alone,
with his mouth full of corn, which he saves from his own supply. When
he reaches the trough, he lets the corn fall near it on the ground,
and when the young swine approach to eat it, he suddenly seizes one by
the tail, pops him into the trough, and then capers about the yard,
seemingly delighted with the frolic. The noise of the pig soon brings
the men to his assistance, who know from experience what is the matter,
while the horse indulges in all kinds of antics, and then quietly
returns to the stable.
True Stories.
A WARNING TO THOUGHTLESS BOYS.――In the autumn of 1842, as the Queen of
the Isles steamer was on her passage from Liverpool to Douglas, Isle
of Man, when about thirty miles from her destination, Mr. M’Fee, the
chief mate, discerned an object at some distance in the water, and, on
approaching it more nearly, it turned out to be a small boat, about
four or five miles distant. On viewing the object with his telescope,
he could see a person sitting in the stern, apparently in distress,
and he immediately ordered the steamer to make all possible despatch
towards the boat, and made every necessary preparation to render
assistance.
On nearing the boat, a little boy was plainly seen using an almost
expiring effort to keep it in the direction of the steamer, which was
soon very near it. A rope was immediately thrown out, which the lad
seized with a convulsive effort. To describe the scene when the boat
was alongside the steamer is impossible――it was most heart-rending.
There sat a little boy, twelve years of age, the boat having in it
six inches depth of water, and the youth almost in a state of nudity,
without shoes or stockings, cold and emaciated――indeed, all but dead.
When on board the steamer he was immediately conveyed to bed, and Mr.
Sigston, surgeon, who was a passenger, took him under his special
care, and rendered every possible assistance and attention which his
deplorable situation required.
When the vessel arrived at Douglas, the little fellow was given into
the charge of the town surgeon, and has since been doing well. It
turned out that the lad, whose name is Barney Smith, had, along with
several other lads about his own age, got into the boat on Saturday
evening, when it was anchored on the Douglas Sands; the other lads
leaped out of the boat, took up the anchor, and pushed poor Barney off
to sea.
They at once discovered the mischief they had done, and, being afraid
of the consequences, ran away and did not mention the circumstance.
Poor Barney was consequently drifted out to sea, and had remained
afloat from Saturday till the time when he was providentially taken up
by the steamer, at four o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, a space of three
days and three nights. He had a small quantity of meal and a little
bread in a bag, of which he states he did not eat, as his thirst was so
intolerable and his mouth so dry and parched, that he could not swallow
it. He had only had salt water to drink, which increased his thirst,
and he fancies that he slept one whole night and day. There can be no
doubt that he had an almost miraculous delivery, as, soon after he was
taken up, there was a severe gale and a heavy sea.――_Carlisle Patriot._
* * * * *
KINDNESS AND SAGACITY OF THE ASS. The following anecdote of the
sagacity of an ass, and the attachment displayed by the animal to his
master, may help, in some degree, to redeem that ill-used race from a
portion of the _load_ of stupidity which is generally assigned to them,
and which, with so many other _loads_, they bear with such exemplary
patience.
Thomas Brown, residing near Hawick, England, travelled the country as a
pedler, having an ass, the partner of his trade. From suffering under
a paralytic affection, he was in the habit of assisting himself on the
road by keeping hold of the crupper of the saddle, or more frequently
the _tail_ of the ass. During a severe winter, some years ago, whilst
on one of his journeys, near Rule water, “the old man and his ass”
were suddenly plunged into a wreath of snow. There they lay long,
far from help, and ready to perish. At length the poor ass, after a
severe struggle, got out; but finding his unfortunate master absent, he
eyed the wreath for some time with a wistful look, and at last forced
his way through it to where his master still lay, when, placing his
body in such a position as to afford a firm grasp of the tail, the
honest pedler was thereby enabled to take his accustomed hold, and was
actually dragged out by the faithful beast to a place of safety!
* * * * *
A TEST OF CHRISTIANITY. A Christian gentleman had occasion to travel
through a new and thickly-settled part of the western country. His
companion was a man of intelligence, but of infidel principles, who was
fond of discussion, and tried to beguile the way by urging arguments
against the truth of the Christian religion. The thinly peopled section
of country through which they were passing, was inhabited by people of
bad reputation, and it had been rumored that travellers had suffered
fatal violence from them when they were within their power.
As regular inns were unknown, our travellers were compelled to trust
to the hospitality of those of whom they could not but entertain a
secret fear. On one occasion, as the evening closed in, they sought a
lodging-place in a log cabin, far remote from other habitations. They
anticipated but little comfort; and were induced to believe that it
would be a measure of safety to watch alternately through the night.
As they were about to retire to their rude bed, their host, whose
exterior had excited their distrust, proceeding to a shelf, took down
an old and much worn Bible, and informing his visiters that it was his
custom to worship God in his family, he read and prayed in so simple
and sincere a manner as to secure the esteem of the travellers. They
retired to rest, slept soundly, and thought no more of alternate
watching.
In the morning, the Christian requested his infidel companion to say
whether the religious exercises of the preceding evening had not
dispelled every particle of distrust of their host’s character, and had
not enabled him to close his eyes in the most confident security. He
was evidently embarrassed by the question; but at length he candidly
acknowledged that the sight of the Bible had secured him a sound
night’s rest. Here was a testimony, extorted from an infidel, in favor
of the influence of the religion which he skeptically assailed. He
could not harbor a fear of violence from one who was in the habit of
daily bending his knee before God! The very erection of the family
altar rendered the house a secure asylum! Who would not be a Christian?
Who can be an infidel?
* * * * *
A TAHITIAN CHRISTIAN. Maree, a native of the island of Otaheite or
Tahiti, was a man of fine natural talents and was not destitute of
acquired ones; being able to read and write well, and acquainted
with some of the first rules of arithmetic. He was possessed of a
surprising memory, a quick perception, and a good understanding, with
a sound and penetrating judgment; while, to crown all, he was a man of
genuine piety and ardent zeal in the Savior’s cause. He was one of the
first, who, under the preaching of the missionaries, publicly embraced
Christianity among these islanders; and before it became general, his
life was often in jeopardy, through his profession of it. More than one
attempt was made, by a number of violent men, to shoot him and a little
praying company, who used to meet with him that they might together
worship the true God.
On one occasion, these lawless men having found him and his little
party at prayer in a place appropriated for the purpose, levelled their
muskets at them, with a view to execute their cruel designs, when, as
though withheld by an unseen arm, their attention was arrested by the
prayers offering up by the intended victims of their fury. The effect
was instantaneous and powerful. Abandoning their murderous purpose,
they went in and sat down with Maree and his company, confessed what
their intentions had been, and told them not to be afraid, as they
should not molest them any more; which promise they kept.
Maree was much respected among the people, both for his piety and
talents, and also, as having been made a judge from the esteem
entertained for him by Pomare, the king; because, as the latter used to
say, “he had embraced Christianity at the mouth of the musket,” and for
his persevering attachment to his profession, and moreover, as the king
said, “because he knew Maree would regard the laws and do justice.”
* * * * *
SIR MATTHEW HALE. This great man, who was a famous judge in England
about two hundred years ago, in writing to his children on the duties
they were called to observe, thus speaks of the Sabbath:――
“I have by long and sound experience found that the due observance
of this day and the duties of it hath been of singular comfort and
advantage to me. The observance of this day hath ever had joined to it
a blessing upon the rest of my time; and the week that hath been so
begun hath been blessed and prospered to me; and, on the other side,
when I have been negligent of the duties of this day, the rest of the
week has been unsuccessful and unhappy to my own secular employments;
so that I could easily make an estimate of my successes the week
following, by the manner of my passing this day; and this I do not
write lightly or inconsiderately, but upon a long and sound observation
and experience.”
* * * * *
DAVID SAUNDERS,――THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. Most of our readers
are acquainted with that beautiful story, written by Hannah More,
entitled “The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.” The substance of this
narrative is a correct account of David Saunders, of West Lavington,
England, who died about the period of its publication. The conversation
represented as passing between the shepherd and a Mr. Johnston, really
took place with Dr. Stonehouse, a neighboring clergyman, who befriended
the shepherd on many occasions.
Dr. Stonehouse, who was on a journey, and somewhat fearful, from the
appearance of the sky, that rain was at hand, accosted the shepherd by
asking him what sort of weather it would be on the morrow. “It will be
such weather as pleases me!” said the shepherd. Though the answer was
delivered in the mildest and civilest tone that could be imagined, Dr.
S. thought the words themselves rather rude and surly, and asked him
how that could be. “Because,” replied the shepherd, “it will be such
weather as pleases God, and whatever pleases him, always pleases me.”
Dr. S. was quite satisfied with this reply, and entered into
conversation with the shepherd in the following manner: “Yours is
a troublesome life, honest friend.” “To be sure, sir,” replied the
shepherd, “’tis not a very lazy life; but ’tis not near so toilsome
as that which my Great Master led for my sake. He had every state and
condition of life at his choice, and chose a hard one, while I only
submit to the lot that is appointed me.” “You are exposed to great
cold and heat,” said the gentleman. “True, sir,” said the shepherd;
“but then, I am not exposed to great temptations; and so throwing one
thing against another, God is pleased to contrive to make things more
equal than we poor, ignorant, short-sighted creatures are apt to think.
David was happier when he kept his father’s sheep, on such a plain as
this, and singing some of his own psalms, perhaps, than ever he was
when he became king of Israel and Judah; and I dare say we should never
have had some of the most beautiful texts in all those fine psalms,
if he had not been a shepherd, which enabled him to make so many fine
comparisons and similitudes, as one may say, from a country life,
flocks of sheep, hills, valleys and fountains of water.”
“You think, then,” said the gentleman, “that a laborious life is a
happy one?”
“I do, sir, and more especially so as it exposes a man to fewer sins.
If king Saul had continued a poor laborious man to the end of his days,
he might have lived happy and honest, and died a natural death in his
bed at last; which you know, sir, was more than he did. But, I speak
with reverence, for it was divine Providence overruled all that, you
know, sir, and I do not presume to make comparisons. Beside, sir, my
employment has been particularly honored. Moses was a shepherd in the
plains of Midian. It was to shepherds keeping their flocks by night,
that the angels appeared in Bethlehem, to tell the best news――the
gladdest tidings that were ever revealed to poor sinful men; often and
often has the thought warmed my poor heart in the coldest night, and
filled me with more joy and thankfulness than the best supper could
have done.”
This poor shepherd had indeed a depth of wisdom, which infinitely
surpassed that of many learned philosophers. How often have they
studied the ways of God, without being able to discern them――while all
was plain to David Saunders.
* * * * *
AN INDIAN’S ILLUSTRATION OF SCRIPTURE. Some years ago one of the
preachers of the Mohegan Indians, near Norwich, in Connecticut, was
preaching on the language of Solomon, “Cast thy bread upon the waters,
for thou shalt find it after many days.” Eccles. xi. 1. To illustrate
his subject, and enforce the duty of benevolence, he related a
circumstance connected with his early days, as follows: “A certain man
was going from Norwich to New London, with a loaded team; on attempting
to ascend the hill where Indian lives, he found his team could not draw
the load; he came to Indian, and got him to help him with his oxen.
After he had got up, he asked Indian what there was to pay. Indian told
him to do as much for somebody else.
“Some time afterward, Indian wanted a canoe; he went up Shetucket
river, found a tree and made him one. When he got it done, he could not
get it to the river; accordingly, he went to a man, and offered him all
the money he had, if he would go and draw it to the river for him. The
man said he would go. After getting it to the river, Indian offered to
pay him. ‘No,’ said the man; ‘don’t you recollect, so long ago, helping
a man up the hill by your house?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, I am the man; take your
canoe and go home.’ So I find it after many days.”
* * * * *
THE FORCE OF HABIT. Some time since, Lowndes, a tippling bookseller,
presented a check at the banking house of Sir William Curtis & Co.,
London, and upon the cashier putting the usual question, “How will you
have it?” replied, “_cold, without sugar_.”
[Illustration]
The Narval, or Sea-Unicorn.
Among all the variety of weapons with which nature has armed her
various tribes, there is not one so large or so formidable as the
tusk of the narval. This terrible weapon is generally found single,
and some are of opinion that the animal is only furnished with one by
nature; but there is ample proof of instances to the contrary, for a
narval with two teeth was for some time to be seen at the Stadthouse,
at Amsterdam. The tooth, or horn of the sea-unicorn, is as straight
as an arrow, is wreathed, and tapers to a sharp point; and is whiter,
heavier, and harder than ivory.
The form of the sea-unicorn, as may be seen from the engraving prefixed
to this article, resembles that of the dolphin, the head being about
the seventh part of the body; the mouth is exceedingly small when
compared to the enormous bulk of the animal, the eyes keen, and the
nostrils placed on the top of the head.
The narval varies in color according to age; when young, the back
is grayish, with small spots of a dark hue; and when full grown, is
whitish, with small brown or gray spots, which vary much in their depth
of color.
The sea-unicorn is generally found about Greenland and Iceland, but
it is said that one has been seen near Boston. They swim with great
rapidity, and are rendered formidable by their tusks, which they
sometimes bury in the sides of a ship, or in the body of the whale.
They are generally seen in numbers, and whenever they are attacked they
crowd together in such a manner that they embarrass each other by their
tusks.
“We one day saw,” says Scoresby, in his ‘Voyage to Greenland,’ “a
great number of narvals, that swam near us in parties of fifteen to
twenty; the majority of them were males, and had very long horns, or
tusks, and seemed to be enjoying themselves by raising their horns
above the water, and crossing them as if fencing. During their play
they made a very strange noise, as if water were gurgling in their
throats, which was probably the case, as the noise was only heard when
they lifted their heads above the water. The greater number, apparently
attracted by curiosity, followed the vessel, and as the water was
clear, we could plainly see them go down to the keel and play with the
rudder.”
The narval lives upon small fish, and not, as Cravez has asserted,
upon sea-plants. Scoresby, in the following passage, confirms our
statement:――
“My father sent me the contents of the stomach of a narval, which
appeared to me very extraordinary. It consisted of small fishes half
digested with the bones and fins of others, besides the fragments of
cuttlefish, which seemed to constitute its principal food. There was
a part of the back-bone of a turbot, fragments of another, with one
almost entire――this was about two feet three inches long, and one foot
eight inches broad. It is strange that the narval, without teeth, and
having a very small mouth, apparently inflexible lips, and a short
tongue, is able to seize and swallow a fish about three times larger
than its mouth. As the animal in which these extraordinary contents
were found was a male, with a tusk of seven feet, I think that this
weapon had been used to catch the fish which had recently been made his
prey. It is probable that the turbot had been pierced and killed before
devoured, otherwise it is difficult to imagine how the narval was able
to seize it, or how a fish of such activity as the turbot would allow
itself to be taken by one with smooth lips, without teeth to catch,
and without the means of holding it.”
The sea-unicorn, like the whale, is often used as food, and is, in
fact, more valuable than any other cetaceous animal, as the oil which
it furnishes is considered the best.
An anecdote relative to narval fishing, which we believe to be true,
may not be unacceptable to our readers.
* * * * *
Etienne Turgot was one of the most respectable fishermen of Greenland,
and from his expertness in spearing and harpooning the narval and the
whale, was respected by all his craft. He had a wife, on whom he doted;
and a son, a boy of seven years of age, whose daring disposition and
fear-nought character were often the cause of many a sad hour to the
mother; but it warmed the father’s heart to see in his offspring the
same wild spirit that had characterized his own young days,――to hear of
a miraculous escape, which reminded him of some of the hazardous scenes
of his own daring boyhood.
For several months the son (Pierre,) had his mind bent on going out on
a fishing excursion with his father; and when the parent returned home
at night, the first thing that saluted his ears was, “Father, I must go
to-morrow.”
The indulgent parent, after much persuasion, at last consented; and the
following morning was fixed for the desired expedition.
Pierre slept but little; for his night was spent in dreams. At one time
he was chased by a whale, or some other monster of the deep; at another
he was making his way home with one on his back. At last morning came,
and up he got to wake his father; and shortly afterwards they were
gliding along in their light boat――the parent on the look-out for
narvals, the son gazing into the crystal element, shouting, from time
to time,――
“Oh! what a fish; I wish I could reach it!”
Thus they moved onwards, the father casting an occasional affectionate
glance on the son, while the latter was too busy to see anything but
the small fishes that were sporting beneath him.
After gazing for some time on the broad expanse of water, Etienne
imagined that he saw something resembling a fish moving on the surface.
On drawing nearer he perceived a horn projecting three feet out of the
water, and nothing daunted, exclaimed,――
“Ah, ah; a narval!” Scarcely had he uttered these words, when he heard
a plunge behind him; and on turning round, he discovered that his son
had fallen into the water. The fond parent was about to plunge after
him, when his eye caught sight of the tooth of the narval, which was
rapidly gliding towards the place where Pierre was. Etienne stood for a
moment horror-struck, gazing wildly at his son as he came up gurgling
to the surface, then on the huge creature that was threatening to
destroy the object of his affection. That presence of mind which had
characterized his former actions in time of danger, did not forsake
him at this critical moment. He seized his spear, fixed his keen eye
upon the frightful animal, raised himself in the boat, and, aiming a
thrust at its head, plunged into the water. For a moment nothing was
to be seen; neither the father, son, nor fish. All was as if nothing
had taken place, save that the water round the boat was tinctured with
blood. Was it that of one, or all of them? No, not of all; for, a few
moments afterwards, Etienne reached the surface, bearing in his arms
his cherished boy.
When once more safely seated in the boat, the father and son looked
everywhere for the wounded fish and the lost spear; but their search
was in vain. At last they returned home; and on the husband telling
his beloved spouse of the danger they had run, the terrified mother
began to scold Pierre for his temerity; but the boy, accustomed to such
rebukes, replied,――
“Ah, mother; if you had seen what a beauty it was, you would not scold
me. If my arm had been a little longer I am sure I should have caught
it.”
Years have elapsed; and, in spite of all Pierre’s solicitations, the
prudent mother would not again hear of his accompanying his father on
another fishing excursion.
[Illustration]
Come and get it.
Come and get it, little pet――
Try again――you’ll have it yet!
’Tis a ring that sparkles bright,
And delights thy infant sight.
I wonder not, my little boy,
Thou art eager for the toy;
Grown-up people strive to grasp
The gold thy little hands would clasp.
Though we call thee silly boy,
Thus to love an idle toy,
Still, what better are the old,
Whose cherished bauble is but gold?
Are they not little children yet,
Like our little thoughtless pet,
Those who strive with eager lust
To gather heaps of shining dust?
Fare thee well, my little friend;
May thy mother o’er thee bend,
And whisper in thy tender heart,
A better love――a wiser part;
So that thou, to manhood grown,
May fix thy love on Truth, alone.
This is better, far, than gold,
This will serve thee, young or old;
This will brighter grow with years,
Cheer thee through this vale of tears;
And as current coin will pay
For all thy wants, on heaven’s way.
_Parley’s Picture Book. New edition._
The Effects of Music on Animals.
Music exercises extraordinary effects upon certain animals, and fully
confirms the remark of Racine, that “Nature has given ears sensible
of harmony even to brutes.” We shall find that music subdues the rude
dispositions of some; arouses the ferocity of others; renders some so
docile and tame, that they may be approached without hesitation; while
it makes others suspicious and frightened.
Gregory Nicene tells us of an _ape_, in the city of Alexandria, which,
clothed in very rich attire, used to dance very exactly to music. Once
he had continued the dance for a long time; but a beholder, having
thrown him some nuts, he immediately left off dancing, and began to
gather them, amidst the loud laughter of the spectators.
Old Franzius, a moralizing zoologist, compares this ape’s conduct to
that of those men in high office, who will neglect the public whenever
private gain offers itself to them. This writer says, “a _bear_ is
extraordinarily delighted with music.”
Paulus Diaconus and Olaus Magnus tell us, that “there are multitudes
of bears in the south, which oftentimes will come to the shepherds and
make them play to them till hunger forceth them to go away; and as soon
as they are gone, the shepherd will sound his horn, by which they are
so affrighted that they will never come any more.”
Many _dogs_ appear to be fond of music. Mr. Jesse observes, that
“there is hardly a regimental band in the British service which is not
attended by some particular dog, who owns no master, but picks up his
living where he can; in fact, attaches itself to the band, and follows
it from one quarter to another. These dogs are great favorites with
the soldiers, and they never ill-use them or suffer others to do so.”
M. Marville says, that while a man was playing upon a conch shell,
he noticed a dog sitting on its hind legs looking steadfastly at the
player for above an hour; and M. Le Cat observes, that we hear a dog
howl, we see him weep, as it were, at a tune played upon a flute; but
we see him quite lively in a field, at the sound of a French horn.
Bowyer states, that “a Scotch bagpiper traversing the mountains of
Ulster, in Ireland, was one evening encountered by a starved _wolf_. In
his distress, the poor man could think of nothing better than to open
his wallet, and try the effects of his hospitality; he did so, and the
savage swallowed all that was thrown to him with such a voracity that
it seemed as if his appetite was just returning to him. The whole stock
of provision was, of course, soon spent, and now his only recourse was
to the virtues of his bagpipe; this the monster no sooner heard, than
he took to the mountains with the same precipitation with which he had
left them. The poor piper could not so perfectly enjoy his deliverance,
but that, with an angry look at parting, he shook his head, saying,
‘Ay, are these your tricks? had I known your humor, you should have had
your music before supper.’”
Sparrman furnishes us with an anecdote of a trumpeter, who, by a
similar expedient, saved himself from falling a prey to a prowling
hyæna:――“One night,” he says, “at a feast near the Cape, a trumpeter,
who had got himself well filled with liquor, was carried out of doors,
in order to cool and sober him. The scent of him soon attracted a
_spotted hyæna_, which threw him on its back, and carried him away to
Table Mountain, thinking him a corpse, and consequently a fair prize.
In the mean time, our drunken musician awoke sufficiently sensible
to know the danger of his situation, and to sound the alarm with his
trumpet, which he carried fastened to his side. The beast, as may be
easily imagined, was not less frightened in its turn, and ran away.”
Sir Everard Home found that the effect of the higher notes of the
pianoforte upon the great _lion_ in Exeter ’Change, was only to
excite his attention, which was very great, as he remained silent and
motionless. But no sooner were the flat notes sounded, than he sprang
up, attempted to break loose, lashed his tail, uttered the deepest
yells, and seemed so furious and enraged as to frighten the ladies.
Franzius says, “the _tiger_ cannot endure the sound of drums, which
maketh him run mad, and tear himself to pieces.” Valmont de Bomare
saw, at the fair of St. Germain, _cats_ turned musicians; their
performance being announced as the “Mewing Concert.” In the centre, was
an ape beating time; and some cats were arranged on each side of him,
with music before them on the stalls. At a signal from the ape, they
regulated their mewing to sad or lively strains.
_Seals_ have a most delicate sense of hearing, and delight in musical
sounds; a fact not unknown to the ancients. Sir Walter Scott says,
“Rude Heiskar’s seals, through surges dark,
Will long pursue the minstrel’s bark.”
Laing, in his “Voyage to Spitzbergen,” states, that a numerous audience
of seals would surround the vessel and follow it for miles when a
violin was played on deck, as was often the case.
Music has been resorted to as a means of attracting rats, mice, and
other mischievous animals, from out of their abodes. In the “Magazine
of Natural History,” it is stated, that the steward of a ship, infested
with rats, used to play some lively airs on a flute after he had
baited his traps and placed them near the rat holes. The music, we are
told, attracted the rats, who entered the traps unconscious of that
danger, which, without this allurement, they would have instinctively
avoided. In this way, it is said, the steward bagged from fifteen to
twenty rats in about three hours. The _mouse_ is no less pleased with
music. “I have seen,” says a writer on this subject, “several mice
regularly come out of their holes and run about a school-room, whenever
the boys were singing psalms.” An officer, confined in the Bastile,
at Paris, begged to be allowed to play on his lute, to soften his
confinement by its harmonies. Shortly afterwards, when playing on the
instrument, he was much astonished to see a number of mice frisking
out of their holes, and many spiders descending from their webs, and
congregating round him while he continued the music. Whenever he
ceased, they dispersed; whenever he played again, they re-appeared.
He soon had a far more numerous, if not a more respectable audience,
amounting in all to about a hundred mice and spiders.
Sir Everard Home is disposed to think the elephant does not possess a
musical ear. Suetonius tells us, however, that the Emperor Domitian
had a troop of elephants disciplined to dance to the sound of music,
and that one of them, which had been beaten for not having his lesson
perfect, was observed on the following night to be practising by
himself in a meadow.
The enterprising and lamented Clapperton informs us, that when he was
departing on a warlike expedition from lake Muggaby, he had convincing
proofs that the _hippopotami_ are very sensibly affected by musical
sounds, even by such as are not of the softest kinds. As the expedition
passed along the banks of the lake at sunrise, these uncouth and
stupendous animals “followed the drums of the different chiefs the
whole length of the water, sometimes approaching so close to the shore
that the water they spouted from their mouths reached the persons who
were passing along the bank. I counted fifteen at one time sporting on
the surface; and my servant Columbus shot one of them in the head, when
he gave so loud a roar, while he buried himself in the lake, that all
the others disappeared in an instant.”
M. Le Cat remarks, that the horse becomes highly animated at the sound
of a trumpet. Franzius says, “the horse is very much delighted with any
musical instrument, for he is observed sometimes even to weep with joy
at it, but most of all he is pleased at the sound of a trumpet. Pliny,
speaking of horses, mentioneth a sort of people in Italy that taught
their horses to dance to the sound of a trumpet, which they used to do
at great feasts; and therefore, when the enemy waged war with them,
they had the best trumpets they could get, by which the enemy’s horses
were so transported that they would leap and dance, and run with their
masters on their backs into their enemy’s camp.”
“And when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigor wheels the pasture round.”
_Rogers’s Pleasures of Memory_, Part I.
Shakespeare has taken notice of the horse’s sensibility to music, in
the following passage:――
“Then I beat my tabor,
At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses,
As they smelt music.”
_Tempest_, Act iv. Sce. 1.
The instances of the attractive influence of music on animals are
very curious; but how much more curious is it to find some animals so
sensitive to its charms as voluntarily to resort to places where they
know they have a chance of gratifying their taste for it. We are told,
that “an _ass_ at Chartres used to go to the chateau of Quarville, to
hear the music that was performed there. The owner of the chateau was
a lady, who had an excellent voice; and whenever she began to sing,
the ass never failed to draw nearer to the window, and listen very
attentively. Once, when a piece was performed, which no doubt pleased
him better than any he had ever heard before, he left his ordinary
post, walked without ceremony into the music room, and, in order to
add to the concert what he thought was wanting to render it perfect,
began to bray with all his might.” A writer in the Athenæum, says,
“The ass is no unimportant member of the Spanish population, for he is
to be seen everywhere; and he has apparently as much gratification in
listening to the street-concerts as any Christian present. From the
whisking of his short tail, the steady gaze of his eyes, and, above
all, the pricking of his ears, you would say that he was familiar with
every tune.” In Heresbatch’s “Foure Bookes of Husbandrie,” translated
by Barnaby Googe, (1586,) page 125, it is stated, that asses “are very
apt to be taught, (in Egypt and Barbary,) so as at this day in Alcayre
you shall have them dance very mannerly, and keep measure with their
musician.”
It is noticed by Franzius, that stags “love music exceedingly, and
are much delighted in hearing any one sing; and therefore one goeth
before a stag and singeth to him, while another cometh behind him and
taketh him.” M. Marville observed that while a man was playing on a
conch shell, a hind lifted up her large, wide ears, and seemed very
attentive. Mrs. Vasey says, “If a person happen to whistle, or call at
a distance, the stag stops short, and gazes upon the stranger with
a kind of silent admiration; and if he perceives neither fire-arms
nor dogs preparing against him, he goes slowly forward with apparent
unconcern. He seems delighted with the sound of the shepherd’s pipe;
which, on that account, is sometimes used to lure him to destruction.”
Playford, in his “Introduction to Music,” says, “Travelling some years
since, I met on the road near Royston, a herd of about twenty bucks,
following a bagpipe and violin, which, while the music played, went
forward; when it ceased, they all stood still; and in this manner they
were brought out of Yorkshire to Hampton Court.”
Sir William Jones, in his curious dissertation on Hindoo music, says,
“that he has been assured by a creditable eye-witness, that two wild
_antelopes_ used often to come from their woods to the place where
Sirrajuddaulah entertained himself with concerts, and that they
listened to the strains with an appearance of pleasure, till the
monster, in whose soul there was no music, shot one of them, to display
his skill in archery.”
_Sheep_ have been long noted for their attachment to music. Heresbatch
says, “A shepherd must deal lovingly and gently with his flock,
comforting and cheering them with singing and whistling; for the
Arabians (as Alianus writeth,) doe finde that this kind of cattle take
great delight in music, and that it doth them as much good as their
pasture.” Franzius speaks to the same effect: “When the sheep,” says
he, “hear the shepherd’s voice, they all get together into one place,
but especially, when he singeth, for they love music exceedingly, and
it maketh them feed the better; they are so delighted with it that
some think they would not live long if the shepherd did not sing.”
This extraordinary writer also says, “the ox is exceedingly delighted
in music;” and the remark is true, for fierce bulls have in several
instances been calmed into gentleness by music.
Of this musical feeling in oxen, Dr. Southey, in his “Letters from
Spain,” mentions a very singular instance:――“The carts,” he says, “of
Corunna make so loud and disagreeable a creaking with their wheels,
for want of oil, that the governor once issued an order to have them
greased; but it was revoked, on the petition of the carters, who stated
that the oxen liked the sound, and would not draw without this music.”
Professor Bell, in his “History of Quadrupeds,” assures us, that he
has “often, when a boy, tried the effect of the flute on cows and some
other animals, and has always observed that it produced great apparent
enjoyment.”
There is an old song that contains some lines on the cow’s fondness for
music:――
“There was a piper had a cow,
And he had nought to give her;
He took his pipes and played a tune,
And bade the cow consider.
The cow consider’d very well,
And gave the piper a penny
To play the same tune over again,
The corn rigs are bonnie.”
* * * * *
IRISHMAN’S NOTION OF DISCOUNT.――It chanced one gloomy day in the month
of December, that a good-humored Irishman applied to a merchant, to
discount a bill of exchange for him at rather a long, though not an
unusual date; and the merchant having casually remarked that the bill
had a great many days to run, “That’s true,” replied the Irishman; “but
then, my honey, you don’t consider how short the days are at this time
of year.”
[Illustration: WINTER EVENING, OR GHOST STORIES.
Over vale and over hill
Winter’s bitter breath is sweeping――
In the wood the owlet shrill,
Cries like suffering mortal weeping.
Now the farmer’s door is tight――
Now the crackling hickory burns;
And to cheer the stormy night,
Old cronies tell their tales by turns.]
One cold winter evening, three boys happened to be together, named
James, Ezra, and Stephen. They sat by the blazing hearth――for I am
telling of what happened in the old-fashioned days, of broad flues and
hickory fuel――without candles, for the light of the burning logs was
sufficient to give the room a cheerful aspect. Out of doors the air
was keen and bitter, and though the Moon shone brightly, the light
snow wreaths were driving on the wind, and occasionally came in spouts
against the windows, rattling like hail upon the panes.
The boys, naturally enough, talked of the weather for a time, and then
of the news, and by-and-by of other topics. At last it was proposed
that one of them should tell a story. The scene can be best described
in the way of dialogue.
_James._ Come, Ezra, you tell us a story.
_Ezra._ Well, you tell one first.
_J._ O, I’m not good at telling a story.
_E._ Won’t you tell one, Stephen?
_Stephen._ I’ll tell one after you.
_E._ What shall I tell about?
_S._ O, anything――tell a ghost story.
_E._ Well, I will tell a ghost story.
There was once a house near New London, in Connecticut, situated on a
lonely road, about a mile from any other dwelling. The man who built it
was a farmer; and here he lived, with his wife and two children, for
three years, when at last they began to hear a bell faintly ringing at
night, apparently in the walls of the house.
Not much was thought of it at first, but it was so frequently repeated,
that it began to attract the attention of the family. They then
listened, and every night, about nine o’clock, it began to ring.
The people were very superstitious, and soon they were dreadfully
frightened. When they went to the spot where the mysterious sound
seemed to come from, it appeared to issue from another place. Sometimes
it was quick and lively, and again it was slow, and apparently at a
distance. At one time it seemed to be in the parlor, and then it was in
one corner of the kitchen.
The family became more and more alarmed; when the night set in, they
gathered close together, and as soon as the ringing began, their faces
grew pale, and they either sat in fearful silence, or whispered to each
other, “there it is! there it is!”
Thus matters went on for several months, until at last the farmer and
his family became so miserable that they sold the place, and removed to
another town. He had not said much about the cause of his removal, for
he feared people would laugh at him; and besides, he apprehended that
the story might injure the character of the house, and thus prevent his
selling it at a fair price.
But, by some means or other, after he had gone, the story got about,
and for nearly two years the house was unoccupied. During this period
it acquired the name of the “haunted house,” which, together with its
lonely situation, rendered it difficult for the person who had bought
it, to find any one willing to hire it. But at last a person who did
not believe in haunted houses, leased the place, and with his family
went there to reside.
For about a month they heard nothing of the awful visiter, and feeling
quite secure against his return, they were accustomed to make sport
of the fears of their predecessors. While they were actually cracking
their jokes upon the subject one winter night, about the hour of nine,
there was a sudden tinkling of a bell, distinctly heard, as if in one
of the rooms above.
There was a sudden start among all present. “Hark! hark!” was whispered
by several voices. They listened intently; all was silent as death,
when again the bell was heard, apparently more distant, but still as
distinct as before! The cheeks of the wife and children grew pale, and
the face of the man himself was touched with a kind of awe.
“It is certainly a bell,” said he, “and no ghost.”
“But who rings it?” replied his wife, drawing her chair close to his,
and shivering from fear; “who rings it?”
“I cannot tell, my dear,” said he, “but we will try to find out.”
Accordingly he took a candle, and followed the sound from one room to
another. He heard it distinctly, though faintly, sometimes near, and
sometimes far; but he could by no means detect the cause. At last the
sound ceased, and the distracted family went to rest.
The next night the same scene occurred. At the hour of nine, the
frightful notes issued again, as if from the very walls of the room,
and exciting the fears of all, still baffled every attempt to discover
the cause. Unlike the former proprietor, who believed that some ghost
or spirit caused the bell to ring, the present occupant rejected such a
notion as absurd; and though a cold, creeping sensation would sometimes
chill his blood, still he took every opportunity to endeavor to detect
the truth.
While he was one evening sitting by the fire, the tinkling sound was
heard more distinctly than usual, and instead of issuing from the
wall, undefined and spirit-like, it seemed now to come distinctly
from a cupboard in one corner of the room. The man arose, went to the
cupboard, and opened the door. Instantly a small hand-bell fell from a
crevice in the wall, over the cupboard, upon the floor. It had a small
string tied to it, and it was now discovered, that by this string the
rats were accustomed to pull about the bell in their gambols, thus
giving it a tinkling sound, which seemed to issue from the walls,
giving it the awful and mysterious character, which had occasioned so
much terror and distress.
_E._ Well, that’s a good story; and it puts me in mind of one which I
heard Captain Lewis Smith tell. It happened when he was somewhere in
the Jerseys fighting the revolution, as he calls it. It seems there
was a sergeant Kitely, who, when he returned to the camp one night,
declared that he had seen a spirit. He was evidently frightened, for
his teeth chattered as if he was half dead with cold, and for a long
time he could not muster sufficient courage to tell the story. At last
he was prevailed upon to relate it, which he did as follows:
“It was a raw, blustering night,” said he, “when I had occasion to
walk down a lane, to the house of an old woman by the name of Warlock,
who washes for the regiment. It was dark, and I had some difficulty
in finding the place. At last I found it, and knocked at the door.
But there was no answer returned. I lifted the latch, but I could see
nobody in the house. The fire was out, but in a corner of the room
under the bed were two bright, fiery balls, which I knew to be the eyes
of a cat, but they seemed to be twice as large as common.
“This made me a little skittish, for I then happened to remember that
the old beldam herself is reputed a witch; and I thought to myself,
that perhaps after all, it was she, sitting there under the bed,
rolling up her fiery eyes at me, and pretending to be a cat. As I
thought this, the eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger. I then shut
the door, and prepared to run.
“Just as I was about to start, I saw a thing as white as the driven
snow and in the shape of an old woman, flying and flapping in the air,
and lifting up her arms, and seeming to threaten me in the most awful
manner. I tried to run, but my feet stuck to the ground. I should have
screamed, but my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, and my hair rose
up so as to throw my hat off my head.
“How I contrived to pick it up I cannot say, but I heard the footsteps
of some one near, and this I believe gave me courage. I caught my hat
and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. A voice called after me, but
I felt as light as a feather, and bounded forward like a school-boy’s
ball, with a sturgeon’s nose in the centre. It seems to me that I went
two rods at every step, and so I soon reached the barrack. But if I
live to the age of Methuselah, I shall never forget the fiery eyeballs
of the cat, or how old dame Warlock leaped up and down in the heavens,
seeming to me as tall as a steeple.”
This was the substance of Kitely’s marvellous story. But as soon as it
was told, Captain Smith burst into a loud laugh. This made the sergeant
very angry, whereupon the captain proceeded to say that it was he who
called after him at the door of old dame Warlock; and that the ghost
he saw was only a shirt which the old dame had washed and hung to a
clothes-line, and the night being windy, it was frolicing in the gale,
and jumping up and down, just as the sergeant had described. This
explanation excited a laugh among the company, and though it was at the
expense of the sergeant, he seemed really glad to be thus relieved of
his terror.
_J._ Very good――very good indeed, though I can hardly conceive how any
one could take a piece of linen for an old woman.
_E._ Why, I suppose it was because the man’s imagination was excited:
he had, no doubt, a touch of superstition in him, and this it was that
deceived him. A person who is superstitious――one who believes in ghosts
and witches, and such things――is very likely to fancy that he sees
them. Such a one is always meeting with wonders, particularly at night:
a stump, a post, a bush, to his eye, has arms, legs, eyes and ears;
nay, it generally moves about, and often seems to do more than mortals
are able to perform.
_S._ Then you don’t believe in ghosts?
_E._ Not at all. I believe that all the ghost stories are either
the inventions of wicked people, or the delusions of indulged and
ill-directed imagination: fancies of those who have first been led to
adopt false opinions, and have then become the dupes of these opinions.
_S._ You are quite a philosopher; but let me tell you a tale of one
who was as incredulous as yourself. There was once a physician in
Connecticut, who had occasion to stay late at night with one of his
patients. It was past one o’clock when he mounted his horse to return
home. It was a cold, clear winter’s night, and the moon shone with
uncommon brilliancy.
The physician had occasion to pass by a small but lonely grave-yard,
situated at the farther extremity of a field, near the road. As he
was passing by, he cast his eye toward the grave-yard, and what was
his amazement to see a figure, as if of a woman, clothed in dazzling
white, proceeding slowly across the field toward the little group of
tombstones.
It was almost as light as day, and it appeared impossible that the
seeming vision could be an illusion, yet the physician being an
habitual unbeliever in ghosts and apparitions, conceived for a moment
that his senses must have deceived him. He passed his hand across his
brow, as if to clear his eye, and recalled the events of the day, to
discover if he was not dreaming. He then looked again, and still the
image was there, gliding, as if upon the air, and with a noiseless
step, over the snow crust, toward the graves.
For a moment the mind of the physician wavered between a chill,
creeping feeling of awe and superstition, and an intense desire to
know the truth. At last the latter triumphed; and fastening his horse
to a fence, he proceeded directly toward the object of his wonder. It
continued to recede from him, but at last it sat down upon a grave
stone, near a heap of fresh earth, removed for a tomb.
The physician approached――yet paused a moment to contemplate the
mysterious figure. It seemed a woman, and as the clear moonlight fell
upon the face, it appeared cold as marble, though touched with an
indescribable air of melancholy. With a resolute step he advanced and
laid his hand upon the shoulder of the figure. It screamed and fell to
the earth.
The physician lifted the form from the ground, and discovered it to be
a woman whom he knew, and whose child had died three days before. It
had been interred in the little burial ground, and in her sleep the
mother had walked across the snowy fields, wrapped in a sheet, to visit
the spot where her infant reposed!
_E._ So, so, master Stephen, your story after all but confirms my
theory――that these tales of ghosts are only tales of illusion.
_S._ True――true; and I agree that your theory of the matter is right.
In ancient days, there no doubt was such a thing as witchcraft――but
there is nothing of the kind now; and we may be sure that he who tells
a tale of ghosts, is no more to be believed than he who tells a tale of
fairies. Fairies and ghosts are, in fact, as well authenticated, the
one as the other.
[Illustration]
The White Bear.
In the cold regions of the north there are a great many wild animals,
such as the reindeer, the musk ox, the silver fox, and the wolf.
But the most famous of all the savage creatures in these desolate
countries is the white bear. It has a body as large as a cow, but its
legs are not quite so long. It lives on the flesh of other animals,
particularly that of whales, seals, and walruses, which are thrown upon
the shores of the ocean.
In winter, when the ground is covered with snow, these bears resort
to the sea, and prowl along its borders in search of food. If the sea
is frozen over, they will venture out on the ice, hoping to make a
breakfast, dinner, or supper upon the carcass of some great fish, or
other sea animal.
It sometimes happens that while the bear is roaming over the ice, the
latter is suddenly broken up, and the shaggy monster gets caught upon a
floating fragment, where he sails about for some days. If he cannot do
better, he jumps into the water and swims to the shore: but he is very
loath to do this.
If one of these white bears meets a man in his cold country, he will
generally walk away; if, however, he is very hungry, he will frequently
give him a saucy look, or perhaps even attack him, and try to eat him
up. In these wild regions men usually carry guns, and if the bears are
uncivil, they shoot them, as you see in the picture.
* * * * *
In one of the western newspapers, the editor puts his marriages under
the general head of anecdotes.
[Illustration]
The Story of Hercules.
The ancient Greeks, who flourished two or three thousand years ago,
have left behind them a great many curious, and a great many useful
records. One remarkable thing in respect to what remains of their
writings, is the mixture of truth and fable they contain. Even their
histories have as much poetry as fact, and we are often puzzled to
separate one from the other.
The story of Hercules, one of their heroes, will serve to illustrate
all this. He is represented as a man of prodigious strength, and the
Greek poets have delighted to embellish his story with extravagant
fictions. It is said that even while an infant in his cradle, Juno,
the wife of Jupiter, sent two snakes for the purpose of killing him.
His little brother was near him at the time, but he ran away in the
greatest terror, while Hercules caught the snakes in his hands and
instantly squeezed them to death. I cannot tell you all the marvellous
actions that are attributed to this hero; a few of the most remarkable
will be sufficient.
It appears that there was a terrible lion in the country where Hercules
lived, which threw the inhabitants into the greatest consternation.
Hercules determined to kill him, and accordingly went to the place
which he frequented. He first assailed him with arrows, but these being
of no avail, he attacked him with his club.
The lion retreated, and Hercules followed him to his den. Here the
monster struggled for his life, but our hero succeeded in getting his
arms round his neck, and by his prodigious strength choked him to death.
There is a tale told of General Putnam, a little like this of Hercules
and the lion. The General, it is said, followed the wolf into his den,
and after looking him in the face, shot him dead.
It is very probable that, if Putnam had lived in the early ages of
Greece, he would have been no less famous than Hercules. We should,
doubtless, have had many poems recounting his prodigious feats of
strength and courage.
Another exploit of Hercules was the killing the monster with seven
heads, called the Lernæan hydra. The particular manners and habits of
this beast are not known to us; but he seems to have been exceedingly
dreaded by the people of the neighborhood. After some skirmishes,
Hercules came to close quarters with him, and beat off two or three of
his heads with his club. But what was his astonishment to perceive that
the heads grew out again as fast as they were knocked off!
He was a good deal puzzled at this, as I dare say you would have been
in such a case; but one of his friends, Jolas, being at hand, Hercules
sent him for a red-hot iron, and directed him to sear the places over
with it as fast as he beat off the heads. This prevented them from
growing again, and the whole seven being beaten off, the monster died.
This will be enough to give you some idea of the wonderful actions
attributed to Hercules, and which induced the Greeks, after his death,
to worship him as a hero. At the present day we reverence men of
superior virtue and wisdom; but in the comparatively barbarous age of
which I have been speaking, divine honors were rendered to those whose
chief excellence lay in bodily strength.――_Parley’s Universal Hist._
Little Chapters for little Readers.
[Illustration]
There is little Anne, upon the back of old Growler!
What a good dog he is, to carry his little friend, as if he were a
horse or a pony! These dogs are kind creatures; they will do almost
anything you wish them to do.
I have seen dogs drawing little waggons along, with boys driving, and
looking very wise and sober, all the time as if it was real work, and
not all play and fun.
In some countries the dogs really work very hard. Far away to the
north, it is winter almost all the year, and there is a great deal of
snow. In those places the people have sledges, to which they harness
their dogs, and away they go, over the snow-crust, drawing a dozen of
the people behind them!
[Illustration]
The Lost Friend.
“One week ago, there was a little boy playing here; I wish that I could
see him now. I liked that little boy. I did not know why I liked him.
I see a great many boys every day, but none looked so gay and so happy
as he did. They told me he was ill. He cannot be still ill, for his
cheek was soft and fair, and his step was strong. He was as old as I
am, but not older; and when sometimes I have been ill, I have very soon
got well again. Perhaps this woman can tell me where to find him. I am
sure she is kind, for she stayed to give some money to that old man
with white hair, who walks with a crutch; and she smiled too, as if she
loved to do good. I will ask her, and she will take me to him.
“Good woman, will you tell me where I can find a little boy who played
here last week, with bright hair like gold, and eyes that looked kind,
and seemed to say that he was happy?”
When little Alice Grey had said this, the woman, to whom she spoke, led
her by the hand to where an old church stood; ivy had grown all over
its walls, and round it on every side were graves; a great, great many.
Some of them had cold white stone over them; others had only flowers
planted round, and pretty trees grew there, with long branches bent
down, as if they too wept for the dead. There was a little mound of
earth, that must have been newly made, for the grass over it was not
fresh or green, but looked as if it had been cut up with a spade, and
there were no flowers yet round about it.
When the woman came to the grave, she said, in a low, sad voice, “The
little boy with the bright hair and the happy eye is laid there to
sleep.”
Then Alice wept very much and said, “Mamma has often told me of this,
but I did not think it would come so very true;” and she cried a great
deal, and sat down beside the little grave, and said, “Six days ago
I saw him, and now he has gone away: he will never play any more;
yet, then he looked quite well and happy. He did not join with the
other boys when they were bad; he did not even run after the blue
butterflies; he said it might hurt them. Good little boy! he liked
better to gather the wild flowers that grew about; and now, perhaps, he
is gathering flowers in God’s own garden, in heaven.” When the woman
saw that Alice was herself a good child, she sat down by her side,
and took her hand in hers and said, “Yes, God is good, and he puts it
into our hearts to hope and to think that the little child is happy in
heaven, that we may not be too sorry for his having gone away.
“He never wished to do evil; he loved everybody and everything that was
good. He was gentle, and was never heard to speak what was not true;
he was good to the poor, and when he had nothing else to give them, he
gave them kind words, so that all blessed him; and God too will bless
him, for he loves those who love him; so that we should not grieve that
he is taken away, but be happy that he was ready to go. God calls the
strong as well as the weak; little children as well as old people; and
it may be, that you or I may soon be laid by the side of the little
child. Shall we pray that by his side, also, we may see God when we
rise from the grave?”
Then little Alice knelt by her side, and laid her head on the grave
and prayed; and when they got up, she could not go again and play in
the very spot where a few days before she had seen that pretty child
at play; so that she went home, and put her arms round her mother’s
neck, and said, “Mamma, teach me to be good, for God has taken a little
child like me to the grave, and, perhaps, he may take me too before I
am ready for heaven, if I do not from this very day begin to please him
more.”
[Illustration]
The Walk.
“My boy, get your hat, and come with me. The day is so fine and dry,
that we can walk out. Take hold of my hand, and let us go and feel the
warm sun.
“We will go and see a poor man, and take him some food. He is very old
and lame, and has no meat, and no bread, and no milk. We will give him
some of ours; we can put the milk into a jug, and take the meat in a
plate, and you shall also take some bread to him.
“He will be so glad to see us, poor man! He will say, I thank you; and
he will eat the nice food that we take him.”
“May we take him some soup too?”
“Yes, it will warm him, for he has got no fire, and he sits in his
room, and is often very cold. He is not able to run and get warm, for
he is lame. We can take him a book, too, for he can read. Now we have
got to his house. Look, the poor man has a cat: she often sits by his
side, and curls her tail, and when he pats her she says, ‘purr, purr.’”
“Poor puss! I must feed you, too, and pat your soft back. Do not run
away, I will not hurt you.”
“The good old man is not here; he is gone out; so we will put down the
food for him and soon come and see him again.”
“Thank you, mamma, I like so much to walk with you.”
Discontented Betty.
One morning as Betty sat milking her cow,
And thinking as much as her time would allow,
A neighbor came by who had known her for years,
To whom Betty confided her cares and her fears.
“Well, Betty, and how do you like your new place?”
Said she, “you’re looking in very good case!”
“Indeed,” replied Betty, “I never was worse,
For I find I am expected to slave like a horse;
By four in the morning I’m up at my work;
(Then there is nothing to live on but cabbage and pork!)
I’ve to wash, and to brew, and to dairy and bake,
And eight or nine beds every morning to make,
Besides keeping clean every place you can look in;
But the greatest annoyance, by far, is the cooking!”
Her friend, who had patiently heard all she said,
Observed, with a sigh and a shake of the head――
“Indeed, my dear Betty, contentment is wealth,
Though you have plenty to do, you have excellent health;
I assure you, (believe it or not as you please,)
I had rather be you, making butter and cheese,
Than the idle fine lady who lives at her ease!”
* * * * *
What boxes govern the world? The cartridge-box, the ballot-box, the
jury-box, and the band-box.――_New York Paper._
HOPE.
THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
[Illustration: Music]
1.
The lark whose morning song is gay,
At evening hath a pensive lay.
The thrush that caroll’d blithe at morn,
Sits silent now in yonder thorn.
But evening hath no frown for me;
No spectres in its gloom I see――
For hope, fond hope, looks thro’ the night,
And finds beyond its worlds of light.
2.
Then let the sun go deeply down,
And evening o’er the landscape frown――
My thoughts on wings of hope shall rise
To yon fair orbs beyond the skies.
And if, awhile, we tread the glade
Where clouds and darkness cast their shade,
Yet here――e’en here――hope’s wizard wand
Shall stud the gloom with stars beyond.
[Illustration: MERRY’S
MUSEUM.
FEBRUARY, 1843.
Vol. V. No. 2.]
Sources of History.
History is a record of past events. _Sacred_ history is the account
that is given us in the Bible; this furnishes the only authentic
history of the creation of the world and the things that immediately
happened. It is the only book that tells us of Adam and Eve; of Cain
and Abel; of the tower of Babel, and the confusion of tongues; of the
flood of waters; of Noah and his family; of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob;
of David and Solomon; and generally of the Jewish nation, and the way
of salvation to man, through a Redeemer.
_Profane_ history means that which is written by men, in distinction
from sacred history, which is written by the inspiration of God.
Profane history, when it would tell us of the early ages of the
world, has a great mixture of fable, and is very uncertain in its
representations. This is the fact with the history of Greece. It is
chiefly furnished by the poets, who picked up stories handed down
by tradition, and embellished them with fictions of their own. Thus
they heard marvellous tales about a man called Jupiter, that lived in
remote ages; and was celebrated alike for his wisdom, for his extensive
possessions, and the influence he exercised over the people around him.
Well, the poets began to weave up stories about Jupiter: one said he
did this, another said he did that. So they went on, each trying to
exceed the other, in some wonderful tale of this wonderful man.
The people listened eagerly to these stories; and thus encouraged, the
poets went on composing songs and ballads, until they had made out
Jupiter to be a god who lived in Mount Olympus, manufacturing thunder
and lightning, ruling over the land and the sea, controlling the
seasons, swaying mankind, and governing the whole troop of gods and
goddesses throughout the world. This is the way the fiction of Jupiter
was devised and executed, and may serve as a hint at the means by which
the whole mythology of Egypt, Greece and Rome, was fabricated.
Thus it is that nearly all the earlier portions of profane history are
to be regarded as doubtful. There are, indeed, certain portions of it,
which may be received as true; such, for instance, as are derived from
monuments now existing, and bearing certain inscriptions. There are in
Egypt, in Greece, in various parts of Asia and Europe, very ancient
pyramids, obelisks, and edifices, bearing inscriptions or carvings,
either of writings or pictorial representations, which furnish us with
dates, facts, and occurrences serving to establish epochs, or great
events, thus giving consistency and certainty to the leading features
of history. It is in this way that the framework of the more ancient
parts of history is made out and established; and so much may be deemed
worthy of credit. Most of the details and lesser incidents, such as the
extraordinary feats of individuals, the extravagant numbers said to be
engaged in particular battles; and, in short, all the more marvellous
portions of ancient history, are to be deemed entire fictions, or
poetic embellishments and exaggerations.
Among the most interesting of ancient remains, which contribute to make
out the story of mankind, are the paintings recently discovered in
the chambers of the ruins of ancient Thebes, in Egypt. These tell us,
without leaving room for doubt, how the Egyptians dressed themselves;
what they ate and drank; how they broiled, boiled, and fried; how they
combed their heads and arrayed their hair; how they slept; how they
amused themselves; what armor they had in battle; how they fought; how
they worshipped――and, indeed, how they lived and felt, and thought and
acted. Of these curious and interesting witnesses, we have given some
account in the earlier portions of Merry’s Museum.
Besides these paintings, the hieroglyphics, or picture writings of
the Egyptians, graven on obelisks, and other monuments, afford great
aid to the historians. When Bonaparte went with a French army to
Egypt, he took a great many learned men with him. These looked at
these hieroglyphics with intense interest and curiosity, and longed
to find out the means of reading them――for this art had not then been
discovered. These persons were infidels, and not believing the Bible,
they wished to be able to prove it untrue. “If we could read these
inscriptions,” said they, as they stood before the hieroglyphics upon
the monuments of Thebes, “if we could read these, we could prove the
Old Testament to be false.”
After a few years, a very ingenious Frenchman, by the name of
Champollion, went to Egypt and studied profoundly into these mysterious
hieroglyphics. At last he happened to hit upon the art of reading some
of them, and was thus able to make out their meaning. The result has
been very different from what the French philosophers supposed; for,
instead of exploding the Scriptures, these Egyptian writings afford
very strong additional evidence of their truth.
Another satisfactory source of authentic history, is afforded by the
remains of Greek sculptures, found upon the ancient temples. Many of
these have been carried to London and deposited in museums, where they
have been very thoroughly examined, thus furnishing rich materials
for the historian. Other sculptures, particularly statues, have been
discovered in Greece, which furnish many interesting facts.
The coins that are found in different parts of the world, have
contributed not a little to give certainty to portions of ancient
history, particularly that of Rome. In Europe there are antiquarians
who have devoted whole lives and ample fortunes to the collecting of
coins. For a scarce coin, even of copper, and of itself not worth as
much as one cent, hundreds of dollars have often been paid, merely
because it was very rare. In some of the European collections, there
are complete, or nearly complete, sets of coins of all the emperors of
Rome; and as these have the likenesses of the emperors upon them, we
have handed down to us, the image and superscription of every one of
these successors of the Cæsars.
Besides these sources of history, we have the writings, either perfect
or in part, of several ancient authors. Among the Greeks are Aristotle
and Plato, who were philosophers; Homer, the greatest of poets;
Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, historians. Among the Egyptians,
Ptolemy, the greatest of the ancient astronomers, and the father of
geography. Among the Romans, we have Cornelius Nepos, Cæsar, Livy,
and Sallust, historians; Plutarch, a biographer, and many others in
different branches of literature.
Rome, in its days of glory, had extended her conquests over the most
civilized and populous portions of the world. Indeed, she stretched her
authority on every side, and brought under her dominion nearly every
portion of the known world. All Europe was subject to her sway; all
Africa, contiguous to the Mediterranean Sea; all the middle, western
and northern portions of Asia. Over these vast dominions her armies
marched, and her messengers passed to and fro. The art of writing was
then extensively practised, and though printing was unknown, still the
means of communicating and diffusing exact knowledge were possessed
in all parts of the extended empire. This period of Roman history,
therefore, abounded in materials for history.
But in the fifth century of the Christian era, Rome fell, a dismembered
edifice, and its trampled ruins were parcelled out and possessed by
barbarians. Her arts and her literature were, for a time, buried in the
mighty wreck. It was left to the priests in the monasteries, during the
dark ages, to delve and dig out these literary treasures. To them we
are indebted for preserving nearly all that remains.
In 1444, the art of printing was invented; the art of multiplying
records and copies of human writings. This is the art of arts; the
triumph of human skill; the greatest civilizer of society. In the next
number I shall give a sketch of the discovery and progress of the art
of printing, with a portrait of its inventor, and attempt to set forth
some of the effects which have resulted from it.
Something about Government.
In the earlier numbers of our Museum, we have told the story of
Philip Brusque, the main purpose of which was to show the necessity
of some government in society, to ensure peace, order and justice.
Mr. Robinson, of New York, has just published a book for schools and
families, entitled “The Young American; or Book of Government and Law;
showing their history, origin, nature and necessity.” I here insert
two chapters of the work, to show that all persons are interested in
government, and that all young persons ought to be instructed on this
subject, as one of the greatest importance.
[Illustration: _The thief._]
THE LAW IS EVERYWHERE.
When children are sufficiently advanced, they go forth from the
parental roof, and whether in the field, the forest, or the street,
they find that everywhere there is government and law.
If a child sees ripe fruit in a neighbor’s garden, he sets out to get
it, but is immediately told that he must not. He asks why he must not
get it, and is answered that it is against the law. A boy is about
to throw down a stone wall around a field, and is told he must not,
because it is against the law. A young fellow wishes to ride into a
neighbor’s field of grain, but he must not, for it is against the law.
A young person, in reading a newspaper, sees an account of a man who is
seized and hurried away to prison for theft, and learns that thieving
is forbidden by the law. In another paper the reader finds an account
of some pirates being hung, because they robbed a vessel upon the high
seas, and this, too, because such robbery is against the law.
Thus the law is seen to be everywhere, upon the land and the sea, in
town and country; and the question soon arises, who makes the law? The
answer to this is readily given; it is the government? But what is the
government? Who is it, what is it, that has spread this net-work of
prohibition and requisition over the land, involving every member of
society in its meshes? Who administers the government? Who makes the
government? By what means or instruments does the government operate?
Why do people obey the government? How does it acquire such universal
and decisive power?
To some or perhaps all of these questions, which, one after another,
arise in the mind, young persons gradually obtain answers; but these
are usually imperfect and confused. I propose, therefore, to proceed
to describe government, its origin, nature, and necessity; its various
forms in different parts of the world, and especially that form adopted
in our own country.
In the course of this delineation of government, I shall have occasion
to exhibit the origin and sources of laws; the manner of their
enactment; and the means by which they are made to regulate the conduct
of mankind.
[Illustration]
EQUALITY.
As some persons have fancied that society could realize a state of
absolute liberty, so some have fancied that a state of _absolute
equality_ could be attained. It is said in our Declaration of
Independence, that “all mankind are created equal;” and this has often
been taken as literally true.
But absolute equality is as impossible as absolute liberty. In the
first place, mankind are not born equal in respect to civil condition.
Some, as the serfs of Russia, are born slaves; in this country too, in
some of the states, certain individuals are born to servitude, while
others are born to enjoy freedom.
There are other grounds of inherent and necessary inequality. One
person is born with a good constitution; another is sickly from the
cradle. One person is endowed with a strong mind, another with a weak
one. One person is gifted with beauty, another with deformity. One has
natural grace, another awkwardness.
The surface of the earth, thrown into hills and valleys, with mountains
whose tops mingle with the clouds, and ravines that never see the
sunlight――meadows that bloom with flowers, and deserts that know no
living thing――plains and sloping hills, covered with forests――and rocky
regions where no tree can root itself――all this diversity of nature
presents not more inequality than the conditions in which mankind are
born. The whole system of nature and providence, shows it to be the
design of the Creator and moral governor, that there shall be diversity
in human society, as well as in nature.
Beside, even in those countries where there is the greatest freedom,
and the nearest approach to equality in society, even there, mankind
are neither born free nor equal, in the view of the law. If we take
no account of slaves, still the children of white persons are not
born free; they are under the control of their parents till they are
twenty-one years old.
Females, who constitute a part of mankind, and whose natural rights
are the same as those of men, are never placed on an equality with
men before the law. They are never permitted, even in forming the
constitution of a country, nor in enacting the laws, nor in choosing
rulers, to use the right of voting. They are excluded from all share
in the government, by the stronger sex, who proceed to make such laws
as they please; and in all countries these laws exclude woman from
political power.
It appears, therefore, that mankind are not born free and equal, in a
literal sense. In what sense, then, can it be truly said that men are
created equal? Only as meaning that all the members of society are born
with a just claim to civil liberty――to that freedom which is compatible
with the general good, and to an equality of rights. It means to say
that those laws which make one man a lord and another a serf――which
make one a citizen and debar another, in the same condition, from the
right of voting――are violations of the principles of justice and the
rights of man.
While, therefore, equality of condition is out of the question,
one thing is plain,――that equal rights, equal laws, and an equal
administration of these laws――so that the rich and the poor, the high
and the lowly, the citizen and the officeholder, shall all stand on the
same footing――are the ends and designs of a good government; and every
person should so use his power as to establish such ends and designs.
Equality does not mean that a woman shall be equal to a man, or a child
the same as a man; but that all women, all children, all citizens,
shall enjoy the same relative rights, privileges, and immunities.
* * * * *
A BOY LOST. A few years ago, a boy, who was sent upon some errand on
a cold winter’s night, was overtaken by a dreadful storm, when the
snow fell so thick, and drifted in such a manner, that he missed his
way, and continued to wander up and down for several hours, nearly
perished with cold. At midnight, a gentleman in the neighborhood
thought he heard a sound, but could not imagine what it was, until,
opening his window, he distinguished a human voice at a great distance,
pronouncing, in a piteous tone, “Lost! lost! lost!” Humanity induced
the gentleman to send out in search of the person from whom the voice
proceeded, when, after a long search, the poor boy was found nearly
benumbed with cold. Happy was it for him that he knew his danger, that
he cried for help, and that his cry was heard!
* * * * *
ARITHMETIC. A woman, upon being asked how old her husband was when he
died, gave the following arithmetical answer: “I was nineteen years
old when my poor mother died; my mother has been dead just twenty-four
years last Bradford fair, and my husband was thirteen years older than
I am.” Can my young friends tell me how old he was?
Anecdotes of Storks.
There are great numbers of these birds in the south of Russia. Before
migrating, which they always do at the approach of winter, they
assemble from all parts, and kill the young ones that are not strong
enough to accompany them in their long flight. This characteristic is
remarkable, and in strong contrast to the affection they generally
display towards their young. Of this, the following anecdote, related
to me by a merchant of my acquaintance, is an example.
He was on his way to Kharkoff, when he observed, one evening, several
peasants assembled around something in a field near a village. Ordering
the driver to stop, he alighted from his carriage, and went up to them
to see what was going on. Arriving at the spot, he found that they were
looking at two dead storks which were lying on the grass, and upon his
inquiring the reason of their taking such an interest in these birds,
one of the bystanders gave him the following singular account.
The storks had a nest in the field they were then lying in. The hen
bird had been sitting that morning; and the male left her as usual in
search of food. During his absence, the female, either with the same
intention, or to have a bit of gossip with some of the other storks
in the neighborhood, also took her departure. No sooner had she left
her nest, than a species of hawk, very common in the steppes, seeing
the eggs unprotected, pounced upon them and sucked them. A short time
after this, the male bird returned, and finding the eggs destroyed, he
threw himself down upon the shells, and gave way to every demonstration
of grief. The female also returned, but as soon as he observed her,
he ran up, attacked her with his beak, and seizing her between his
claws, soared up with her to a great height. He then compressed his
own wings, and both falling to the ground together, were instantly
killed!――_Capt. Jesse’s Travels._
Conundrums.
1. What is often on the table, often cut, but never eaten?
2. Why is a pair of skates like an apple?
3. Why do we look over a stone wall?
4. In what place did the cock crow when everybody in the world heard
him?
5. Why is sin like a picture-frame?
6. What wine is mock agony?
7. Why is a peach-stone like a regiment?
8. Why is a bat like a king?
9. Why is a dancing-master like a tree?
10. Why is death like the letter E?
11. Why is the letter P like uncle’s fat wife going up a hill?
12. Why is the letter G like the sun?
13. Why are a fisherman and a shepherd like beggars?
14. Why is a woman churning like a caterpillar?
15. Why is a madman like two men?
16. Why is a drop of blood like one of Scott’s novels?
17. Why is a baker like a beggar?
18. If I kiss you and you kiss me, what kind of riddle do we make?
19. Whose best works are the most trampled on?
20. Why is a button-hole like a cloudy sky?
21. If you throw up a ripe pumpkin, what will it become?
22. Why do white sheep produce more wool than black ones?
23. What is handsomer when the head is off?
[Illustration]
Artificial Ice for Skating.
One of the most interesting places of amusement in London is the
Colosseum. This is an immense edifice, which looks, as you approach it,
like a Grecian temple covered with a vast dome.
The purpose of this building is to exhibit spectacles and scenes of
various kinds, such as views of famous cities and interesting places,
in all parts of the world. The effect is produced partly by painting,
and partly by machinery, and the management of the light that is let
in through the dome. It is scarcely possible for any person not to
be completely deceived by these exhibitions; they are so natural, so
truthful and life-like, that the spectator is irresistibly made to feel
that he looks upon a reality and not a picture.
The spectators――such as desire it――are taken into a small circular
room, which is prepared with seats; this is so contrived as to rise
slowly, and imperceptibly to those who are in it, which makes the scene
itself appear to change. By this contrivance, the effect of sunrise and
evening, upon the landscape, are produced to admiration.
Sometimes amusing scenes occur at the place, on account of the circular
room. Not long since a young fellow, from the country, came with his
sweetheart, to London, and of course they must go to the Colosseum.
In they went, and the girl, desirous to see the best of it, pressed
forward into the circular room; John, being left a little behind. Just
at that moment, the circular room began to rise, but neither the youth
nor the girl noticed it till it had ascended to the height of ten
feet――they were so absorbed with the spectacle before them.
At last the girl perceived the ascending motion――and, looking down,
beheld her lover, far beneath. Filled with the awful idea of the
tricks upon travellers that she had heard of as practised by the
Londoners, she immediately fancied that it was a case of kidnapping or
abduction, equal to any in the tales of the Arabian Nights. Therefore,
spreading forth her beseeching arms, and bending over toward her lover,
in a mingled tone of tenderness and terror, she exclaimed――“John! John!
John! John!”
The faithful heart of the swain felt that these sounds could come from
no one but Hannah――his Hannah! He looked around in amazement; but saw
her not. Yet, as he thought very _highly_ of her, and deemed her almost
an angel, it was not difficult for him, as the sounds plainly came from
_above_, to seek her in that direction. He turned his eyes upward, and
there she was, sure enough, going it――“John! John! John!”
It is singular how differently terror affects women from what it
does men. The former are usually rendered more eloquent by its
influence――while the latter are often reduced to silence. So it was
with our hero now. Deeply impressed with the wonderful event,――his
fair friend ascending to the skies, while he stood still upon the
earth,――his mind agonized at the idea of separation, and a thousand
creeping fears rushing through his heart at the recollection that
they were in that wild wilderness――London――so dangerous to wandering
love-lorn lasses; thinking and feeling all this, still John said not
a word. Insensible to the shout of laughter that burst from the two
audiences, the one above and the one below――he gazed and gazed, and
said nothing. At last, some one who was standing near, explained the
matter to him, and the ladies above, pacified Hannah. So this part of
the exhibition was closed.
Among the spectacles of the Colosseum, there was a very interesting one
representing the scenery of the Alps in Switzerland. This exhibited
the snow-covered mountains; the craggy cliffs topped with the cottages
of the Swiss villagers; the dark and deep ravines, shadowed with
evergreen trees; and the sparkling rivulets, leaping down the rocky
precipices. By means of machinery, the figures of men and women were
seen to move, and the ruffling action of the water, with even its
flashing in the sunlight, was admirably represented.
Perhaps the most interesting and wonderful exhibition was that which
was got up last summer, consisting of a field of artificial ice, made
of crystal salts, principally soda; and having not only the glassy
look, but the slippery effect of real ice. The Skating Club of London
were invited to try it, and they pronounced it excellent. Accordingly,
the exhibition was opened in mid-summer, and the spectators, sitting in
an atmosphere of eighty degrees, could be amused with seeing a party
of skaters before them, gliding about with all the activity and ease
attending such a display in winter. In order to render the illusion
more perfect, and the scene more picturesque, the surrounding scenery
consisted of snow-capped hills and mountains, bearing all the wild and
savage aspect of the Alps in winter. The effect was admirable――the
deception complete. The spectator, in July or August, coming from a
view of Regent’s Park, decked in all the gorgeous livery of summer,
in the space of thirty seconds found himself transported to an Alpine
scene in the season of the sternest winter. Before him was an icy lake,
and skaters were gliding over its surface; while the distance displayed
all the chill and ghastly features of Switzerland, in January.
Such a transition was almost a realizing of the tricks which fancy
sometimes plays us in dreams, and shows us the admirable power of
human art. It shows us that in a great city, where the people are cut
off from the pleasures of country life――of pleasant scenery, and fine
walks among the fields――that they still contrive by their ingenuity, to
rival, if not surpass, the combinations of nature herself.
True Stories.
THE DUKE OF LUXEMBURG. This illustrious man, on his death-bed, declared
that he would then much rather have had it to reflect upon “that he
had administered a cup of cold water to a poor worthy creature in
distress, than upon all the battles in which he had conquered.” All the
sentiments of worldly grandeur vanish in that unavoidable moment, which
decides the eternal state of man.
* * * * *
SABBATH-BREAKING. A man by the name of Moore, who was executed for
burglary some years ago, in England, addressed the spectators in the
following words:――“My friends, you have come to see me die. I would
advise you to take warning by my fate. The first beginning of my ruin
was Sabbath-breaking; it led me into bad company, and from bad company
to robbing gardens and orchards, and finally to house-breaking, which
has brought me to this place. Many of you are young, and in an especial
manner I warn you to beware of Sabbath-breaking.”
* * * * *
PRIDE MUST FALL. When Bonaparte was about to invade Russia, a person
who had endeavored to dissuade him from his purpose, finding he could
not prevail, quoted to him the proverb, “L’homme propose, mais Dieu
dispose;”――man proposes, but God disposes; to which he indignantly
replied, “I dispose as well as propose.” A Christian lady, hearing
the impious boast, remarked, “I set that down as the turning point
of Bonaparte’s fortunes. God will not suffer a creature, thus with
impunity, to usurp his prerogative.” It happened just as the lady had
predicted. Bonaparte’s invasion of Russia was the commencement of his
fall.
* * * * *
PROFANITY. The famous Dr. Johnson never suffered an oath to go
unrebuked, in his presence. When a libertine, but a man of some
note, was once talking before him, and interlarding his stories with
oaths,――Johnson said, “Sir, all this swearing will do nothing for
our story; I beg you will not swear.” The narrator went on swearing;
Johnson said, “I must again entreat you not to swear.” The gentleman
swore again, and Johnson indignantly quitted the room.
* * * * *
TRUST IN PROVIDENCE. An honest, industrious countryman, in England,
had often been brought, by want of employment, into very straitened
circumstances; but still he experienced, as he thought, many
interpositions of Providence in his favor. In conversing once on the
subject of God’s taking care of his people, the man observed, “It is
very easy to talk of trusting in God with plenty of provision in the
house and money in the pocket; but I do not call that _trust_! I call
it _ready money_.”
* * * * *
A WORD IN SEASON. A pious physician once told a very troublesome
patient that it was absolutely necessary he should be bled, to which,
however, the man had the strongest objection. Upon hearing this, he
sprang up in his bed, and exclaimed impatiently, “God bless my soul.”
The doctor said solemnly――“Amen.” The patient was exceedingly struck
by the word, thus uttered: he became quiet and said, “Doctor, you have
turned into a prayer, what I meant only as an exclamation; you may do
with me what you like.” What a striking illustration of the text, “A
word spoken in due season, how good is it!”
* * * * *
A DELICATE REBUKE. As the Reverend Mr. H. was travelling in company
with some gentlemen who had accidentally joined him on the road, one
of them who was very much given to ridiculing ministers of the gospel,
after he had proposed several insulting questions, addressed him thus:
“I suppose you are a preacher, sir.” “I am, sir,” was the reply. “And
pray, sir,” said the scoffer, in a swelling manner, “what do you preach
to the people?” “Why, sir,” replied Mr. H., “I sometimes admonish
my hearers to avoid foolish and impertinent questions.” The company
could not refrain from laughing; they commended the preacher for his
seasonable reply, and Mr. H. was no more troubled by his unpleasant
companion.
* * * * *
POWER OF KINDNESS. A Grecian, named Arcadius, was constantly railing
against Philip, of Macedon. Venturing once into the dominions of
Philip, the courtiers suggested to their prince that he had now an
opportunity to punish Arcadius for his past insults, and to put it
out of his power to repeat them. The king took their advice, but in a
different way. Instead of seizing the hostile stranger and putting him
to death, he dismissed him, loaded with courtesies and kindness.
Some time after Arcadius’s departure from Macedon, word was brought
that the king’s old enemy had become one of his warmest friends, and
did nothing but diffuse his praises, wherever he went. On hearing
which, Philip turned to his courtiers, and asked, with a smile, “Am not
I a better physician than you?”
* * * * *
GOOD FOR EVIL. Euclid, a disciple of Socrates, having offended his
brother, the latter cried out in a rage, “Let me die, if I am not
revenged on you some time or other.” Euclid replied, “And let me die
if I do not soften you by my kindness, and make you love me as well as
ever.”
* * * * *
FORGIVENESS. In a school in a town in Ireland, an instance occurred
some time since, in the master’s accidental absence, of one boy being
provoked to strike another, which was, of course, considered a serious
ground of complaint. On hearing the accusation stated, the master came
to the determination of punishing the culprit; when, to his great
surprise, the injured boy came forward and earnestly begged for the
pardon of the offender. The inquiry was made, why he should interfere,
or wish to prevent so just an example. To which he replied, “I was
reading in the New Testament lately, that Jesus Christ said we must
forgive our enemies; and I forgive him, and beg he may not be punished
for my sake.” Such a plea, under such circumstances, and urged too
by a child who manifested a conscientious regard to the commands of
Christ, was too powerful to be resisted. The offender was, therefore,
pardoned, and it is almost needless to add, the parents of the boy, and
indeed many others, were highly delighted at hearing of the interesting
circumstance.
* * * * *
PUNCTUALITY IS BUT HONESTY. A committee of eight ladies, in the
neighborhood of London, was appointed to meet on a certain day at
twelve o’clock. Seven of them were punctual, but the eighth came
hurrying in with many apologies for being a quarter of an hour behind
the time. It had passed away without her being aware of its being so
late, &c. A Quaker lady present said, “Friend, I am not so clear
that we should admit thy apology. It were matter of regret that thou
shouldst have wasted thine own quarter of an hour; but here are seven
beside thyself, whose time thou hast also consumed, amounting in the
whole to two hours, and seven eighths of it was not thine own property.”
* * * * *
CALMNESS. Socrates having received a blow upon the head, observed,
that “it would be well if people knew when it was necessary to put
on a helmet.” On another occasion, being attacked with opprobrious
language, he calmly observed that “that man has not been taught to
speak respectfully.” How much might Christians learn from this heathen.
* * * * *
“A SOFT ANSWER TURNETH AWAY WRATH.” A Christian man, who was hated by
one of his neighbors for his religion, was once attacked by him with
abusive words, at his own door. He bore for a time the violence of the
other’s language, who called him all the ill names he could think of.
When, at length, he ceased, being exhausted with passion; the other
meekly, but kindly and sincerely replied to him, “Will you come into
my house and take some refreshment?” This was too much. The enemy was
softened――he was overcome with this Christian conduct, and burst into
tears. This was indeed a triumph.
* * * * *
LINNÆUS. The celebrated Linnæus always testified in his conversations,
writings, and actions the greatest sense of God’s omniscience. He was,
indeed, so strongly impressed with this idea that he wrote over the
door of his library――“Live innocently; God is present.”
* * * * *
“TRUTH HATH A QUIET BREAST.” When Swift was one day coolly and calmly
arguing with a gentleman who had become exceedingly warm in dispute;
one of the company asked him how he could keep his temper so well――“The
the reason,” replied the dean, “is this――I have truth on my side.”
[Illustration]
The Love of Nature.
Let me talk with pretty flowers,
O’er the earth growing,
Through the lovely meads and bowers,
Everywhere blowing.
Let me talk with pretty birds,
Joyfully winging;
Listen to their merry words
While they are singing.
Let me talk with gentle lambs,
Frisking and prancing
Round and round their happy dams,
Skipping and dancing.
Let me talk with summer clouds,
Hear their gay story,
Creeping to the west in crowds,
Sparkling with glory.
Let me talk with mid-day’s light,
Now proudly gleaming;
Whisper to the stars at night,
When softly beaming.
Let me talk with streams and floods,
Winds o’er them flying;
Let me talk with hills and woods,
Echoes replying.
Let me kneel to HIM, who lives
Throughout all Nature――
Life and joy, and beauty gives,
To every creature.
True Stories of the Young.
HONESTY THE BEST POLICY. A little girl was once passing a garden, in
which were some pretty flowers. She wished much to have some of them;
she could have put her hand between the rails, and picked some, and
perhaps nobody would have seen her. But she knew this would be very
wicked; it would be stealing. So, after thinking a little while, she
resolved what she would do. She went to the mistress of the garden, and
asked her very prettily to give her some of those nice flowers. The
lady told her she had done right not to take them, and then showed
her another garden full of plants and flowers, and gathered her a fine
large nosegay.
Now, if this little girl had taken the flowers without leave, she would
have been very unhappy; and if her mother had asked her how she came by
them, she would most likely have told a lie to hide her first fault.
And how uncomfortable she would have been at night, when she lay down
and prayed to that great Being who has said, “Thieves shall not inherit
the kingdom of God.”
* * * * *
DR. WATTS WHEN A CHILD. When Dr. Watts was very young, and before he
could speak plain, he would say to his mother, when any money was
given to him, “A book, a book, buy me a book.” He began to learn
Latin at four years of age. When about seven or eight years old, his
mother desired him to write her some lines, as was the custom with the
other boys, after the school hours were over, for which she used to
reward them with a farthing. Isaac obeyed, and presented her with the
following couplet:
I write not for a farthing, but to try
If I your farthing writers can outvie.
* * * * *
OBEDIENCE. A Polish prince was accustomed to carry the picture of his
father always in his bosom; and on particular occasions, he would take
it out and say, “Let me do nothing unbecoming so excellent a father.”
* * * * *
THE ART OF LOVE. Dr. Doddridge one day asked his little daughter how it
was that everybody loved her. “I do not know,” said she, “unless it be
that I love everybody.”
* * * * *
A FINE EXAMPLE. Louis, Duke of Burgundy, was a pattern of filial
obedience. It was never necessary to threaten or punish him, in order
to make him do his duty. A word, or even a look was sufficient. He
was always much grieved when his mother seemed displeased with him, or
spoke to him less kindly than usual. On such occasions, he would often
weep, and say to her, clasping his little hands, “Dear mamma, pray do
not be angry with me; I will do what you please.”
* * * * *
A CHILD’S FIRST PRAYER. A venerable minister in New Hampshire, lodging
at the house of a pious friend, observed the mother teaching some
short prayers and hymns to her children,――“Madam,” said he, “your
instructions may be of far more importance than you are aware. My
mother taught me a little hymn when I was a child, and it is of use to
me to this day; for, I never close my eyes to rest without first saying,
‘And now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.’”
* * * * *
SOUND ARGUMENT IN A CHILD. A little boy, upon asking his mother how
many gods there were, was instantly answered by his younger brother,
“Why one to be sure.” “But how do you know that?” replied the other.
“Because,” said the little boy, “God fills every place, so that there
is no room for any other.”
* * * * *
HEATHEN IDOLS. A mother was once describing to her little son the idols
which heathen nations worship as gods. “I suppose, mamma,” said the
boy, “that these heathen do not look up to the same sun, moon and stars
that we do.” “Yes, my dear, they do.” “Why, then,” said he, “I wonder
that they do not think there must be a better God than their idols!”
* * * * *
A CHILD REBUKES A MAN. A little boy belonging to a Sabbath school in
London, was taken by his uncle to walk one Sunday, when the school
was over. The uncle, who was a thoughtless man, was anxious to buy
something for the child; but little William had been often told how
improper it was to buy or sell on the Sabbath day. “Come, Billy,” said
his uncle, “I’ll buy you something, some apples or gingerbread; Aunt
Mary’s not here, and she’ll not know anything about it.” “Oh, but
uncle,” said the boy, “if Aunt Mary does not see it, God will, and it’s
very wicked.”
* * * * *
WHY SHOULD NOT A NEGRO READ THE BIBLE? A few years ago, in the island
of Jamaica, a child, who had been educated in a Sunday school,
happened to see a negro mending his net upon the Sabbath day. The
child immediately went up to him and said, “Do you not know that it is
written in the word of God, ‘Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day?’”
“Now, massa,” replied the negro, “if you bring de word of God, and read
dat passage, I no mend my net on Sunday any more.”
The child brought the Bible and read it; the negro laid aside his net,
and going home to his wife said, “Oh, me nebber see such picaninny as
dat; him tell me all about de word of God! I nebber can work upon de
Sabbath again.”
* * * * *
A CONSISTENT MOTHER. Some ladies having met at the house of a friend,
the child of one of them was guilty of rude, noisy conduct, very
improper on all occasions, and particularly so at a friend’s house. The
mother kindly reproved her,――“Sarah, you must not do so.”
The child soon forgot the reproof, and became as noisy as ever. The
mother said firmly, “Sarah, if you do so again, I will punish you.”
But not long after, Sarah did so again. When the company were about
to separate, the mother stepped into a neighbor’s house, intending
to return for the child. During her absence, the thought of going
home recalled to the mind of Sarah the punishment which her mother
told her she might expect. The recollection turned her rudeness and
thoughtlessness into sorrow. A young lady present observing it, and
learning the cause, said, “Never mind, I will ask your mother not to
punish you.” “Oh,” said Sarah, “that will do no good. _My mother never
tells falsehoods!_”
* * * * *
PRECEPT AND PRACTICE. There is one thing always to be remembered, by
young people as well as old ones. A person must not only have _good
intentions_, but _good practice_. A person must not only put his trust
in God, but he must do as God directs. A man who has no faith, has
no good principle of action; a man who has no good practice, has no
faith, no sound belief, no confidence in Him to whom he owes every
blessing. Good faith and good works, therefore, always go together;
good principles and good practice go together. We never find these two
apart. A person never does right from a wrong motive; a person never
does wrong from a right motive.
* * * * *
MR. POPE AND HIS LADY――A GAME. Any number of boys and girls may engage
in this game. It is played with a small round waiter, or plate, which
being placed in the middle of the room, one of the little company
twirls the waiter round with her thumb and finger, making it spin as
long as she can, saying, as she takes it up, “By the leave of Mr. Pope
and his lady.” If the waiter falls down the wrong side upwards, the
spinner pays a forfeit; and, sometimes, in the hurry of the moment, she
forgets to say the proper words, in which case also she pays a forfeit,
which forfeits are afterwards redeemed.
[Illustration]
Winter.
Oh, why are the leaves all scattered and dead?
And why are the blossoms all blasted and fled?
Why――why are the rivers, once sportive and free,
Now silent and sad――and in slavery!
Oh winter! stern monarch――thy sway is begun――
And thou lovest to undo what the summer hath done.
The fairest, most cherished of blossoms and flowers,
The queen of the meadows――the princess of bowers
The lily and rose――these waken thy spite――
And they fly from thy presence, in terror and blight!
The leaves of the forest turn pale in thy blast――
From thy hail and thy frost the birds shrink aghast――
And the bright robe of green that was woven by May,
Is torn from the landscape, for mantles of gray.
Oh winter! stern tyrant――if such be thy reign,
O’er the mountain and meadow――o’er hillock and plain――
If all that is lovely――’tis thine to o’erthrow――
Let us keep from our _hearts_, thy frost and thy snow.
Smiles.
Weep not at what the world can do,
Nor sorrow for its wrong,
But wear a smile upon thy brow――
It cannot harm us long;
The cold contempt, the bitter scorn,
The hatred and the guile,
Will not feel lighter if we mourn;――
Oh! then ’tis well to smile.
Then smile at human vanity,
And smile at human pride,
And smile when men do flatter thee,
And smile when they deride.
When some would do thee wrong, then smile,
And care not to condemn;
When some with fairer looks beguile――
Why, have a smile for them.
Smile with the sunshine in his light,
Smile with the gem and flower;
With all that’s fair, and pure, and bright,
Throughout life’s fitful hour;
And lift, in praise, thy smiling eyes,
And, smiling, breathe a prayer
To HIM who lives beyond the skies,
And _smiles forever there_.
[Illustration]
The Water-Spout.
The water-spout is a strange meteor, which has attracted a good deal
of attention, but the causes of it are not entirely ascertained. Dr.
Franklin’s opinion was that a water-spout and a whirlwind proceed from
the same cause; the only difference being that the latter passes over
the land and the former over the water. This opinion is generally
believed to be correct. It is supposed that opposing winds give a
whirling motion to the air, which force up masses of water, and produce
the phenomena to which we allude.
The engraving represents the appearance of a water-spout. This usually
resembles an enormous speaking-trumpet in shape, the mouth end being
near the top of the sea. The wind is commonly blowing first this way
and then that, causing the spout to bend and writhe and move from one
point to another. Beneath, where it nearly touches the water, the sea
is agitated and covered with foam. Wo to the vessel that is assailed
by one of these meteors! The usual defence at sea, is to fire a cannon
shot into the whirling tube, which usually dispels it, and the water
falls in a tremendous shower.
Upon land, a water-spout sometimes commits the most fearful ravages:
attended both by a furious wind and torrents of water, it often spreads
devastation over the country which it visits. In 1839, a considerable
district upon the Seine, in France, experienced the most dreadful
calamities from a water-spout. It uprooted and carried away trees of
the largest size; walls of stone were overturned; and tiles, roofs and
even houses were carried away.
* * * * *
ECCENTRIC OLD MAID.――Mrs. Sarah Bedwell, spinster, at Woodbridge, died
on the 15th ult., aged ninety. She was formerly housekeeper to Mrs.
Doughty, and by her penurious habits had accumulated considerable
property. In a tin canister were found seventy sovereigns, and
memoranda of cash in the bank and mortgages amounting to about
15,000_l._ She had in her possession 75 chemises, 30 bonnets, 25 silk
gowns, four dozen damask table-cloths, and a chest of bed-clothes; and
yet she expired, covered with merely a piece of old carpet, without a
nightcap, and shockingly infested with vermin.――_Ipswich Express._
“Beauty.”
We are not about to write a treatise upon that subtle, yet enticing
thing which ladies love to possess, and which men all but worship.
No; our business is, just now, to speak of a horse, bearing the name
placed at the head of this article, and which, at the present time, is
Queen Victoria’s favorite for the saddle. He is a native of Barbary,
and is of the finest and most famous Arabian breed. When he was brought
to market, the Emperor of Morocco offered as many dollars for him as
he could carry――such at least is the story. But he was outbid by an
English gentleman, who purchased the animal and sent him to the queen.
We give a faithful portrait of this celebrated and fortunate beast.
The Elephant and Fox.
A FABLE.
I am sorry to say, that a great many people listen with more pleasure
to a lively tale that is full of cunning, wit, and scandal, than to a
wise discourse, which teaches truth and inculcates virtue. This may be
illustrated by the fable of the elephant and fox.
These two animals fell into a dispute, as to which had the greatest
powers of persuasion; and, as they could not settle the matter
themselves, it was agreed to call an assembly of the beasts, and let
them decide it. These were accordingly summoned, and when the tiger,
porcupine, dog, ox, panther, goat, and the rest of the quadruped
family had all taken their places, the elephant began his oration. He
discoursed very eloquently, upon the beauty of truth, justice, and
mercy, and set forth the enormity of falsehood, cunning, selfishness,
and cruelty. A few of the wiser beasts listened with interest and
approbation; but the leopard, tiger, porcupine, and a large majority
of the audience, yawned, and showed that they thought it a very stupid
piece of business.
But when the fox began to tell his cunning knaveries, they pricked
up their ears, and listened with a lively interest. As he went on
to relate his various adventures, how he had robbed hen-roosts, and
plundered geese and ducks from the poultry-yard, and how by various
cunning artifices he had escaped detection, they manifested the
greatest delight. So the fox went on sneering at the elephant and all
others who loved justice, truth, and mercy, and recommending to his
listeners to follow the pleasures of thievery and plunder. As he closed
his discourse, there was a loud burst of applause, and on counting
noses, the majority was found to be in favor of the fox.
[Illustration]
The assembly broke up, and some months passed away, when, as the
elephant was quietly browsing in the woods one day, he heard a piteous
moan at a little distance. Proceeding to the place from which the sound
came, he there found the orator fox, caught in a trap, with both his
hinder legs broken, and sadly mangled. “So,” said the fox sharply,
though he was nearly exhausted with pain, “you have come to jeer at
me, in my hour of trouble.” “Surely not,” said the elephant. “I would
relieve your pain if I could, but your legs are broken, and there is no
relief for you, but in death.” “True,” said the fox, mournfully, “and I
now admit the miserable folly of those principles which I have avowed,
and the practice which resulted from them. I have lived a gay life,
though even my gayety has been sadly shadowed, by perpetual fear of
what has now come upon me. Had I been satisfied with an honest life and
innocent pleasures, I had not thus come to a miserable end. Knavery,
artifice, and cunning may be very good topics with which to delude
those who are inclined to be vicious, but they furnish miserable rules
to live and die by.”――_Parley’s Gift._
The Vain Search.
My little reader, did you ever get lost in the woods? Perhaps not; but
many children have. I knew a boy and a girl, named James and Fanny,
who lived upon the slope of a mountain, more than a mile from a
village.
A large part of the space between their house and the village, was
covered by forests; but these children were accustomed to go to school
and to church through the woods, and their parents never felt any
anxiety about them.
One morning, they set out to go to school; it was August, and the
weather was warm and beautiful. In descending the mountain, they came
to the brow of a hill, from which they could see a small blue lake.
This was surrounded by the forest, and seemed to be at no great
distance. James had often seen it before, and wished to go to it,
but, on the present occasion, he could not withstand the temptation
to pay it a visit. Accordingly, he set out, having persuaded Fanny to
accompany him.
They pushed on through the tangled woods for some time, in the
direction of the lake, and at length supposed they must be very near to
it, but on coming to a little eminence, and catching a glimpse of the
blue water between the trees, it still seemed as distant as before.
They were not discouraged, however, but again went forward for some
time. At length Fanny said to her brother, that they had better return
and go to school. James replied, that it was too late to get to school
in season, and he thought the better way was to make a holiday of it.
They would return home at the usual time, and their parents would know
nothing about it.
“I don’t like that plan,” said little Fanny, “for our parents expect us
to go to school, and if we do not go, we disobey them. Beside, if we
spend the day in play, and say nothing about it, and let our parents
think we have been at school, we deceive them, and that is as bad as
telling a lie.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said James; “we’ll tell them we got lost, or something
of the kind. Don’t you be afraid. I’ll manage that matter, so come
along.”
Little Fanny went forward, but she was sad at heart; and James, too,
conscious of disobedience and deception in his heart, felt unhappy; but
he put on a brave face, and sang, or whistled as he proceeded.
Again the two children came to such a position that they could see the
little lake, and, strange to tell, it seemed about as far off now, as
when they first set out to visit it.
The fact was, they had been deceived; for the lake was much farther
than it appeared to be. They had already spent two hours in their
attempt to reach it; and after some consultation, they concluded to
give up their enterprise, and go back.
But now their task commenced. They had pursued no beaten path, and
they had nothing to guide them in their return. The sky, which had
been so clear in the morning, was now over-shadowed with thick clouds.
Uncertain of the course they ought to pursue, they still went forward,
with trembling and anxious haste.
Coming at length to the foot of a cliff, they paused, being overcome
with fatigue. James sat down and buried his face in his hands.
“What is the matter?” said Fanny. “We have lost our way, and shall
never find our home again,” said James. “We have lost our way, no
doubt,” said Fanny, “but I hope and trust we shall find our way out of
the woods. This is come upon us, James, because of our disobedience.”
“I know it, Fanny,” said James; “but it was my disobedience, and not
yours, and I am so unhappy because my wickedness has brought you into
trouble; and beside, I intended to deceive our parents. I cannot but
wonder, now, that I should have thought of such a thing.”
“Well, James,” said Fanny, “let this be a lesson to us both; and now we
must proceed, and try to find our way out of the wood.” Accordingly,
they went forward with great diligence; but having rambled about for
nearly four hours, supposing all the time they were going toward their
home, they came back to the very spot beneath the cliff, where they had
sat down and rested themselves before.
They were now quite discouraged, and almost broken-hearted. They had
picked some blue-berries in their rambles, so that they were not very
hungry; but their fatigue was so great, that, after lying side by side
upon the sloping bank, for a while, they both went to sleep.
It was about midnight, when Fanny awoke. She had been dreaming that she
and her brother had wandered away, and got lost in the forest; that,
overcome with fatigue, they had thrown themselves down on the earth at
the foot of a cliff, and fallen asleep, and that they were awakened
from their sleep by hearing the call of their father, ringing through
the solitude.
It was at this point of her dream, that Fanny awoke. For a moment she
was bewildered, but soon recollected where she was. She cast her eye
about, and saw that no shelter was over her, but the starry canopy of
heaven.
She looked around, and could see nothing but the ragged outline of
the hills against the sky. She listened, and seemed to feel that the
voice heard in her dream was a reality, and that she should hear it
again. But she now heard only the solitary chirp of a cricket, and the
mournful shivering of the forest leaves.
She sat some time, almost afraid to make the slightest noise, yet
feeling such a sense of desolation that she thought she must wake up
her brother.
She was stretching out her hand for the purpose of waking him, when
she seemed to hear the call of her father, as she had heard it in her
dream. She listened intently, her little heart beating with the utmost
anxiety.
She waited for several minutes, when, full and clear, at no great
distance, she heard her father call, “James?” The little girl sprang
to her feet, and screamed, with all her might, “Here, here we are,
father!” James was soon awakened, and, with some difficulty, the father
came down the cliff, and clasped his children in his arms.
I need not say that this painful adventure was remembered by James and
Fanny long after they had ceased to be children; and they were both
accustomed to say, that it was of importance to them through life, in
impressing upon them the necessity of obedience to parents, and the
wickedness of all attempts to deceive them.
Let me remark to my youthful readers, that if pleasure ever tempts them
to forsake the path of duty, I hope they will remember, that, like the
blue lake, which seemed so beautiful and near to the eyes of our little
wanderers, and which was yet inaccessible to them, it will probably
disappoint their efforts to obtain it.――_Parley’s Gift._
Varieties.
JUNIPER. The ancients consecrated this shrub to their gods. The smoke
of its branches was the incense which in preference they chose to offer
to their gods, and burnt its berries on funeral occasions to drive away
evil spirits. The simple villagers of England superstitiously believe
that the perfume of its berries purifies the air, and protects them
from the malevolence of evil spirits.
The Chinese delight to decorate their gardens with this plant. It is
commonly found growing wild on the outskirts of woods and forests,
where it often affords a safe retreat for the hare when pursued by the
hounds. The strong odor it exhales is said to defeat the keen scent
of the dog. Its branches, bristling with thorns, are covered with
thousands of brilliant insects, which seem to imagine this tree is
provided as a protection for their weakness.
* * * * *
THE SICILIAN VESPERS. The word “vespers” in the Romish church means
_evening song_, answering to evening prayers. The Sicilian Vespers
denote a famous era in French history, 1282, being a general massacre
of all the French in the island of Sicily, to which the first toll that
called to vespers was the signal. The number destroyed was about 8000.
* * * * *
A TOURNAMENT is a martial sport or exercise which the ancient cavaliers
used to perform, to show their bravery and address. It is derived from
the French word _tourner_, to turn round, because, to be expert in
these exercises, much agility, both of horse and man, was necessary.
Tournaments made the principal exercises of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries; but being at length productive of mischievous
consequences, the princes of Europe gradually discouraged and
suppressed them.
* * * * *
THE laurel-leaved Magnolia is a splendid evergreen tree, rising in its
native country to sixty feet or more, but with us scarcely exceeding
thirty or forty feet. The leaves grow from eight inches to one foot
long, in form not unlike those of the common laurel; the flowers are
white, of a large size, and emit a pleasant fragrance.
* * * * *
“OF what use are all your studying and your books,” said an honest
farmer to an ingenious artist. “They don’t make the corn grow, nor
produce vegetables for market. My Sam does more good with his plough in
one month, than you can do with your books and papers in one year.”
“What plough does your son use?” said the artist quietly.
“Why he uses ――――’s plough, to be sure. He can do nothing with any
other. By using this plough, we save half the labor, and raise three
times as much as we did with the old wooden concern.”
The artist turned over one of his sheets, and showed the farmer the
drawing of his much-praised plough, saying with a smile, “I am the
inventor of your favorite plough, and my name is ――――.”
The astonished farmer shook the artist heartily by the hand; and
invited him to call at the farm-house, and make it his home as long as
he liked.
* * * * *
THE Chevalier Bayard was a distinguished French warrior. He was
mortally wounded in a battle at Marignan. He ordered his attendant to
place him against a tree, with his face to the enemy. While in this
situation, the constable of Bourbon, who was fighting against his
country, came up to him and expressed his regret that his wounds were
mortal. “Do not pity me,” said the dying Chevalier; “it is not I who
am to be pitied, but you, who are bearing arms against your king, your
country and your oath.” This brave and good man died in the year 1524,
aged fifty years.
* * * * *
SUPERSTITIONS. In the country villages in England, there are many
superstitions. Thousands believe that the howling of a dog denotes
death; that pigs can see the wind; to put on your stocking wrong side
out, is a sign of good luck; and bubbles in your tea tell that you will
be rich; when your cheek burns, some one is supposed to be talking of
you; when your ears glow, they are telling falsehoods about you; if
your nose itches, you will be vexed; if your right eye itches, you will
have good luck; should your left itch, it will be bad. It is unlucky to
meet a person who squints; if you meet one magpie, it denotes sorrow;
two, brings luck; three, a wedding; and four, death. To spill salt
is to bring sorrow upon yourself; and horse shoes are nailed at the
thresholds of doors to keep out the witch. To lend a friend a knife or
scizzors is to cut friendship.
* * * * *
THE CICADA. This insect, so greatly praised by the ancients, appears to
have been a kind of grasshopper. “Sweet prophet of the summer,” says
Anacreon, addressing it, “the muses love thee, Phœbus himself loves
thee, and has given thee a shrill song;――thou art wise, earthborn,
musical, impassive, without blood――thou art almost like a God!” So
attached were the Athenians to these insects, that they used to fasten
golden images of them in their hair. They were regarded, indeed, by
all as the happiest, as well as the most innocent of creatures. The
sound of this insect and of the harp were called by one and the same
name. There is a story among the ancients, of two rival musicians,
who were striving to excel each other on the harp, when one of them
unfortunately broke a string; a cicada at that moment flew upon the
instrument, and supplying the place of the string, secured to him the
victory. A cicada sitting upon a harp, was therefore the usual emblem
of the science of music among the ancients.
[Illustration]
Imagination.
MR. MERRY,――
Will you be so kind as to tell us, in your next number of
the Museum, what Imagination is?――and you will oblige
Your subscriber,
JAMES ―――― ――――
To be sure I will, with all my heart, Master James. But first look
at the picture at the head of this article. It represents a scene
in a garden, during the summer. The trees and shrubs are covered
with leaves: many of the plants are in bloom, and the little group
of children are gathered around a tuft of pinks, upon which they
are pouring some water. You look at the picture, and fancy that you
actually see such a scene as it presents.
And now go to the door, and look abroad. Behold, it is winter! The
leaves are actually stripped from the trees; the green grass is
withered; the blossoms are blighted and dead. The garden is frozen and
rough, and not a flower is there to enliven its sullen aspect.
The scene thus suggested by the picture,――that scene in the mind,
so beautiful and bright――so like the joyous, sweet realities of
summer――was but a sort of dream. That magic power which painted it,
we call Imagination,――or Fancy. It is a power which can present the
loveliest scenes to the eye of the mind, and make them seem like truth,
while yet they are only fleeting visions, passing away as lightly as
they came.
Imagination can bring us its flowers, though it be winter, and all
around us is wrapped in a chill mantle of snow. Though it be night,
imagination can paint to the mind the fairest and brightest scenes of
day. Though we may be in Boston, imagination may transport our thoughts
to Rome, or London, or Jerusalem, or Persia, and for a time we may seem
to be there.
Imagination, then, is like a painter who sketches unreal scenes
so distinctly as to make them seem like reality. It is a power so
captivating that it often leads us to act upon what is illusory and
deceptive.
You have heard of persons who walk in their sleep. They are dreaming
something, and they go forth, under the influence of their dream. They
fancy that they see what they do not see, and are to do what they
cannot perform. These sleepwalkers are persons who are led away by
dreams: and all who give themselves up to the guidance of imagination,
are like sleepwalkers,――misled by dreams.
While the imagination is, therefore, a wonderful power of the mind,
and capable of affording great delight, we should be careful to keep
it within due bounds. It is a good servant, but a dangerous master. If
we indulge imagination in picturing what is good, and beautiful, and
virtuous, and happy――we do that which is at once useful and pleasing:
but if we indulge it in portraying what is vicious, and vain, and
hurtful, we are likely to be led into some fatal pit of ruin.
[Illustration]
Sister.
What word in our language is more beautiful than _sister_? And why is
it so beautiful? Because it brings with it so many pleasant ideas. Can
any one look at the engraving, and not feel the truth of this?
See the elder girl, taking the little one upon her back, to carry her
across the brook! See with what care she puts her arms around her
little feet, and poises her on her shoulders. See, too, the true smile
of affection and satisfaction, the real bliss, upon her face, in the
exercise of this act of care and kindness. Do you not see there the
force of that beautiful word, _sister_?
And the infant too――look at that! Mark the clinging of the little arms
around the neck! mark the anxiety pictured in the face, yet softened
into trust and confidence. Does not the child feel the meaning of that
word, sister?
[Illustration]
Burning of the Tower of London.
The Tower of London is one of the greatest curiosities in that famous
city. It stands on the north bank of the river Thames, in the eastern
part of the city. It consists of several buildings, erected at various
times, all enclosed by a high wall, on which cannon are mounted.
The wall encloses twelve acres of ground. The middle building is at
once the oldest and tallest of the group: it is a large quadrangular
structure, with a number of large rooms, and having a tower at each
corner. This is called the White Tower, and measures 116 by 96 feet,
and is 92 feet high.
Connected with this great building, are the grand storehouse, ordnance
office, jewel office, and the chapel, beside many other edifices. In
the chapel lie the remains of many celebrated persons, who have been
executed here or who died in prison. Among the rest, are Anne Boleyn,
the unfortunate; Katherine Howard, the guilty; Essex, the brave but
rash favorite of queen Elizabeth.
The tower of London was begun by Edward III., in the thirteenth
century, by the construction of the white tower. It was designed as a
royal palace, and as such was occupied for a time. In the time of Henry
VIII., it had acquired a horrid celebrity as a state’s prison. Here
many persons have been incarcerated for years by the government; and it
is curious to remark, that many of those who have even perished by the
axe in this prison, are now regarded as among the greatest and best of
mankind. In the dungeons which are beneath the white tower, it is said
that Sir Walter Raleigh wrote his celebrated history of the world.
The whole of the white tower may be termed a storehouse, at the present
day. It contains many thousand stand of arms, all kept in perfect
order, and beautifully arranged; vast military stores, beside a
multitude of papers and documents in what is called the round office.
The armories in the tower consisted of three vast collections, viz.,
the “_Horse Armory_,” “_Queen Elizabeth Armory_,” and the “_Small Arms
Armory_.” The two first are collections of ancient armor; and though
chiefly kept as objects of curiosity, they are exceedingly interesting.
Here are to be seen almost every kind of armor, from the earliest
period of English history.
The horse armory is kept in a building erected for the purpose in 1825.
Queen Elizabeth’s armory is kept in an edifice recently erected for the
purpose. The Small Arms armory was kept in a splendid building, called
the grand storehouse, begun by James II., and finished by William III.
It was this vast structure which was burnt to the ground on the night
of Oct. 30th, 1841. The engraving represents the building on fire in
the foreground, with the turrets of the white tower a little in the
distance.
This awful conflagration originated accidentally from an over-heated
stovepipe. It burst forth near the middle of the night, and from its
elevated position and the vastness of the pyramid of flame, it wrapped
the whole of London in a glow of light, and aroused its mingled
population with the most intense feeling of interest. “The tower is on
fire! the tower is on fire!” rung through every street and lane and
archway, sending a thrill of mingled sublimity and fear to every heart.
There is probably no one object in London better known than the tower.
It is associated in every mind with some of the darkest transactions in
English history. Here the young princes were murdered by Richard III.
Here Mary of Scotland was executed. Here, too, every one had been to
see the vast displays of armor; the trophies won by Wellington, Nelson,
and other heroes, in a thousand battles; the gorgeous jewels of the
crown; the menagerie, with its lions, tigers, and other animals of
foreign lands. What must, then, have been the emotions excited, when
the midnight cry, which announced its destruction, rang through the
city, and when the ruddy light of its flames gushed in at every window?
When the fire was first discovered, it appeared as though the whole
collection of buildings must be destroyed: but by great efforts
the flames were checked, and only the grand storehouse was burnt.
This, however, was reduced to a heap of ashes, and with it have been
destroyed all those vast stores of arms, and the many triumphant
mementos of England’s prowess by land and sea, which have so long
rendered it an object of surpassing interest. It contained, on the
ground floor, a most extraordinary train of artillery. There were
cannon and great engines of war, of almost every nation, and of every
age, from the time of the invention of gunpowder down to the present
day. Many of them were associated with England’s most glorious military
and naval triumphs; others with the names of her greatest commanders,
and most illustrious sovereigns. They presented an exhibition as
curious to the engineer as interesting to the patriot, and such a one
as no country but Great Britain could boast of; but she can boast of it
no longer.
On the first floor was the splendid room, known as the “Small Armory,”
and one of the grandest apartments in Europe. It contained, exposed to
view, and in cases, nearly 150,000 stand of arms. The whole of this
building, with the exception of the bare shell, is in utter ruins, its
contents blended together in one mass of destruction.
* * * * *
“He who a _watch_ would wear, two things must do:
_Pocket_ his watch, and _watch_ his pocket too.”
The Gleaner.
GOOD MORNING.
The eagle on its rocky height,
He knows the hour of waking,
And waves his pinions in the light,
The midnight dew off-shaking:
And I must shake off sleep and sloth,
Since rosy day is dawning,
And even as the eagle doth,
Will wish the world good morning.
The rose-bud in her woven bow’r
Atwixt the leaves is peeping,
And bares her bosom more and more,
For ’tis no hour for sleeping:
Then is it meet that I repose,
When such as these give warning?――
I’ll look abroad as doth the rose,
And wish the world good morning.
* * * * *
SAGACITY OF A CAT. It was only a few evenings ago that one of our
worthy neighbors, who keeps a shop in Little Underbank, was much
surprised at the conduct of his cat. He was standing in his shop, when
pussy put her paw on his trowsers, and endeavored to pull him towards
the cellar, leading out of the shop. He took no notice at first, but
this she repeated three times; and in order to see what could be the
cause of her thus troubling him, he took her in his arms, and carried
her into the cellar, where he kept a large quantity of leather.
Pussy immediately sprang from him, and jumping upon a piece of leather,
began to look underneath it, as if in search of something. Her master
raised the leather, and he there found a boy of twelve or fourteen
years of age concealed under it. On bringing the young rascal from his
hiding-place, he naturally asked him what he was doing there. The reply
was, that he had not money to pay for a lodging, and thought he would
stay there till morning. The worthy shopkeeper made him remember that
a feather bed was preferable to a leather one, by inflicting summary
punishment on the offender. Thus the sagacity of this famous cat most
probably saved the premises from being robbed, and its master, perhaps,
murdered.――_Stockport paper._
* * * * *
COFFEE. The discovery of coffee, according to the Oriental writers,
took place towards the close of the thirteenth century; and, like
most other discoveries of importance, it is attributed to chance. An
Arab chief, the Scheik Omar, was flying from the pursuit of his own
tribe. Having, with a small body of his adherents, taken refuge in the
mountainous part of the province of _Yemen_, all ordinary means of
sustenance failed them. In his extremity, perceiving a coffee-bush, the
famishing chief essayed to gnaw the berries; but finding them too hard
for mastication, he hit upon the expedient of boiling them――drank the
decoction――found himself not only refreshed but invigorated both in
mind and body; and from him the virtue of the precious berry afterwards
became famous throughout the world. But with all its claims to notice,
it required upwards of two hundred years for coffee to make its way
to general appreciation. Like a prophet in his own village, it long
remained slighted and neglected by its own native land. Three centuries
elapsed from the date of its first discovery before the use of coffee,
as a beverage, was generally adopted in the neighboring state of Egypt
and in Turkey; whilst in Europe, as we all know, the introduction of
the sober berry is, comparatively of but modern date.
* * * * *
MOTION. The common watch, it is said, beats or ticks 17,160 times an
hour. This is 411,840 a day, 150,424,560 a year, allowing the year to
be 365 days and six hours. Sometimes watches will run, with care, 100
years. In this case it would last to beat 15,042,456,000 times!
The watch is made of hard metal; but I can tell you of a curious
machine, which is made of something not near so hard as brass or
steel――it is not much harder than the flesh of your arm――yet it will
beat more than 5000 times an hour, 120,000 times a day, and 43,830,000
times a year. It will sometimes, though not often, last 100 years; and
when it does, it beats 4,383,600,000 times. One might think this last
machine, soft as it is, would wear out sooner than the other; but it
does not. I will tell you one thing more. You have this little machine
about you. You need not feel in your pocket, for it is not there. It is
in your body, you can feel it beat; it is――your heart!
* * * * *
ANECDOTE OF LORD KENYON. Soon after Lord Kenyon was appointed master of
the rolls he was listening very attentively to a young clerk, who was
reading to him, in the presence of a number of gentlemen of the long
robe, the conveyance of an estate, and on coming to the word “enough,”
he pronounced it “_enow_.” “Hold! hold!” said his honor, immediately
interrupting him, “you must _stand_ corrected. Enough is, according
to the vernacular custom, pronounced ‘_enuff_’ and so must all other
English words which terminate in ‘ough,’ as, for example, tough, rough,
&c.” The clerk bowed, blushed, and proceeded for some time; when coming
to the word “_plough_,” he, with a loud voice, and penetrating look at
his honor, called it “_pluff_.” The great lawyer stroked his chin, and
with a smile candidly said, “Young man, I _sit_ corrected.”
* * * * *
CARRIER PIGEONS, A. D. 1099. The secret of turning to account the
peculiar instinct of these birds would appear to have been known and
practised in the east at an early period. Maimbourg, in his history
of the crusades, relates a curious anecdote on this subject:――“As
the Christian army continued its march, by the narrow passage which
is between the sea and Mount Carmel, they saw a dove, which, having
escaped from the claws of a bird of prey, who had let go his hold at
the great noise made by the soldiers, fell half dead at their feet.
There was found, tied beneath his tail, a small scroll of paper, in
which the emir of Ptolemais wrote to the emir of Cæsarea, to do all the
harm in his power to the army of dogs who were about to pass through
his territories, as he, more easily than the former, could hinder their
passage.”
* * * * *
POWER OF MUSIC. Prince Cantimir, in his account of the transactions of
the Ottomans, relates that Sultan Amurath, having besieged Bagdad and
taken it, ordered 30,000 Persians to be put to death, though they had
yielded and laid down their arms. Amongst these unfortunate victims was
a musician, who besought the executioner to spare him one moment that
he might speak to the emperor. He appeared before the sultan and was
permitted to give a specimen of his art. He took up a kind of psaltery,
which resembles a lyre, and has six sides, and accompanied the sounds
of the instrument with his voice. He sung the taking of Bagdad and
the triumph of Amurath; its pathetic and exulting sounds melted even
Amurath, who suffered the musician to proceed, till, overpowered with
harmony, tears of pity gushed from his eyes, and he revoked his cruel
orders. Influenced by the musician’s powerful talent, he not only
ordered the lives of the prisoners to be spared, but restored them to
liberty.
* * * * *
COLERIDGE. Coleridge was very fond of music, and he has left us an
interesting remark or two upon it:――“An ear for music,” he observes,
“is a very different thing from a taste for it. I have no ear whatever;
I could not sing an air to save my life; but I have the intensest
delight in music, and can detect good from bad. Naldi, a good fellow,
remarked to me once at a concert, that I did not seem much interested
with a piece of Rossini’s, which had just been performed. I said, ‘it
sounded to me like nonsense verses;’ but I could scarcely contain
myself when a thing of Beethoven followed.”
* * * * *
INSTINCT. Smellie mentions a cat, which, being confined in a room,
in order to meet its mate of the other sex, learnt of itself to open
the latch of a door; and I knew a pony in the stable here, that
used both to open the latch of the stable, and raise the lid of the
corn-chest――things which must have been learnt by himself from his own
observation, for no one is likely to have taught them to him. Nay, it
was only the other day that I observed one of the horses taken to grass
in a field through which the avenue runs, open one of the wickets by
pressing down the upright bar of the latch, and open it exactly as you
or I do.――_Lord Brougham._
* * * * *
A LONG CHIMNEY. The largest chimney in the world is at the Soda Ash
Manufactory of James Musprat, near Liverpool. It is the enormous height
of 406 feet above the ground, 45 feet diameter inside at the base, 9
feet ditto at the top; and contains nearly 4,000,000 bricks.
* * * * *
When Donatello, an Italian sculptor, had put his last finishing touch
to his bust of Byron, he cried out to it――“Speak!”
Metals.
“That thimble, Henry, which you are looking at, and think so pretty, is
made of silver. Silver is dug out of the earth, and so are all metals.
There are a great many metals: I will tell you the names of some of
them, but I cannot tell you all. Gold is metal; so is silver, iron,
lead, copper, tin, brass, and a great many more. Some are pure metals,
that is, not mixed together. Gold is considered the most valuable.
Silver is also valuable; but I think we may consider iron the most
useful; for what should we do without spades, shovels, rakes, ploughs,
and many other things which are made of iron?
“We should have no wheat, unless the earth was ploughed before the
seeds were sown. We could not dig up the potatoes without a spade; we
could have no fire in our rooms without a grate; besides, the saucepans
are made of iron, which could not be made of any other metal. Gold
and silver are also very useful. Spoons made of silver are pleasanter
to use than iron ones would be. Gold is chiefly used for money and
jewelry, although kings and many very rich people have their plate
made of gold. Lead is very useful in building; the tops of houses are
sometimes covered with lead, to prevent the rain from coming through.
Water pipes are made of it; the point of my pencil is made of black
lead.”
“Is not your ring made of gold, mamma?”
“Yes, my ring and watch are both gold.”
“And was that gold found in the earth?”
“Some gold is dug out of mines, but not all. Gold is sometimes found
amongst the sand and mud at the bottom of rivers; it is found in very
small grains, and is collected by the people of the place with much
trouble and care. There is not much gold found in Europe; there is more
found in America than in any other part of the globe, although a good
deal is obtained in some of the rivers of France and Germany. Copper is
more abundant in England than elsewhere, and there are mines of iron in
most countries.”
The Prussian Exercise; a Game
for Children.
In this diverting little game, as many children as wish to play must
kneel down beside one another, in a row. The corporal, as she is
called, is placed at the head of the line, and the captain stands up in
the manner of a captain of a company, and gives them words of command.
These must be something ludicrous, such as telling them to pull their
noses, slap their faces, clap their hands, cough, and things of that
kind. All the little company must try to obey the word of command at
the same time, as the real soldier obeys the order of his captain.
After various amusing manœuvres, the captain must tell them to “present
arms.” They all then raise their right arm and hold it straight out
before them. The next order is to “fire.” Here the corporal, who is in
the secret, gives the little girl next her a sudden push, which sends
her and all the other little people in the line, tumbling down one over
the other. This is a very diverting game, and easy to be taught to very
young children.
* * * * *
“If I were so unlucky as to have a stupid son,” said a military man,
“I would make him a parson.” “You think differently from your father,”
said a by-stander.
Anecdotes of Bonaparte.
Whilst the French troops were encamped at Boulogne, public attention
was much excited by a daring attempt at escape made by an English
sailor. This person, having escaped from the depôt, and gained the
borders of the sea, the woods on which served him for concealment,
constructed, with no other instrument than a knife, a boat, entirely
of the bark of trees. When the weather was fair, he mounted a tree and
looked out for the English flag; and having at last observed a British
cruiser, he ran to the shore, with the boat on his back, and was about
to trust himself in his frail vessel to the waves, when he was pursued,
arrested, and loaded with chains. Everybody in the army was anxious
to see the boat; and Napoleon, having at length heard of the affair,
sent for the sailor, and interrogated him. “You must,” said Napoleon,
“have had a great desire to see your country again, since you could
resolve to trust yourself on the open sea in so frail a bark: I suppose
you have a sweetheart there.”――“No,” said the sailor, “but a poor and
infirm mother, whom I was anxious to see.”――“And you shall see her,”
said Napoleon――giving at the same time orders to set him at liberty,
and bestowing on him a considerable sum of money for his mother;
observing, that she must be a good mother who had so good a son.
At the siege of St. Jean d’Acre, in Egypt, Bonaparte had three
aides-de-camp (or officers) killed in advancing with his orders to the
same point. It was necessary to send a fourth. He had no officers near
him but Eugene Beauharnais and Lavalette. He called the latter, and,
without being overheard by the former, said to him, “Il faut y aller;
je ne veux pas y envoyer cet enfant et le faire tuer si jeune; sa mere
me l’a confie; vous, vous savez ce que c’est que la vie.”――Lavalette
set off, and, contrary to every expectation, returned safe and sound.
During the tour of Napoleon and Maria Louisa in Holland, in 1810, the
burgomaster of one of the towns which they visited caused the following
inscription to be posted on the triumphal arch through which their
Imperial Majesties were to pass:
“Il n’a pas fait une Sottise,
En epousant Marie-Louise.”
Napoleon no sooner read the inscription, than he inquired for the
burgomaster, and addressed him thus: “So, M. le Maire, they cultivate
the French muses in Holland?”――“Sire,” answered the burgomaster, “I
write a few verses.”――“Ah! you are the author, then,” said the emperor:
“here, do you take snuff? (presenting a snuff-box surrounded with
diamonds) take this, and
Quand vous y prenez une prise,
Rappelez vous de Marie-Louise.”
* * * * *
CATCHING RABBITS. Bacon says, “A company of scholars going to catch
conies, carried one with them, which had not much wit, and gave in
charge that if he saw any, he should be silent, for fear of scaring
them; but he no sooner espied a company of rabbits than he cried aloud
‘_Ecce multi cuniculi_;’ which he had no sooner said, but the conies
ran to their burrows; and he being checked by them for it, answered,
‘Who would have thought that the rabbits understood Latin?’”
* * * * *
DOWN to the reign of “Old Queen Bess,” the greater part of the houses
in _fashionable_ London had no chimneys. The fire was kindled against
the wall, and the smoke found its way out in the best manner that it
could, at the windows, or at the door; but generally “reclined in
blackness” in the room.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. V. MARCH, 1843. No. 3.
[Illustration]
Amusements.
It is the part of discretion to learn lessons of wisdom wherever we can
find them. In many ways, by looking upon the processes of nature, we
can discover hints or examples, worthy of imitation, even by rational
beings. As we are now upon the subject of amusements, let us see how
nature may instruct us in respect to this.
We look around, and notice that the young of all animals devote a
portion of every day to amusement. The calf, the lamb, the puppy, the
kitten――all have their gambols. This proceeds from no instruction――no
parental injunctions; it is instinct――the mandate of the God who made
them.
We find, in children, precisely the same instinct――the same mandate.
The desire of active, lively, animating sport――the romp, the laugh,
the shout, the chase――is as inherent in children, as much a craving of
their nature, as the desire of food. These are as necessary, in order
to the health, happiness, and proper development of children, as are
fresh air, or pure water.
Another thing we observe in young animals, is that their amusements are
suitable to their several conditions. The wrestling of young dogs is
fitting to creatures who have often to contend for mastery over other
animals; the skipping of lambs, is calculated to qualify them to roam
over hills, rocks and precipices; the nimble tricks of kittens train
them for that dexterity which is needful in their pursuits as mousers.
Thus far, then, we are instructed, by observing young animals,
that amusements are necessary, and that these should be suited to
circumstances. And we may safely apply these observations to children.
They should all have amusements――cheerful――animating ones. They should
have sports which take them into the open air――which draw them over
hill and valley――which put to the stretch their feet, eyes, ears and
hands. All their young faculties should be roused.
But, hark ye, masters and misses!――don’t take undue advantage of what
I say――don’t ask for unreasonable or unsuitable amusements. Of these
points, your parents are the best judges. I say to parents――your
children need their frolics; I say to children――even in your frolics,
obey your parents. It is said, and truly, that “all work and no play
makes Jack a dull boy.” It maybe added, that all play and no work keeps
Jack always a boy.
As to the girls――they need less training than boys; whether it is that
they are more discreet, or more heedful, or more docile, I will not
say. Boys require line upon line, precept upon precept――here a little
and there a little――or rather a good deal. Don’t scowl, my lads, and
think that old Merry is turning preacher. Not a bit of it――and if I say
that the girls behave better than you do, surely you have gallantry
enough to bear me out.
But as to the girls――while I would enjoin suitable amusements――such as
are adapted to their sex――yet I wish to ask one favor in their behalf,
of their parents. And what do you suppose this may be? That they may
generally spend two hours, each day of winter, in the open air; and at
least three, of each day, in other seasons. In this way alone can they
ensure enduring health and enduring beauty.
* * * * *
CONTRADICTION.――It was said of a certain Englishman, that so great was
his love of contradiction, that when the hour of the night and state of
the weather were announced by the watchman beneath his window, he used
to get out of bed and raise both his casement and his voice to protest
against the accuracy of the statement.
* * * * *
BULL.――An Irishman remarked to his companion, on observing a lady pass,
“Pat, did you ever see as thin a woman as that?” “Thin,” replied the
other, “bathershune, I’ve seen a woman as thin as two of her.”
[Illustration]
All by Themselves.
GENTLE READER! Did you ever hear a flock of children――hearty, healthy
hoidens――girls and boys――black eyes and blue eyes――when all by
themselves, in an attic, or a barn, or a school-room? Whew, what a
racket! But excuse me, reader, if I ask another question. Was you
ever, of a summer evening, in the swamp of a southern climate――as that
of Okefonoco in Georgia, or one of those which border the southern
portions of the Mississippi?
If not――then you have never heard one of the queerest concerts that can
be listened to. How shall I describe it? We may pourtray things to the
eye by pictures, but we cannot paint sounds. To what shall I compare
the swamp serenade of the tropics? Alas, it is without a parallel.
The congregated uproar of the poultry yard――roosters crowing, turkeys
gobbling, hens cackling――
“Cut-cut-cadaw cut――
Lay an egg every day,
And have to go barefoot!”
Geese gobbling; ducks quacking; Guinea hens yelling; pigs
squealing――this, before I went to Georgia, I thought something――but it
is nothing. Reader, you may have heard the soft serenade of a couple
of cats beneath your window, sounding all the louder, because of your
anxiety to get to sleep, and the death-like stillness around; but this
is nothing.
You have heard the shout of a school set free――the hubbub of a Lowell
factory――the clatter of steamboat paddles――the rush of some spit-fire
engine and its trains upon a railroad track――the tearing fire of a
militia muster, “all together”――which means one after another. All
this you may have heard. Nay more――by an effort of fancy, you may
put them all together, and, worked one into another by Marmaduke
Multiply’s table――crossways, and up and down――and yet you have but a
faint idea of the clangor made by the frogs, alligators, whippoorwills,
chuck-will’s-widows, and other songsters of a southern swamp, when
they set up for a real serenade――_all by themselves_.
We all know that the Italian orchestras undertake to describe storms,
tempests, and battles――shipwrecks, love and murder――by music. If one of
the opera companies will go to Okefonoco――listen to the performances
there――and come back and give us a good imitation, I engage that they
shall make their fortune.
Mr. Southey undertook to tell about the cataract of Lodore, and he
attempted to convey some notion of the commotion of the waters by the
gushing of his lines, and he succeeded very well; but how can any one
put the puffing of alligators into rhyme? Old Homer, I am told, has
imitated frogs in Greek――but the thing is scarcely possible in English.
After all I have said, gentle reader, I shall not attempt to describe
the songs of the swamps aforesaid. This I must leave to yourself.
Suppose that you are in Georgia, or Florida, or Louisiana; suppose that
it is sunset, of a summer evening. A swampy thicket is before you;
around are gigantic plants, of a thousand forms, and gaudy flowers of
many hues; gnats, mosquitoes and gallinippers, fill the air, and sting
you at every available point. Fire-flies begin to glitter. On every
hand, as the darkness falls, the scene around becomes illuminated with
myriads of these fleeting meteors.
A strange, loud sound bursts suddenly from a bush at your very ear,
exclaiming, “chuck-will’s-widow!” It is repeated――slowly at first――and
then more rapidly. Pretty soon another voice, exclaims, “whippoorwill.”
“Confound us! confound us!” says a croaking throat in the mud.
“Botheration! botheration!” says one at a distance. “Thief! thief!”
cries another. Then fifty voices break out, and run into each other
like the notes of a watchman’s rattle. The din rises higher and higher.
More voices are added to the chorus, while every one speaks louder
and quicker――and ever and anon, the deep voice of the alligator is
distinctly heard, betwixt a grunt and guffau――seeming like the notes of
the kettledrum, or double bass, to this wonderful concert of birds and
reptiles, when _all by themselves_!
* * * * *
PROFANE SWEARING.――I believe there never was a man who made a fortune
by common swearing. It often appears that men pay for swearing, but it
seldom happens that they are paid for it. It is not easy to perceive
what honor or credit is connected with it. Does any man receive
promotion because he is a notable blusterer? Or is any man advanced to
dignity because he is expert at profane swearing? Never.
Low must be the character which such impertinence will exalt; high must
be the character which such impertinence will not degrade. Inexcusable,
therefore, is the vice which has neither reason nor passion to support
it. The drunkard has his cups; the satirist his revenge; the ambitious
man his preferments; the miser his gold: but the common swearer has
nothing; he is a fool at large, sells his soul for nought, and drudges
in the service of the devil, gratis.
Swearing is void of all plea; it is not the native offspring of the
soul, nor interwoven with the texture of the body, nor, anyhow, allied
to our frame. For, as Tillotson expresses it, “though some men pour out
oaths as if they were natural, yet no man was ever born of a swearing
constitution.” But it is a custom, a low and paltry custom, picked up
by low and paltry spirits who have no sense of honor, no regard to
decency, but are forced to substitute some rhapsody of nonsense to
supply the vacancy of good sense. Hence the silliness of the practice
can only be equalled by the silliness of those who adopt it.――_Lamont._
[Illustration: _Ruins of Ancient Rome._]
A Roman Story.
During the time of the Roman commonwealth, there lived a noble warrior,
whose name was Caius Marcius. He was scarcely less remarkable for the
strength and symmetry of his body, than for the heroic magnanimity of
his mind. From his earliest youth, he had been trained to feats of war;
and his mother, who was a very noble matron, was anxious that he should
be distinguished not only for his feats of arms, but for those other
heroic qualities, which make a man truly great――such as justice, mercy,
truth, honor, integrity, and disinterestedness. When Caius Marcius grew
up, he soon proved to his mother that her good lessons had not been
thrown away upon him; for, on occasion of an assault upon the town of
Corioli, he distinguished himself with such extraordinary bravery, as
to astonish all those who witnessed his exploits. Having headed a party
which broke through the gates of the city, he entered it; but the gates
being suddenly shut, Caius Marcius was left alone within the walls,
surrounded by a host of enemies. Resolving to sell his life dearly,
he made such an attack upon those within the walls, that they fled,
and he was enabled to re-open the gates and let in his companions, who
immediately took possession of the city.
After this brave action, honors and rewards would have been heaped upon
Caius Marcius, but he refused them all, with the exception of a horse,
the prisoners he had taken with his own hands, and the life of a
person in the city, of whom he had formerly been the guest. In addition
to this, he wished to take the surname of Coriolanus, as a remembrance
of his victory, which was also granted him.
Coriolanus from this time signalized himself in a variety of battles,
and always displayed the same disinterestedness and magnanimity.
As he was above every mean act himself, he could not bear to see
meanness in others; and observing the wickedness of the rich, and the
hollow-hearted friendship of the common people, he despised both, and
thus obtained a character for pride, and made himself a great many
enemies.
But, still, Coriolanus was not without friends. An old senator, by name
Menenius Agrippa, a very merry old fellow, was warmly attached to him,
and wished, if possible, to raise him to the office of consul, which
was the highest dignity the Romans could confer. But at this time,
there was a great scarcity of bread and food in Rome, and the citizens
were in a state of insurrection. Mobs paraded the streets, demanding
food, and threatening death to the rich, whom they supposed had passed
edicts to make provisions dear, that they might drain the pockets of
the people. Menenius met a tumultuous body of the citizens going to
pull down the house of Caius Marcius, and to kill him; for they thought
that if they did so, they should get corn at their own price. Besides
this, they wanted to govern, instead of being governed, and seemed
determined to destroy all government, by a universal insurrection.
Menenius, to stay them from their purpose, and to gain a little time,
offered, if they would hear him, to tell a story which should put the
subject of which they complained in its true light.
After a great deal of tumult, the citizens agreed to hear what the
old man had to say, who proceeded as follows: “My friends,” said he,
“there was a time when all the members rebelled against the stomach,
and accused it of living an idle and luxurious life, in the midst of
the body, without ever laboring for itself, or taking any trouble
concerning the very things by which it was fed and comforted. To this
the stomach replied, ‘It is true, I am the storehouse and shop of the
whole body, but still, I have labor to perform that you know nothing
of; for I have to convert the rude matters that the hands and mouth
supply me with, into blood, and to send it in rivers both to the heart
and brain, and every other part of the system, without which they could
not live, nor could eye and ear, and heart and hand, see, or hear, or
feel!’ Therefore, so it is with you, my friends; you feed the governing
body of the state, and this sustains you for all the purposes for which
you live.”
At this moment Coriolanus approached, and upbraided the citizens with
their many vices, particularly with their disaffection and cowardice;
and advancing towards them, the determined bearing he put on, so
frightened them, that the more fearful fell back, and retired to a
remote part of the city. At this moment, a messenger arrived with
intelligence that the Volsci, a nation which harassed the Romans,
were in arms, and that the city was in imminent danger. Upon this,
Coriolanus immediately professed his readiness to head the Roman army
against its enemies, and departed for the campaign.
Now, the chief enemies that Coriolanus had in Rome, were two senators,
Junius Brutus and Sicinius Velutus, who hated him for his proud
reserve, and more especially for his popularity with the aristocratical
portion of the state of Rome, and as soon as he was gone, began to plot
against him, having formed a resolution to contrive his downfall on the
first fitting opportunity.
In the meantime, Coriolanus prosecuted the war against the enemies
of his country, and came home, as usual, victorious, preceded by the
loudest acclamations of the people. A triumph was granted him; and a
splendid triumph, such as Rome had rarely witnessed, was prepared for
him. He was first crowned with an oaken garland, and then, mounted on
a triumphal car, drawn by eight splendid horses, richly caparisoned,
through the principal streets of the city towards the capital. Before
him marched the prisoners he had taken in the war, and behind him were
wagons richly decorated, and laden with the spoils of the Volsci. But
in the midst of all this glorious array, Coriolanus beheld his mother
coming towards him, and, descending from his chariot, ordered a way to
be made for her, and as she approached, fell down on his knees before
her in the lowest humility, that he might receive her blessing――a
spectacle far more sublime than those which warriors generally exhibit
to the world.
After this, it was proposed by the friends of Coriolanus, that he
should stand for the consulship. Now, it was a custom in Rome that when
any one desired this high office, he should present himself to the
people in the market place, and solicit their votes; he was expected
to be very humble and very smooth-tongued, and to ask the office as
a great favor, and to boast of his noble deeds, and show his wounds,
and declare how uprightly he would act, and how much he would do for
the poor. But the heart of Coriolanus grew sick when he thought of
this humiliation; and as Brutus and Sicinius knew his disposition,
they determined that this part of the ceremony should in no wise be
abated, in order that Coriolanus might be led to do or say something
displeasing to the people, and thereby incur their dislike. And this,
indeed, was actually the case, for instead of complimenting the
citizens, he said, “Look at my wounds; see, I got them in my country’s
service, when some of you ran away from the noise of your own drums.”
But notwithstanding this haughty bearing, Coriolanus was elected
consul; for most of the people, although they did not like to see
him so proud, had a great veneration for his character; and a great
dependence upon him as a warrior. Brutus and Sicinius, however,
determined to oppose him in the senate, when his election should be
confirmed, and took the opportunity to influence the popular mind
against him, that they might the more effectually oppose him. So when
the senate met, Brutus and Sicinius openly charged him with showing
contempt for the Roman citizens; while a great crowd collected in the
market-place, who vowed the destruction of Coriolanus the instant he
appeared among them.
Coriolanus repelled the charges of his enemies with such warmth and
indignation that they turned upon him, and being made bold by the
shoutings of the mob outside, called him a traitor, and wished the
officers to come and apprehend him. He, farther incensed at this
audacity, seized Brutus in his gripe, and shook him as if he would
shake the bones out of his garment; at the same time, Sicinius ran out,
crying for help, and brought out a rabble of citizens, who, with their
rude weapons fell upon Coriolanus, with the determination to seize him,
and drag him to the Tarpeian Rock, a high hill in Rome, from which
malefactors used to be thrown headlong. “Down with him, down with him!”
was heard on all sides. But Coriolanus drew his sword, and in a moment,
the rabble fell back, as if struck by lightning. A great skirmish now
ensued, and Coriolanus drove before him the ædiles and the tribunes and
their partisans out of the forum, and passed unmolested to his house.
But the storm was not blown over, for the tribunes of the people,
Brutus and Sicinius, determined not to give up their cause till their
enemy was destroyed; and accordingly, used every means an their power,
to incense the citizens still farther against him. They then summoned
him to answer for his rude conduct before the people in the forum! They
knew his hot and fiery temper, and determined, when the day arrived,
to say something that might provoke him, so that he might, before the
whole assembly, give vent to some expressions as offensive as those he
had formerly used. Brutus, therefore, when the time arrived, openly
charged Coriolanus with being a _traitor_ to the people. Upon hearing
the word _traitor_, the rage of the warrior knew no bounds, and he
upbraided, in the most vehement terms, both the tribunes, and uttered
the bitterest curses on the people. This was what Brutus and Sicinius
had aimed at; and therefore, taking advantage of his passionate
indiscretion, they called upon the people to bear witness of his
contempt, and to join with them in pronouncing his banishment forever
from Rome.
Coriolanus, wound up to the highest pitch of anger and indignation,
instead of endeavoring to appease the torrent that overwhelmed him,
turned his back upon Rome in the most supreme contempt, after having
upbraided the citizens for their ingratitude and other vices. He then
departed, with the shouts of execration ringing in his ears. But he had
scarcely left the city when news was brought that the Volscians, under
Tullius Aufidius, were again in arms, and were approaching Rome with
rapid marches and in great numbers. Then would the citizens willingly
have called back Coriolanus, but he was gone.
In the meantime, the banished warrior, not knowing where to go, and
being without shelter or home, wandered into the camp of Aufidius,
and was at last brought before the Volscian general. “Who art thou?”
said the chieftain. “I am,” said he, “Coriolanus, who defeated thee at
Corioli,――hence my surname, Coriolanus. Fortune hath thrown me upon thy
hearth, and now I am ready to bow down my neck to thee: and thou canst,
if thou wilt, revenge thy country’s wrongs, and thine own, by shedding
my blood, and depriving me of the power of ever more driving thee to
thy forests and thy hills.”
Tullius Aufidius was a man of noble bearing, and, instead of taking
advantage of the situation of his enemy, offered him the rights of
hospitality. “Come to my arms,” said he, “and be to me a brother.” “I
will unite with thee,” replied Coriolanus, “against that hateful city,
which has spurned me forth; and its ungrateful inhabitants shall perish
by fire and sword.” And upon this compact, the two generals embraced
each other, and vowed fidelity. They then took measures of preparation
for an attack on Rome, having determined to destroy it utterly, and to
kill, or sell into slavery all its inhabitants.
When the Roman people heard of the approach of the Volsci, they were
greatly frightened; but their terror was increased when they were
informed that Coriolanus had joined their enemies; and nothing was
heard in Rome but howlings and lamentations. Brutus and Sicinius were
greatly discomfited, for the popular fury was turned against them. They
were upbraided for the banishment of Coriolanus, and were hooted and
pelted by the rabble, in the same manner as Coriolanus had been; so
that they were forced to hide themselves from their fury. The former
friends of Coriolanus were rejoiced at this, but they were no less
in consternation; for the destruction of a city in which we live is
a terrible thing, and must be attended with ruin to all who live in
it. They could not, however, forbear taunting the guilty citizens with
their injustice in banishing so great a man. The poor people, who had
before exhibited so much tyranny, now became wofully abject, and in the
most humiliating accents begged the friends of Coriolanus to go to him
and supplicate for mercy. They went, but their supplication was vain,
for Coriolanus received them very coldly, and told them he had taken
an oath for the destruction of the city, which he would not break, and
nothing could move him from his purpose of revenge.
The city was now encompassed on all sides by the Volscian array, and
the despair of the inhabitants was complete; they saw nothing before
them but fire and devastation, havoc and slaughter; and after having
put up prayers to the gods to avert the dreaded calamity, they went,
at last, to the mother of Coriolanus, Veturia, and implored her to
intercede with her avenging son. After many excuses, and bitter
reproaches towards those who had so unworthily treated Coriolanus, the
Roman matron at last consented to make her way to the Volscian camp, to
obtain the salvation of the devoted city.
After a solemn fast, and supplication to the gods, Veturia called
to her all the patrician ladies of Rome, and urged them to array
themselves in deep mourning, and to wear on their heads every
indication of profound grief. Everything being arranged, the procession
of several hundred ladies, thus arrayed, descended the hill upon which
the city was built, and passed through the principal barrier, and
the gigantic gates which led to the Volscian camp. They passed along
without molestation or opposition into the tent of Coriolanus, who
having received information of their approach, sat in his chair of
state, fixed, cold, and inflexible, to receive them.
When the Roman general saw his mother coming towards him, he could
scarcely refrain from rising at her approach. He had been, from a
child, so used to honor his parent, that after a violent struggle with
himself, to keep his fierce and unbending look, he at last descended
from his seat and threw himself at her feet. “Let me sink in the
earth,” said he, “and as I am an uncommon man, let me show uncommon
duty to my mother.”
But now there were other suppliants who clung around Coriolanus――his
wife and his only child. But the moment they urged a word in favor
of Rome, although done amid the most tender embraces, he immediately
spoke coldly, and refused again to make any terms with the base
spirits who had cast him forth and spurned him from the city. The
mother of Coriolanus fell upon her knees before him; this touched him
to the heart, and he endeavored to raise her up; but she persisted
in kneeling, declaring that she would not rise from the earth till
satisfied that Rome was safe from his revenge. His little son also fell
down at his feet, and so did his wife, Volumnia; the whole of the Roman
ladies also, following the example shown them, did the same; and poor
Coriolanus soon found himself encompassed by a host of kneeling women.
“If thou wilt march to assault thy country,” said Veturia, “thou shalt
tread on her who brought thee into the world;” while the boy said, “He
shall not tread on me; I will run away till I am bigger; then I will
fight.” This speech touched Coriolanus very much indeed, and he could
not help catching him up in his arms and kissing him. Veturia then
said, “Here is thy epitaph, obdurate man: the man was noble, but with
his last bold deed, he wiped it out, destroyed his country, and his
name remains abhorred to future ages.”
“O mother, mother!” said Coriolanus, who felt his determination giving
way; “for you, my mother, for you alone I yield;” and then, after a
severe struggle with himself, he said, “Rome shall indeed be saved; but
thy son is lost. All the swords in Italy would not have made me yield,
but I yield to thee, beloved mother.”
And so Rome was saved from destruction by the intercession of Veturia;
but Coriolanus, thus overcome, was immediately upbraided by Aufidius
and the other Volscian generals for selling Rome and their dear revenge
for a few tears. Coriolanus replied fiercely, and told Aufidius that he
should yet see the day when he would again make his countrymen sorry
as he did at Corioli; and then called him a boy. This so aroused the
Volscian general, that he, with his companions, immediately fell upon
Coriolanus, and slew him on the spot. As soon, however, as he was dead,
Aufidius,――his passion being over,――remembering his many great deeds,
and his noble spirit, burst into tears. “I have slain the noblest heart
in all the world,” said he, and then, as the only recompense he could
make for his rash act, he ordered the most splendid funeral to be
prepared, and followed it as chief mourner.
[Illustration]
The Rock of Gibraltar.
Gibraltar is a celebrated fortified rock, at the foot of which is a
town of sixteen thousand inhabitants. The space occupied by the rock
and town, is about seven miles in circuit. It is almost entirely
surrounded by the Mediterranean sea, but it is connected with the
continent by a low sandy isthmus.
As seen from a ship, nothing can be more desolate than the appearance
of Gibraltar, but when you get upon it, you will find fig trees, orange
trees, acacias, and a profusion of odoriferous plants. You will also
find woodcocks, partridges, teal, and rabbits in abundance. If you
will wander up the rocks, you will also find apes of considerable size
frisking about, and seeming quite at home. This is the only spot in
Europe where any animal of the monkey kind is found to be a native. It
is fancied that these creatures pass through caverns under the sea to
Africa, which is some twenty or thirty miles across at the narrowest
part. It is unnecessary to say that this is impossible.
The rock of Gibraltar is perforated by a great number of natural
caverns. St. Michael’s, on the south-west side, is the most famous. You
enter this about one thousand feet above the level of the sea. At a
little distance, you come to a spacious hall, supported by stalactite
pillars. Beneath this is a series of beautiful grottoes, though
difficult of access. It is said, that in some of these grottoes you can
hear the sea roaring beneath, through crevices in the rock!
The rock and town of Gibraltar belong to the English. The former is
strongly fortified, and is considered impregnable. It came into the
hands of the English in 1704, since which they have held it, though
it has often been attacked and besieged. The most memorable siege
commenced in 1779, and it did not cease till February, 1783. The grand
attack took place in September, 1782. Beside stupendous batteries,
mounting two hundred guns, there was an army of forty thousand men, led
by the celebrated Duc de Crillon, in the presence of two princes of the
blood. In the bay, lay the combined fleets of France and Spain. The
assault was dreadful. Four hundred pieces of artillery, on both sides,
were playing at once. The roar was perpetual, and the rock shook as if
by an earthquake. Yet the brave garrison held out, and the attack was
unavailing.
The east and north sides of the Rock of Gibraltar, are by their nature
inaccessible. Toward the south, also, it is very rocky and precipitous.
To the west, it slopes to the town, and here the artificial batteries
are erected. These are most formidable. To accommodate the operations
of the garrison, there are galleries, leading from one point to
another, of sufficient width for cannon carriages, and cut for nearly
three miles through the very heart of the rock.
Order and Disorder.
“A place for everything, and everything in its place; that is my
motto,” said Miss Steady.
“What stuff!” said Miss Thoughtless. “What is the use of being so
precise and old-maidish?”
Miss Steady is a very orderly little girl, and so I must give you an
account of her habits.
She is very remarkable for her neatness, and for the nice order in
which she keeps her room and her clothes. She has had a very pretty
little chamber all to herself since she was six years old; and you may
go into it at any time, and not find anything out of its place. If you
open any of her drawers, you will find everything laid out smoothly and
sorted. There is a separate place for her prayer-book, another for her
fan; and, as to her clothes, they are all doubled and folded in the
neatest manner.
At eight o’clock Miss Steady goes to _bed by herself_. She folds up
all her clothes very neatly, and puts them in a chair near the bed,
with her shoes and stockings always laid by her. She puts all her
chairs in order, places all her lesson-books and playthings carefully
in her closet, undresses her doll, and folds up her doll’s clothes,
and puts her to bed. After saying her prayers, she lays her every-day
prayer-book and Bible on the table, where she keeps it.
All this she does by herself; and when she is ready to get into bed,
she takes good care to place the extinguisher over her candle.
On Saturday night, she takes her clean clothes out of her drawer, and
puts them all in their places; and she can go in the dark, and get
anything she may happen to want. At any time, on any occasion, she
always knows where to lay her hand on anything. She is also exceedingly
polite.
She never asks questions out of order at breakfast or dinner-table.
She knows when little girls may speak. She knows there is a place for
her questions; by this means she never interrupts the conversation of
others.
When she comes home from school, she always puts away her books, and
her bonnet and shawl, and thus has never any trouble in hunting for
them, as many persons have.
It is, however, very different with Miss Thoughtless; for she is so
idle, and disorderly, and negligent, that sometimes she forgets to
clean her teeth in the morning, and would, I believe, forget to wash
her face sometimes, if she were not told of it.
Then, as to her playthings, they are all crammed together; what you
would call higgledy-piggledy, or scattered about in various places.
On one occasion her dolls were stuffed into the kitchen drawer, along
with greasy dusters, corks, black-lead, whiting, shoe-brushes, and
hearthstones.
Then, as to her clothes. At night she slips them off in a bunch, and
just as they came off, so they lie; sometimes on the floor, or they are
thrown on the bed.
Sometimes she leaves the candle burning after she gets to bed, and on
one occasion, she set her bed-curtains on fire.
She is continually calling out to Mary; “Mary, where is my bonnet?
Mary, have you seen my shawl?” Once or twice in the morning she came
down stairs with only one stocking on, because she could not find the
other. She had gone to bed with her stockings over her heels, and one
had got wrapped up in the bed-clothes.
Miss Thoughtless rarely does anything for herself. She wants Mary, on
all occasions, to pin her tippet, to tie her shoes, or to put on her
India rubbers. When she proceeds to do anything, she wants the servants
to wait on her.
What a difference between these two young ladies! If you were to see
them, you might soon tell which was Miss Thoughtless; because you would
see something disorderly in her looks, something disorderly in her
dress, and something disorderly in her manner of speaking.
* * * * *
WISDOM FROM A JESTER.――Bishop Hall tells us, that there was a certain
nobleman who kept a fool or jester, (a thing common in former days in
the families of the great,) to whom one day he gave a staff, with a
charge to keep it till he should meet with one who was a greater fool
than himself. Not many days after, the nobleman was ill, and near
death. The jester came to see him, and his lordship said to him, “I
must soon leave you.” “And where are you going?” asked the fool. “Into
another world,” replied his lordship. “And when will you come again?
within a month?” “No.” “Within a year?” “No.” “When then?” “Never?”
“Never!” said the jester; “and what provision hast thou made for thy
entertainment there where thou goest?” “None at all.” “No!” said the
fool, “none at all! Here, then, take my staff; for, with all my folly,
I am not guilty of any such folly as this!”
[Illustration]
The Little Mariner.
Ay, sitting on your happy hearths, beside your mother’s knee,
How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea?
My father was a mariner, and from my earliest years,
I can remember night and day my mother’s prayers and tears.
I can remember how she sighed when blew the stormy gale;
And how for days she stood to watch the long-expected sail;
Hers was a patient, silent grief; but fears and long delay,
And wakeful nights and anxious days, were wearing her away.
And when the gusty winds were loud, and autumn’s leaves were red,
I watched with heavy heart beside my mother’s dying bed;
Just when her voice was feeblest, the neighbors came to say,
The ship was hailed an hour before, and then was in the bay.
Alas! too late the ship returned, too late her life to save;
My father closed her dying eyes, and laid her in the grave.
He was a man of ardent hopes, who never knew dismay;
And, spite of grief, the winter-time wore cheerfully away.
He had crossed the equinoctial line, full seven times and more,
And, sailing northward, had been wrecked on icy Labrador.
He knew the Spice isles every one, where the clove and nutmeg grow,
And the aloe towers, a stately tree, with clustering bells of snow.
He had gone the length of Hindostan, down Ganges’ holy flood;
Through Persia, where the peacocks brood, a wild bird of the wood;
And, in the forests of the west, had seen the red deer chased,
And dwelt beneath the piny woods, a hunter of the waste.
Oh! pleasant were the tales he told, of lands so strange and new;
And in my ignorance I vowed I’d be a sailor too:
My father heard my vow with joy,――so in the early May
We went on board a merchant-man, bound for Honduras’ bay.
Right merrily, right merrily, we sailed before the wind,
With a briskly heaving sea before, and the landsman’s cheer behind.
There was joy for me in every league, delight on every strand,
And I sat for days on the high fore-top, on the long look-out for
land.
There was joy for me in the nightly watch, on the burning tropic
seas,
To mark the waves, like living fires, leap up to the freshning
breeze.
Right merrily, right merrily, our gallant ship went free,
Until we neared the rocky shoals, within the western sea.
Yet, still none thought of danger near, till in the silent night,
The helmsman gave the dreadful word of “breakers to the right!”
The moment that his voice was heard, was felt the awful shock,
The ship sprang forward, with a bound, and struck upon a rock.
“All hands aloft,” our captain cried――in terror and dismay,
They threw the cargo overboard, and cut the masts away,
’Twas all in vain, ’twas all in vain! the sea rushed o’er the deck,
And shattered with the beating surf, down went the parting wreck.
The moment that the wreck went down, my father seized me fast,
And leaping ’mid the thundering waves, seized on the broken mast.
I knew not how he bore me up, my senses seemed to swim,
A shuddering horror chilled my brain, and stiffened every limb.
What next I knew was how at morn, on a bleak and barren shore,
Out of a hundred mariners, were living only four.
I looked around like one who wakes from dreams of fierce alarm,
And round my body still I felt, firm locked, my father’s arm.
And with a rigid dying grasp, he closely held me fast,
Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight, on the mast.
With humble hearts and streaming eyes, down knelt the little band,
Praying Him, who had preserved their lives, to lend his guiding
hand.
And day by day, though burning thirst and pining hunger came,
His mercy, through our misery, preserved each drooping frame:
And after months of weary wo, sickness, and travel sore,
He sent the blessed English ship that took us from that shore.
And now, without a house or friend, I wander far and near,
And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear.
Thus sitting by your happy hearths, beside your mother’s knee,
How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea?
The Old Lady and her Cat.
Cats have nine lives, so everybody says. Certainly, they go through
more disasters than any other animal, and have more hair-breadth
escapes. I have seen cats fall from the top of a house, and get up, and
run away as if nothing had happened. That is, you will say, because
they always alight on their feet. Perhaps there may be something in
this; be that as it may, I am about to relate to you the adventures of
a cat, which are as wonderful as they are true.
I wish you could have seen her picture; she seemed as if she were
entering into conversation with her mistress. And so she did in her
way; she could purr when she was happy, and mew when she wanted
anything. But more than this, she could show by her looks, that she
understood a good deal the old lady said to her.
She was a good old creature, this old lady, and she loved her cat,
because she had nobody else to love, and her cat loved her; and well
she might, for the old lady made a pet of her. She fed her every
morning from her own table, with new roll and new milk; then for dinner
she would have cooked for her a little kidney, or some other savory
morsel. At tea time, puss used to stand with her feet on the elbow of
the old lady’s chair, and many a nice bit did she receive during that
meal, with a saucer of milk before the tea things were taken away.
Then she had a nice bed. A cushion stuffed with wool, by day to repose
herself upon, and for night she had a little wicker basket with a hole
to creep in at; there she curled herself so snugly, that many a poor
creature would have envied her. In the morning she used to run up
stairs, the moment the servant came down, and mew at her mistress’s
door till she was let in; and there she would stop with her till she
was dressed, turning her tail and rubbing against her mistress’s
garments, till she came down stairs, as much as to say, I am glad to
see you this morning.
But it was not always so with Miss Puss, I assure you: she had seen
many adventures, and had many escapes. Few cats had gone through more
troubles than she. I will tell you one of the events of her life. I
think the story will please you. Well, you must know that Mogette, for
that was her name, was, what is called a stable-cat; that is, a cat
kept in the stable to look after the rats, that they might not eat the
horses’ corn.
Mogette once had five little kittens; and pretty little things they
were, and fond enough she was of them. She thought too, she had
secured them all from danger by hiding them in a hole in the hay-loft;
which she had lined with hay to make it nice and warm. She never left
her young ones except she was very hungry; and then only a few minutes,
just to keep herself from starving. She would then return, and purr
fondly over her kittens, showing how much she loved them.
There was an ugly, ill-tempered stable-boy, named Sturt, and a very
cruel boy he was to cats. He was very fond of dogs, and never so fond
of them as when they turned a cat on its back, or drew a rat from his
hole. His chief delight was in cat hunting.
He had a fierce little terrier dog, which he taught to be as cruel as
himself. This dog was always on the watch for cats.
Poor puss, like a wise cat, had secreted her kittens in the hay-loft,
on purpose to guard against this dog. But she often heard him bark in
the day, and felt quite frightened, although she knew he could not get
up into the hay-loft, still she feared that some day, when her kittens
grew larger, they would come down and he would tease them.
The dog _Snap_, for that was his name, never saw puss but he chased her
round the stable-yard. On one occasion, this boy, Sturt, set him on,
and puss could not get out of the way till she flew up an apple tree,
and here the dog watched her, and would not let her come down. Puss
thought of her kittens, and at last made a desperate plunge at Snap,
scratching his face and eyes most wofully, and ran with all speed to
the ladder leading to the hay-loft.
Up this she ran, and Snap after her. When she had mounted three or four
of the steps, she turned round and gave him such a parting scratch, as
tumbled him off the ladder; while Sturt threw the curry-comb at her, as
she made good her retreat into the hay-loft.
Nor was this all; for, feeling incensed at his dog being beaten, Sturt
followed puss, and at last found her hiding-place, with the five little
kittens. “Oh, oh! marm,” said he, “here are you and your kittens.” With
that, he attempted to drag the kittens out; but puss flew at him with
the greatest violence, and bit and scratched his hands till they bled
profusely.
It was a day or two before the fourth of July, and Sturt had for some
time been preparing squibs and crackers for that well known day. It
occurred to him that the best way to dislodge the old cat would be to
treat her to a squib or two: “for that will bring her out,” he said to
himself, “if anything will.”
Full of this notion he hastened down stairs, and groped his hand to
the bottom of the oat-bin, where he had his combustibles, for fear
of being found; and, procuring a light, he took one of the largest
“double-bangers” he could find, and ascended quietly into the hay-loft.
He crept cautiously to pussy’s hole, and having lit the end of the
squib, placed the thick part so that it would rush into the hole as
soon as it took fire, and retreated to the corner of the hay-loft to
see the sport.
Presently the squib ignited, and just as he had supposed, darted into
the cat’s hole. But puss never came out, and in a moment _the whole of
the hay-loft was on fire_!
Sturt hastened to run down the ladder; but in his hurry and alarm,
missed his step, and put his leg through a hole in the floor of the
loft. Before he could extricate himself, the flames were all blazing
around him. He called as loud as he could, but all to no purpose. He
made, however, towards the outside door――at last he reached it; but he
was all of a blaze. He leaped down into the stable-yard, half roasted,
and in the fall broke his leg.
As to puss, after the squib exploded, she endeavored to get off; but
she could not leave her kittens. First she took one up in her mouth,
and then the other; then she tried to take two at once. Oh! if you had
seen this poor cat’s affection for her young, how much better you would
have thought her, than that wicked boy.
At last, however, poor puss darted off with one of her kittens. She was
in a terrible fright, you will believe. She ran up a wooden waterspout,
leading in a slanting direction to an adjoining shed, with the kitten
in her mouth. She then bore it over the gable end of a house, till
she got into a gutter on the other side; along this she travelled,
and again mounted another roof; on the top of this she walked, still
carrying her kitten in her mouth, till at last she came to a cow-house
and hay-stack at the other side of the farm. Into this hay-stack she
leaped, bearing her offspring with her in safety.
Poor puss returned for her other kittens; but alas! when she got back,
nothing was to be seen but a quantity of red and black rafters, and
vast masses of burnt hay. The poor kittens had perished in the flames.
* * * * *
CORNELIA.――A lady of Campagnia in Italy, who was very rich, and fond
of pomp and show, being on a visit to Cornelia, the illustrious mother
of the Gracchi, displayed the diamonds and jewels she possessed,
with some ostentation, and then requested Cornelia to permit her to
see her jewels. This eminent woman dexterously contrived to turn the
conversation to another subject, till her sons returned from one of
the public schools; when she introduced them, saying, “these are _my_
jewels!”
A Sliding Party:
A MOTHER’S STORY.
It was one of the finest evenings in January; I can remember it very
well. I was then a young girl, and was delighted with such beautiful
evenings as the one I am going to tell you about. The moon shone
bright, the stars glittered like so many gems in the sky; not a dark
cloud was to be seen; there was not a breath of wind, not so much as
to shake the tops of the smallest trees. True it was very cold, and
the snow laid deep on the ground; and though most of the busy world
had retired to their houses, to enjoy a long evening by their wintry
fireside, I was tempted to take a stroll out to admire the beautiful
prospect. I did not remain out long, as it was the practice of my
father to relate stories to amuse us in the evening, while mother and
myself sat at work. When I returned home, I found them all seated round
the blazing fire, ready; and all seemed happy but my eldest brother
John; he was evidently uneasy, and could not sit still long together,
and kept looking about and listening, and often going to the window.
At last, he told his father that his playmates were going on the river
to slide, and that he should like to go. We all begged him not to think
of going out on the ice, and told him it would be better for him to
stay at home and hear father’s stories; but all to no purpose; he had
made up his mind to go, though he knew how unhappy we should all be
while he was away. He promised to be home at nine, and said he would
not go near the bridge; for there the current was more rapid, and of
course they would not be safe; and his father cautioned him of the
openings in the ice, and that he might be liable to fall in and get
drowned. John heard all that his father said; but boys love to roam
and are fond of adventure; and, I am sorry to say, that, when they set
their hearts on anything, it often happens that the advice of parents
is of no use to them; and so it was in this case. He had just turned
the corner of the house, when he heard the merry shout and laugh of
the party; and he waited till they came up, and they all went towards
the river. They had a mile to walk, but that was nothing to a set of
crazy-headed, self-willed boys; they soon got there, and were busily
engaged in their sport.
It was indeed, very fine sliding; and they staid till the clock struck
nine, when John proposed to go home; but the rest insisted on staying
a _little_ longer, “only a few minutes,” as they said. John had many
unpleasant feelings about stopping after the clock had struck nine, for
he knew that his father would expect him agreeably to his promise; but
he at length yielded to the entreaties of the rest, and tried not to
think of the uneasiness his absence would cause at home.
From the time John went, we were all unhappy, and kept asking father
if he were not afraid that he would get drowned? So much were we all
concerned about our brother, that it made the tears steal silently
down our father’s face, and he resolved that in future he would spare
us all this anxiety, by using his authority to keep him at home. After
the clock had stuck nine, and John did not return, we became impatient,
especially our little sisters, who ought to have been in bed long
before that time, but they were unwilling to go until they saw their
brother return; and father did not compel them, for he was the kindest
of fathers, and sometimes a little too indulgent. But when the clock
struck ten, the pain of the whole family was extreme. Father would
have gone after him to have seen if anything had happened, but he was
lame with the gout, and could hardly walk across the room; and we had
nobody to send. Oh! what a wretched half hour we spent!
There lived at the public tavern a man whom they called Sailor Jem; he
had once been a sailor, and he happened to see the party set off for
the river. While he was sitting telling stories and hearing the news,
a man came in to warm his feet, and Jem asked him what news he had. “A
sad accident,” said he, “has just happened at the bridge; a party of
boys were sliding, and one of them is drowned.” Jem heard no more, but
came breathless to my father’s. He found us already in trouble, but his
story made us half distracted. My father was more composed, and begged
of Jem to go directly to the river, or the road which he saw John take,
and see if he could make any discoveries.
Jem started immediately; he had only got a quarter of a mile, when he
met the boys returning, all safe. So he accompanied John, and saw him
restored to his anxious family. Our joy was great when we saw him safe,
and father did not interrupt it that night, by talking to my brother
about his conduct; but the next morning, at breakfast, he endeavored to
show him wherein he had done wrong. They had not been to the bridge, it
was true, but then he did not come home at the appointed time.
You will see by this, how much you can do, if you choose, to make a
whole family unhappy, by not taking the advice of those whose age
and experience enable them to judge better for you, than you can for
yourselves. And remember one thing, that promises should be held
sacred. Had he come at nine, as he ought to have done, he would have
saved us an hour and a half of the most intense suffering; and I hope,
if you make a promise, even the most trifling, that you will keep it.
* * * * *
A ROMAN JUDGE.――While Octavius Cæsar was at Samos, after the famous
battle of Actium, which made him master of the then known world, he
held a council, to examine the prisoners who had been of Anthony’s
party. Among the rest, there was brought before him a man named
Metellus, oppressed with age and infirmities, disfigured by a long
beard and a neglected head of hair, but especially by his clothes,
which, through adversity, had become ragged. The son of this Metellus
was one of the judges, and had great difficulty to recognise his
father in the deplorable condition in which he now saw him. At length,
however, recollecting his features, instead of being ashamed of his
unhappy parent, he ran with tears to embrace him. Then, returning to
the tribunal, “Cæsar,” said he, “my father has been your enemy, and I
your officer; he deserves to be punished, and I to be rewarded. The
favor I ask of you, is, that you would save him on my account, or
order me to be put to death with him.” All the judges were touched
with compassion at the affecting scene. Octavius himself relented, and
granted to old Metellus his life and liberty.
* * * * *
PATRICK HENRY.――This eminent American left in his will the following
important passage:
I have now disposed of all my property to my family; there is one thing
more I wish I could leave them, and that is, the Christian religion.
If they had that, and I had not given them one shilling, they would be
rich; and if they had not that, and I had given them all the world,
they would be poor.
[Illustration]
The Old Owl.
I.
The owl is a bird that flaps along
With a lonely loud halloo;
He has but one unceasing song,
_To whit, to whit, to woo._
In dusky light he takes his flight,
The twilight dim is the time for him,
And when the midnight scowls,――
’Tis then he silently prowls,
And hunts the mice and moles.
II.
A lonely owl once built her nest
In the hole of a hollow tree,
And she with a fine young brood was blest
As ever owl could be.
She loved her young, and as they clung
Beneath her downy wing,
She o’er them oft, on a branch aloft,
As they reposed below,
Would shout and sing, while the woods would ring,
_To whit, to whit, to woo._
III.
A boy came by that hollow tree,
With a fierce and wild halloo;
And this the birds, all startled heard,
And answered, _to whit, to woo_.
As the old bird shrieked, the young ones squeaked;
“Oh ho!” said the boy,
In a frantic joy,
“An owl is the bird for me,
And here are its young ones three.”
Then with eager look,
He that bird’s-nest took;
While plaintive and slow,
Rose a note of wo
From the owl in its hollow tree,
_To whit, to whit, to woo._
IV.
That boy now took his victims home,
And put them in a cage;
And cooped up there,
In their despair,
They bit and scratched in rage;
They caught his fingers once or twice,
And made him scream with pain;
And then he vowed,
In curses loud,
That they should all be slain.
He tied them to a stake, and got
An iron pin, and made it hot,
To burn out their young eyes.
“Ha, ha!” said he, “you’ll not bite me,
You’ll not bite me again:”
Then in the sky
A wing flapped by
That seemed to stop his breath;
’Twas the old owl, with a heavy scowl,
Lamenting her young ones’ death――
_To whit, to whit, to woo._
V.
That boy grew up――became a man,
A _cruel_ man was he,
His heart had grown as hard as stone,
Which none but God could see.
One dreary night,
In the wan moonlight,
Beneath that hollow tree
He vengeful stood, to spill the blood
Of a hated enemy.
With a furious blow, he laid him low,
Then plunged his knife
To take his life,
Deep to its haft,
And wildly laughed,――
“You will not again plague me.”
But yet as he knelt
O’er that foe, he felt
A shudder that quailed all his blood’s full glow;
For oh, he heard,
On the tree that bird,
The same old owl, o’er that murder foul,
Cry, _whit, to whit, to woo._
VI.
He fled――the owl’s reproaching cry
Still ringing in his ears;
But ah, ’twas in vain for the wretch to fly,
So loaded with guilt and fears.
He quick was caught,
And to justice brought,
And soon in prison lies.
And oh, while there,
In his deep despair,
In lonely tears and sighs,
He thought of the iron cage!
And he thought of the cruel rage!!
And the red-hot pin, that he once thrust in,
To burn out the young bird’s eyes.
Condemned to die――’twas his destiny
To die on that hollow tree,
And there as he hung,
And there as he swung
In the night-wind to and fro,
That vengeful bird
Was often heard,
When scarcely a breath the forest stirred,
In screamings high,
All the night to cry,
_To whit, to whit, to woo.
To whit, to whit, to woo._
* * * * *
A FISHERMAN’S WIDOW.――One of the small islands in Boston Bay was
inhabited by a single poor family. The father was taken suddenly ill,
and there was no physician at hand. The wife, on whom every labor for
the household devolved, was unwearied in her care for her suffering
husband. Every remedy in her power to procure was administered, but the
disease was acute, and he died. Seven young children mourned around
the lifeless corpse. They were the sole beings upon that desolate
spot. Did the mother indulge the grief of her spirit and sit down in
despair? No. She entered upon the arduous and sacred duties of her
station. She felt that there was no hand to assist her in burying her
dead. Providing as far as possible for the comfort of her little ones,
she put her babe into the arms of the oldest, and charged the two next
in age to watch the corpse of their father. She unmoored her husband’s
fishing-boat, which but two days before he had guided over the seas
to obtain food for his family. She dared not yield to those tender
recollections, which might have unnerved her arm. The nearest island
was at the distance of three miles. Strong winds lashed the waters to
foam. Over the rough billows that wearied and sorrowful woman rowed and
was preserved. She reached the next island and obtained necessary aid.
With such energy did her duty to her desolate babes inspire her, that
the voyage which depended upon her individual effort, was performed in
a shorter time than the returning one, when the oars were managed by
two men who went to assist in the last offices of the dead.
* * * * *
“Moral deformity seems not in the fiend so horrid as in woman.”
“Holy men, at their death, have good inspirations.”
[Illustration]
The Zebu, or Indian Ox.
The most common of the Indian breeds of the ox kind, is the zebu, a
humped variety, the smallest specimens of which are not bigger than
a full-grown mastiff, while others are found almost as large as the
finest of our English cows. The zebu has been considered by naturalists
as not a distinct species, but only a degenerate kind of bison,
diminished in size by scantiness of food, which has a decided effect
upon the bulk of all horned cattle. We see that the horse dwindles into
a pony in the Shetland Isles, and why not the ox shrink into a zebu?
The zebu, like the bison, is extremely gentle when tamed, and very
useful to mankind, both as affording food and serving for a beast
of draught or burden. These animals are employed in pairs to draw a
two-wheeled vehicle, called _gadee_, which holds but one person, and
is used by the wealthy Hindoos. When destined for this purpose, their
horns, when young, are bent so as to grow nearly upright, inclining
backwards a little toward the top. They are often covered with rich
carpets; adorned with rings and chains of gold and other metal, and
their legs and chests painted with various colors. The women of the
lower classes, in India, frequently travel on bullocks, which they
ride astride upon a very large saddle. The animals have bells hung
round their necks, and are guided by means of a cord passed through the
nostrils.
* * * * *
“My dear friend, that woman has been talking about you so again! She
has been telling the awfullest lies you ever heard; why, she railed
away about you for a whole hour!”
“And you heard it all, did you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, after this, just bear in mind that it takes two to make a
slander; one to tell it and one to listen to it.”
[Illustration]
The Bison, or American Buffalo.
As there has lately been an exhibition of a number of bisons through
New England, and as no doubt many of our readers have seen them, we
think it will amuse them, particularly, to learn something about the
manners, habits and nature of these creatures. We hope, too, that all
others who may look into our pages, may find it agreeable to read a
description of such extraordinary animals.
The bison is very different from the European buffalo,――the latter
having very long, spreading horns. The buffalo is also a more fierce
and daring animal. Our bison is as large as the largest ox, and roams
in vast herds over the prairies of the west. Sometimes several thousand
are seen in a flock, and as they proceed, fighting, lowing, leaping,
and tearing the earth with their horns, the noise is terrific. The
earth at such a time seems to tremble as if shaken by an earthquake.
The bison is not now found east of the Mississippi, though it probably
inhabited in former times, the whole country to the shores of the
Atlantic. It bears considerable resemblance to the German Aurochs.
Its horns are short, and it has a prodigious hump over the shoulders.
The head, shoulders, and upper parts are covered with long, brownish,
woolly hair. The tail is tufted with black.
These animals, while feeding, scatter themselves over the country,
but when moving, they form a dense column, which, once in motion, is
scarcely to be impeded. Their line of march is seldom interrupted,
even by considerable rivers, across which they swim, without fear
or hesitation, in the order in which they traverse the plains. They
constantly wander about, either from being disturbed by the hunters,
or in search of food. They are very fond of the soft and tender grass,
which springs up after a fire has spread over the prairie. In winter
they scrape away the snow, to reach the grass. They are timid and fly
from man, but when wounded, they become desperate and dangerous. The
Indians make incessant war upon them for their flesh and skins. Their
favorite method of attack, is to ride up to the fattest of the herd on
horseback, and shoot them. Sometimes they drive them over precipices,
by which they are killed. They also take them in enclosures made of
sticks, about a hundred yards in diameter. The herds are attended by
packs of wolves, ready to fall upon the sick and wounded. Travellers
describe the noise made by the bellowing, the trampling, and galloping
of a large herd of bisons, as impressing the mind with an emotion
amounting to terror. The bison was the only native animal of the ox
kind found by the first settlers in America.
* * * * *
ANECDOTE.――In a town of western Virginia, a few years ago, an old
lady from the country went to a store to procure a few articles. She
purchased several of the clerk, and at length, observing a neatly
painted and varnished bellows hanging by the post, she inquired what it
was. The clerk, perceiving that the old lady was rather ignorant, and
being something of a wag, informed her that it was a new-fashioned fan,
which he had lately received from the east; at the same time taking the
bellows down and puffing with it in his face, told her that was the
mode of operation. The old woman repeated the operation on herself, and
was so delighted with the new fan, that she purchased it forthwith and
departed.
On the next day, the minister had an appointment to preach at a
neighboring school-house in the country. The congregation being
assembled, while the minister was in the act of reading the first
hymn, who should pop in but the old lady with her new-fashioned fan,
and having taken her seat, immediately commenced puffing away in good
earnest! The congregation knew not what to make of it――some smiled, and
some looked astonished; but the ludicrous prevailed over everything
else, and to such an extent, that the minister himself was obliged to
stop reading, and hand the book to his brother in the desk. After the
usual preliminary services, he rose to preach, but there sat the lady
with the bellows, and a hand hold of each handle, the nose turned up
towards her face, and with much self-complacency puffing the gentle
breeze in her face. What to do, or how to proceed, he knew not, for
he could not cast his eyes over the congregation without meeting with
the old lady. At length, summoning resolution, and trying to feel
the solemnity of the duty imposed on him, he proceeded. He finished
his discourse, but it cost him more effort than any sermon before or
since.――_Mt. Vernon Watchman._
* * * * *
A PIOUS MOTHER.――It is said, that, in the hand of one of the mummies
found in a pyramid, was discovered a bulbous root, which being placed
in the earth, grew and bloomed a beautiful but unknown flower, after
having been buried for many hundred years. So may the good seed of God
spring up after many years. We mention a case in point. Some years
since, a venerable old man, upwards of one hundred years old, was the
subject of converting grace in an American state. The cause of his
conversion was hearing a text of Scripture, which his pious mother had
taught him in England, one hundred years before!
“Though seed lie buried long in dust;
It shan’t deceive our hope;
The precious grain shall ne’er be lost,
For grace insures the crop.”
[Illustration]
The Medallion.
The subscribers to the Medallion, edited by Uncle Christopher, have
already been informed that that paper is discontinued; and it is
requested that those who have heretofore given it their support, will
now lend their aid to Merry’s Museum. In token of his good will, Uncle
Christopher has lent us his countenance, as you see above, and we
venture to guess that in the April number, we shall be able to offer
one of his pleasing stories.
We have a variety of new tales on hand, some of which are interesting;
we shall begin one or two of them in our next.
Good and Evil.
An aged man along the road
Pursued his weary way――
His back was bent beneath a load,
His thin long locks were gray.
The aged man with tottering tread
And many a sigh did go,
And misery seemed to bow his head
And mark his brow with wo.
Yet on his lip there lurked a sneer,
As sorrow, like a spell,
On every traveller he came near,
With clouds and darkness fell.
Still on he sped with restless bound,
As if a fire within
Burned at his heart, which only found
Relief in deeds of sin.
“What is thy name?” a traveller cried――
As he the old man met.
“’Tis Trouble”――thus the seer replied――
“Canst thou my form forget?
“No pilgrim on life’s rugged road
Can fail to feel my wrath;
On every back I lay a load――
Strew thorns in every path.
“Time’s tooth, that crumbles all beside,
These ghastly limbs defy;
No shelter from my form can hide――
No wing my sceptre fly!
“Yet seest thou yonder gentle maid,
That follows with her wiles?
She dares my kingdom to invade,
And turns my tears to smiles.”
While yet the hoary tyrant spoke,
The angel maiden came――
A light around her footsteps broke,
For Comfort was her name.
With anxious look the wizard sped,
And darkness marked his way――
But on his track the maiden fled,
And turned the night to day.
The load that bowed each pilgrim back,
She lightened with her wand,
And if Earth’s sky was hung with black,
She showed a Heaven beyond.
[Illustration: LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.]
Under this title, we propose hereafter to devote a portion of each
number of our Magazine to the special benefit of our very young
friends――the _A b c darians_――those who have just begun to read. We
intend, in fact, _to make a little magazine on purpose_ for them.
And now, at the very outset, we wish to make a bargain in behalf of
our littlest friends; those who have just learned to spell _crucifix_,
_amplification_, &c. It is as follows:
The big Black-eyes and Blue-eyes have a right to read the older part of
our magazine, first; after this, the A b c darians must be permitted
to read our Little Leaves. We foresee that there will be a squabble
between the old aristocrats and the young democrats, if we do not
settle this point beforehand. Now, having spoken our will, we trust we
shall be obeyed.
If any trespass upon our law, here laid down, occurs――if any little
friend of ours is elbowed out of his rights――if his elder brother or
sister ventures to peep into the story of Limping Tom, or Inquisitive
Jack, before he has read it, we hope the case will be laid before us,
and we shall forthwith proceed to hear and adjudge the matter according
to law and justice. Hear ye and obey!
The Story of Limping Tom.
You will, perhaps, be surprised to hear that Limping Tom had two as
good legs as were ever seen. Why then did he limp? That is a natural
question, and I shall proceed to answer it.
Tom was not a boy――but a cat! He was born and brought up in a barn. One
day, when he and his little brothers and sisters were frolicking over
the barn floor, all alone, a little snappish dog peeped in and saw what
was going on.
In he came, and began to chase the kittens. They were awfully
frightened, and scampered in all directions. Some dove into a hole in
the floor――one hid behind a barrel, and two attempted to climb up the
hay-mow. One of these was our hero Tom. But, alas, as he was scratching
up, the dog caught him in his back, and gave him a terrible grip with
his long sharp teeth.
Tom screamed, and the old cat, who was out behind the barn watching a
mouse, heard him. She knew that something bad was going on. She left
the mouse in an instant, and ran into the barn. I wish you could have
seen her as she approached the dog, who was shaking poor Tom, in his
teeth.
Her back was sticking up as well as her tail. The hair of the latter
was extended so as to make it look as large round as a lady’s boa. Her
mouth was open, her teeth bare, her eyes flashing like fire. She seemed
to dance along the floor toward the dog, as if the wind blew her.
Before the dog knew what was coming, puss was upon him with teeth and
claws. Now was his turn to squeal. She bit his ears and scratched his
eyes, before he could turn round. Then he fled, yelling with all his
might. Puss followed, jump for jump, and laying her claws at every leap
upon the dog’s hinder quarters, the hair flew as if her paws had been
a couple of curry-combs. When the dog came to the street, he laid down
his ears, hid his tail between his legs, and, stretching away, at last
escaped.
Puss came back, and there lay poor Tom, unable to move. She took him
up gently in her mouth, and carried him to the bed. She laid him down,
mewed to him with a soft purring voice, as if to comfort him. She then
licked off the blood, and finally curled herself around him, to keep
him warm. Poor Tom at last went to sleep. What a good mother was old
puss, and how much like the kind mothers of little children!
The next day Tom was very stiff and sore. He could not move, or sleep,
or eat. Oh, how he did suffer! But puss was by his side, almost all the
time. She licked his wounds gently, so as to soothe and not to hurt
them. She kept him warm, and purred to him, and did all she could. In
three or four days he began to get better. In a month his wounds were
healed, but one of his hind legs, being broken, was shorter than the
others, and always remained so. It was also rather weak; so that Tom,
when he grew up, was lame, and therefore he got the name of Limping Tom.
Now, you might suppose that this defect would be a great evil to Tom,
in life. But we shall see how it was. He was taken by a girl named
Lucilla, or Lissa, as they called her. Why she chose him, rather than
his more perfect mates, I cannot tell; though I guess it was because
she had a tender heart, as many pretty girls have, and was guided in
her choice by a sweet kindness excited by misfortune.
Well, Lissa carried Tom home. Though lame, he was still a cheerful
kit as ever you saw. Some thoughtless people used to laugh at him, as
he flew about, for his hinder parts went up and down in a very queer
fashion, as he gambolled over the floor or grass. Lissa saw nothing
ridiculous in all this; on the contrary, Tom’s limp was really graceful
and interesting to her. I believe the girl loved him all the better for
his imperfection.
You may be curious to know how this is to be accounted for. I will
try to tell you. Tom was really a good, lively little fellow. He was
not quite so nimble as other cats, but he did the best he could; he
showed a good disposition. This was a great thing, for everybody loves
a good disposition. It is not necessary to be smart in order to be
loved. Do the best you can, and nobody will ask more. Make the best of
everything, and you will satisfy and gratify all around you.
Now, this was the way with Tom; he was good-tempered; he did the best
he could; he never had the sulks; whenever his mistress wished to play,
he was ready; when she was busy, he kept out of the way. Being lame, he
was humble; being good, he was cheerful. So Lissa loved him, and he was
happy.
Thus, Limping Tom grew up. And now he was a cat. It was his duty to
guard the house, to chase away the rats, and keep the mice in order. He
looked grave, and seemed to feel the responsibility of his station. But
still, he did not altogether lose his love of fun. Most cats, when they
grow old, grow dull and uninteresting. They lay aside their gambols and
frolics, and amusements, and accomplishments; they prowl about at night
with melancholy cries; doze away life in the chimney corner, and if you
chance to tread on their tails, woe be to you!
Not exactly so with Tom. Despite his lameness, he was rather a jolly
fellow, still. He did his duty all day――but at night, he regularly came
to Lissa, and provoked her into a game of romps. Lissa was now a young
lady, and a black-eyed young man came to see her almost every night.
Tom was jealous at first――but finding that Lissa liked the young man,
as in duty bound, he began to like him too.
At last Lissa and her lover were married. They went to live in a house
of their own, and Tom went with them. He was a marked cat, you may
be sure. Everybody noticed his limp, and asked questions about him.
This led Lissa and her husband to tell his story, and to praise him.
So Tom came to be very celebrated, and a universal favorite. His limp
actually made his fortune; and the reason was, that instead of growling
and snarling about it, he made the best of everything, did his duty,
and was good-tempered, industrious and faithful. So it seems that even
a natural defect may, by good will and good sense, be turned to good
fortune.
The Mourner Comforted.
Poor Phil was once a blithe Canary――
But then his mate was at his side;
His spirits never seemed to vary,
Till she, one autumn evening, died.
And now upon his perch he clung,
With ruffled plumes and spirits low,
His carol hushed, or if he sung,
’Twas some sad warble of his wo.
His little mistress came with seed――
Alas! he would not――could not feed.
She filled the cup with crystal dew,
She called――she whistled――’twould not do;
The little mourner bowed his head,
And gently peeped,――“my mate is dead!”
Alas, poor Phil――how changed art thou!
The gayest once――the saddest now.
The dribbled seed, the limpid wave,
Would purchase, then, thy sweetest stave:
Or if thou hadst some softer spell,
Thine ear had stolen from the shell,
That sings amid the silver sand,
That circles round thy native land――
’Twas only when, with wily art,
Thou sought’st to charm thy partner’s heart.
And she is gone――thy joys are fled――
Thy music with thy mate is dead!
Poor bird――upon the roost he sate,
With drooping wing――disconsolate――
And as his little mistress gazed,
Her brimming eyes with tears were glazed.
In vain she tried each wonted art
To heal the mourner’s broken heart.
At last she went, with childish thought,
And to the cage a mirror brought.
She placed it by the songster’s side――
And lo, the image seemed his bride!
Forth from his perch he wondering flew,
Approached and gazed, and gazed anew!
And then his wings he trembling shook,
And then a circling flight he took――
And then his notes began to rise,
A song of triumph to the skies!
And since, for many a day and year,
That blissful bird――the mirror near――
With what he deems his little wife,
His partner still, has spent his life――
Content if but the image stay,
Sit by his side, and list his lay!
Thus fancy oft will bring relief――
And with a shadow, comfort grief.
[Illustration]
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER I.
_Jack’s habit of roaming about――His singular way of satisfying
his curiosity――The story of the whortleberry bush――Frogs,
tadpoles, and lizards――How to see and investigate――The ant
hill――Great days――Dinner._
Here the little fellow sits with his book, for he has now learnt
to read. It is evening, and his mother has gone to see one of the
neighbors, while he sits by the bed of his little sister, to take care
of her, in case she wakes up. How intent he seems in reading his book!
But I must tell you about Jack, when he was quite young, and before he
could read. All children have a deal of curiosity, and they ask a great
many questions of their parents and others. As for instance: What makes
the fire burn? Why does the sun shine? Who made the moon? Why do cats
have ears? &c.
Now, Jack had his share of curiosity too; but he took a way to gratify
it not common among children. He lived in the country, and his father
had several acres of land around the house. Here were high rocks, and
some woods, and a little valley where there was a small pond. There was
also a ploughed field and a garden.
Now, Jack had a fancy for roaming about his father’s grounds, when he
was quite a child, and if I must say it――when he wore petticoats! By
the way, if any of my little friends meet with him, I beg they won’t
say anything about the petticoats, for he is now a man, and might be
ashamed to be reminded of what he once was.
Well, his greatest pleasure was to go alone over the rocks, and through
the woods, and to the little valley. He delighted, particularly, to go
to the pond, and see the frogs, and fishes, and tadpoles, and leeches,
and insects, that made it their home there. He would stand for hours
upon the rocks, quite absorbed in noticing the manners and customs of
these inhabitants of the pond.
Now, Jack was so much in the habit of living out of doors, and walking
about, that the objects he met with became, as it were, companions to
him. He never seemed to feel alone, if only some flowers, or bushes, or
trees were around him. He was never impatient――never restless――never in
a hurry, while sauntering among the objects which nature had created
and thrown in his way.
I will tell you an instance, to show his great satisfaction when he
was among the bushes.
Just after he had learned to talk, a young lady who was staying at his
father’s house, happened to go into the woods, where she found Jack.
He was sitting by the side of a whortleberry bush, which was covered
with green whortleberries. “What are you doing here?” said she to Jack.
“Jack’s waiting for the whortleberries to get ripe!” was his reply.
Now, perchance, some of my sharp little friends will think Jack a silly
boy; but wait, lads and lasses, and hear his story, before you decide.
I have said that he had a way peculiar to himself, to gratify his
curiosity. Instead of asking a bushel of questions, one after another,
without waiting for a single answer, he was in the habit of _observing_
things, and _investigating_ things. In this way he gained a vast deal
of knowledge.
Perhaps, you may wish to know what I mean by _observing_ and
_investigating_. I will try to make you understand it.
One day in spring, Jack was in the garden, digging up a place to sow
some pepper-grass seed. By-and-by he happened to see an ant running
along with a piece of a leaf in his mouth. So he stopped his work, and
looked at the ant. The little insect paddled along with his six legs
very fast, and pretty soon came to a little hillock of earth, about as
large round as a small flap-jack, and twice as high.
It seemed to consist of a heap of particles of sand. Now Jack, instead
of running away to tell his mother about what he had found, remained
to _observe_ and look into the matter, or _investigate_ it. On looking
at the little mound, he saw there were a number of holes in it; and
into one of them, the little ant with the leaf, plunged head first. “I
wonder where he’s gone to?” said Jack. In a minute or two, several ants
came out of these holes, and some of them had small white things that
looked like eggs. These they laid down in the sun, and went into their
holes to fetch more.
Every ant seemed to be busy about something. Jack saw several ants go
away from the hill. He determined to observe them, and find out what
was going on. He watched one fellow particularly, and he went to the
distance of as much as three yards. There was a large dead fly. The ant
went to work, gnawed off his head, took it in his teeth, and scrabbled
back to the hill. Down he went into one of the holes.
In a few seconds he came back, made another journey to the dead fly,
sawed off a thigh, and transported it to the hill. In this way he kept
going out and in, and in the course of an hour, the ant had carried the
whole carcass of the fly into the hill! “Well,” said Jack to himself,
“I guess that fellow’s the butcher, and supplies the ant-folks with
meat.” And no doubt Jack was right.
While all this was going on, Jack had time to observe and investigate
other things. He saw one ant go as much as a dozen times to a
dandelion, and load himself with the yellow powder which he gathered
from the blossoms. “I guess that is the baker,” said Jack. He saw
several climb up the stalks of tall plants, to get the juice or honey
from the blossoms. “I guess these fellows are the grocers!” said the
boy.
By-and-by, Jack saw an ant going along, when he chanced to come
across another hill. Immediately he began to smell about this way
and that――but an ant upon the strange hill saw him. In he went, at
a hole, and in two seconds he sallied forth, with five or six other
fellows in his rear. They darted forward, heels over head, toward the
intruder, the strange ant. He had become apprized of the danger, and
was galloping back toward his hill, as fast as his legs could carry
him. It was a glorious sight, and Jack looked on, with as much interest
as if it had been a fox-chase.
The little red ant that had stirred up this affray, went straight
ahead, and pretty soon came to a ball of earth as big as a walnut.
Deeming it better to climb over than to go round it, he began to
mount, when the leader among the pursuers, a large black fellow, stuck
his teeth into his rump! Red turned round, and grappled; both fell
backward, and rolled upon the earth! Such a scratching and biting!
At last little Red escaped――having given Black a severe wound. The
others now came up, and the chase was resumed. By-and-by the party
approached Red’s home. Here he met some of his friends. They carried
the alarm to the hill. In a few seconds, at least fifty fellows, all
red, sallied forth. “I guess these are the soldiers,” says Jack――and so
they were, sure enough.
They took the direction toward the party that had chased our little
hero, Red. Black had now recovered, and was at their head. He mounted a
small stone to reconnoitre and see the force of the enemy. He perceived
that the force was too great, and giving the alarm to his party, they
all scampered back, jumping, galloping and tumbling, one after another.
The army of the Reds pursued, and finally approached the city of the
Blacks, close upon the heels of the ants that had insulted and abused
their fellow-citizen. The blacks were soon made aware of the danger
that threatened them. The fellows that had been out on the scout,
thumped on the hill, and forty or fifty stout fellows rushed forth.
They marched toward the regiment of Reds, and now a fierce battle
ensued.
It was claw to claw――teeth to teeth. They pulled and hauled――bit and
scratched; and after a few minutes, the battle was over. One large,
black ant was killed. He was cut into four pieces, and the Reds carried
him home, no doubt for a feast.
While Jack was busy in observing and investigating these things, he
heard his mother’s call. Though he had been engaged at least four hours
in studying into these things, he was not weary, and would gladly have
staid longer; but being an obedient and good boy, he forthwith went to
his mother, and found his dinner ready. It was one advantage of his
morning exercise, that the fresh air had given him a good appetite. We
shall pursue the story in our next.
[Illustration]
“Pray, grandfather, read me a story. Grandfather, why don’t you speak
to me? Gran’ther, gran’ther! Pray speak to Bell!”
“Well, child, what do you want?”
So spoke the old man to the little child, patting her under the chin.
“What do you want?” said he. The child begged him to read her a story.
Thus teased, the old man began. Whether he read out of the book, or
made up a tale as he went along, suited to his grandchild, I cannot
tell; but here is the story.
The Snow Drift.
There was once a boy who kept all the cents that were given to him,
till he had laid up two dollars. I can hardly tell the reason why it
was so, but Dick Liston really found as much pleasure in putting his
cents into a box as most children do in buying sweetmeats with theirs.
The reason was probably this: in the first place, we like to feel that
we have it in our power to buy anything; to gratify our wants and
wishes; to buy things, not only for ourselves, but for others. The
feeling of this power is a very agreeable feeling; and the possession
of money gives it to us.
But Dick had another motive, added to this. His father owned a few
sheep, and Dick wished to own one himself. So he laid by his money
till he had amassed two dollars; he then bought himself a sheep. What
pleasure he did take in feeding _his own dear sheep_! He called her
Nan; for everything is dearer, if you give it a name.
Well, Nan must have the best potatoes, and the best turnips, and the
sweetest hay,――for it was now winter, you know. She learned to know
Dick, and as soon as she saw him, she would gallop to him, expecting of
course to get some nice tit-bit. She was seldom disappointed. Thus a
great friendship grew up between Nan and Dick.
But, now a new event came to pass. Nan had a lamb! Dick was in a
perfect flurry of joy. He ran to his mother to announce the happy
circumstance. He flew to his brothers and sisters, to unburthen his
bosom. He told the cat of it――he told the dog of it――and away he flew
to tell his neighbor, Jack Fletcher, of it. He then went back, boiled
some potatoes, and fed Nanny.
Every morning Dick was up bright and early, to feed his sheep and
lamb. The latter grew apace. In three days he shook his tail; in a
week he nibbled a straw; in a fortnight he leaped and frolicked like a
kitten. Each of these events marked an epoch in Dick’s heart, and was
duly narrated to mother, brother, sisters, and playmates.
At last, March came, with signs of an early spring. The snow had fled.
The sun shone warm and smiling. The blue-birds took it for spring;
the hens cackled in the barnyard; the geese gabbled in the brook; the
robins began to build their nests; the gardener sowed his lettuce,
pepper-grass and peas.
Old Nan was also taken in by the fair show of spring. She went with her
lamb to a distant hill-side, where the green grass had sprung up. Here
she nibbled for a time, and at evening lay down to rest, her infant
lamb at her side. They went to sleep, for the air was mild, and the
moon shone bright.
But, by-and-by, the clouds covered the sky; a light rain began to
fall. The wind changed to the north-east, and the air became cold. The
drizzle was converted into snow, which soon fell thick and fast. The
old sheep began to feel alarmed, but it was dark, and she did not like
to travel across the woods and fields, to her home, at midnight. So she
lay still.
But the storm continued. The air was full of snow, and in the morning
it was a foot deep. Dick looked out of the window, and, anxious for
his sheep and lamb, ran out to the barn. He could not find them. He
looked in this place and that, but he could nowhere discover them. At
length, with tears in his eyes, he ran back to the house, and told his
sad story. Having taken breakfast, he and his brothers went to look for
Nan. All the forenoon they spent in the search, but it was vain. The
day passed, and the storm increased.
(_To be finished in our next._)
[Illustration: MERRY’S MUSEUM.
APRIL, 1843.
Vol. V. No. 4.]
The Seasons.
WINTER.
Winter is a noisy, blustering, bustling season, though in general
he keeps himself cool. Even as early as November he seems already
impatient to begin his sway. If you leave a door ajar, he slams it
wide open and comes puffing in, and blows the newspaper into the fire,
oversets the clothes-horse, and cuts sundry other capers of the sort.
He takes advantage of every still night to steal into the garden and
pinch off the heads of the flowers. He mounts every black cloud, and
from it sends down a flurry of sleet, hail or snow. In December he
clutches the reins of government, and in a few days,
――――congeals every brook,
That murmured so lately with glee,
And places a snowy peruke
On the head of each baldpated tree;
* * * * *
And a black wreck of clouds is seen to fly
In broken shatters through the frighted sky.
SPRING.
Though winter seems impatient to begin his work, he is as loath to quit
it. In March it is time for him to depart, but he may be compared to a
crocodile, who, having paid you a visit and staid as long as he ought,
pretends to go away: but while he puts his head and body out of doors,
leaves his huge tail writhing, bending and brandishing behind. Thus,
during March, winter’s tail is left to annoy us with squalls, gusts,
tempests, rain, hail, snow. There often seems to be a strife between
the seasons, spring and winter alternately getting the ascendency.
But, after a while the latter finds his icicles melting away, and to
avoid being reduced to a stream of water, he slowly retreats, first to
New England, lingering along the Green Mountains, till, pursued by the
Genius of flowers, he goes across Hudson’s Bay and hides himself behind
the hills of Greenland, or creeps like a woodchuck, into Symmes’s Hole,
till he can venture out again with safety.
One of the first and most delightful signs of spring is the return of
the birds. The gentle bluebird comes first, with her liquid notes,
chanting at early morn the glad tidings of the departure of winter.
Then comes the robin, full of business; then the sparrow and the wren;
then the woodpecker is heard drumming in the wood; and then the pigeons
are seen shooting swiftly by in thousands; and then the wild geese,
――――lone wandering but not lost,
high in the air, night and day, are heard and seen in their long
journey to the lakes. Spring, indeed, is so full of pleasant things,
that we are well paid for the wearisomeness of winter by its return.
SUMMER.
May glides gently into June, which is the most beautiful of all the
months――
In fullest bloom the damask rose is seen,
Carnations boast their variegated dye;
The fields of corn display a vivid green,
And cherries with the crimson orient vie;
The hop in blossom climbs the lofty pole,
Nor dreads the lightning, though the thunders roll.
The vegetable world is all alive;
Green grows the gooseberry on its bush of thorn.
The infant bees now swarm about the hive,
And the sweet bean perfumes the lap of morn.
Millions of embryos take the wing to fly;
The young inherit, and the old ones die.
AUTUMN.
I have heard a person, who had travelled in different countries, say,
that he would like to spend the spring in Italy, the summer in England,
the winter in the island of Cuba, and the autumn in the United States.
It is a season “when the moon stays longest for the hunter;” when
The trees cast down their fruitage, and the blithe
And busy squirrel hoards his winter store;
While man enjoys the breeze that sweeps along
The bright blue sky above him, and that bends
Magnificently all the forest’s pride,
Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks,
‘What is there saddening in the autumn leaves?’
In many minds, however, this season is associated with melancholy
images, but they are such as bring pleasure, rather than pain. Who that
has read the following lines, descriptive of the close of autumn, has
not felt their soothing influence?
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead,
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread,――
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung
and stood,
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas! they all are in their graves――the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours;
The rain is falling where they lie――but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
THE REVOLUTIONS OF THE EARTH.
Thus I have given you a somewhat poetical view of the four seasons;
and by what contrivance do you imagine that so much beauty, comfort
and happiness are brought about? It is by mechanism, more ingenious,
more wonderful than all the contrivances of man. I will try to make you
understand this.
Let it be remembered that the sun is firmly stationed in the centre of
a vast circle, called the earth’s orbit. The earth continues to whirl
along in this orbit, going entirely round the sun once every year. It
is kept in motion very much as a boy whirls an apple tied to a string
around his head; as the apple cannot fly away from the boy on account
of the string, so the earth cannot fly away from the sun on account of
the attraction between the two, which operates as a string to tie the
earth to the sun and keep it in its orbit.
Well; now imagine the earth moving around the sun once every year.
But you must recollect that the earth is also whirling round every
twenty-four hours upon its own axis, and this axis runs north and
south. One end of the axis is called the north pole, and points always
to the north; the other is called the south pole, and always points to
the south. But it so happens, that at one time, this axis inclines more
to the sun than it does at another. When the north pole is inclined
towards the sun, the rays will fall more directly on the northern
portions of the earth. This will cause summer at the north and winter
at the south. And when the south pole is inclined towards the sun, it
is summer at the south, and winter at the north.
Thus you see the rotation of the sun on its own axis every twenty-four
hours produces day and night; and the annual movement of the earth
around the sun, with the different inclinations of its axis to the sun,
produces the wonderful changes of the seasons, which we have noticed.
* * * * *
ALEXANDER AND HIS MOTHER.――Olympias, the mother of Alexander, was of so
very unhappy a disposition, that he could not employ her in any of the
affairs of government. She, however, narrowly inspected the conduct of
others, and made many complaints to her son, which he always bore with
patience. Antipater, Alexander’s deputy in Europe, once wrote a long
letter to him, while he was in Asia, complaining of her conduct; to
whom Alexander returned this answer; “Knowest thou not that one tear of
my mother’s will blot out a thousand such letters?”
[Illustration]
Constantinople.
This city, the capital of the Turkish empire, is situated on the
Bosphorus, a narrow channel which connects the Black Sea with the Sea
of Marmora. It was anciently called Byzantium, but Constantine built it
anew, and made it the seat of the Roman empire, in the year 328. From
him it derived its name.
It fell into the hands of the Turks in 1458, and has since been their
metropolis. The harbor is one of the finest in the world, and is
capable of holding 1200 ships. On account of its curving shape and the
rich cargoes in the ships there, this harbor is called the Golden Horn.
As you approach Constantinople, it is extremely beautiful, but when you
enter it, you find the streets dark, narrow and gloomy. Every Turkish
house is a kind of prison, so arranged as to keep the women in a state
of jealous confinement. The men generally live in the front part, they
being the jailers of the houses. There are no windows looking into the
streets.
It is impossible to conceive of a greater contrast than is presented
by the streets of Constantinople in comparison with a European or
American city. In the latter, all is life and bustle; the shops are
furnished with rich goods, and multitudes of people, men and women,
are passing to and fro. Vehicles of various kinds are also moving in
all directions. In Constantinople it is quite otherwise. The houses,
as we have said, are dark and gloomy; the streets are mostly unpaved;
few women are seen, and no vehicles, save now and then a miserable cart
drawn by oxen.
There are about 300 mosques in the city, 500 fountains, and 35 public
libraries. The seraglio, or sultan’s palace, is a city of itself. The
harem, containing the 500 wives of the sultan, is fitted up with the
most gorgeous magnificence.
The Turks spend a great part of their time in smoking at the
public coffee houses. Here they seem to dream away their time in
easy indolence. A modern traveller furnishes us with the following
picturesque description.
“Having just landed at Constantinople, and being totally unacquainted
with the Turkish language, we entered the first café we encountered,
with our interpreter. Two venerable-looking Turks were squatted on a
sofa, smoking their long pipes, and exchanging, from time to time,
words uttered with the greatest solemnity. The nobleness of their
appearance and gravity of their deportment immediately attracted
our attention; and our curiosity was so excited, that we asked our
interpreter to tell us what was the subject of their conversation. He
laughed at our request, but, after being several times pressed, said,
smilingly,
“Well, well! I will give you a literal translation of their
conversation. The older Turk, with the green turban, is an emir, that
is to say, a relation of the prophet; and the one opposite you is one
of the magistracy.
“Effendi,” said the emir, “fish has been very dear for several days.”
“You are right,” replied the magistrate.
“Effendi,” said the relation of the prophet, “why has the fish been so
dear lately?”
“I don’t know exactly; perhaps the weather has been unfavorable.”
“Would you believe that I paid six piastres for a fish, which I could
have purchased the day before for one.”
“And I, alas! gave seven.”
The rest of the dialogue was of a similar nature.
Before we left Constantinople we had every reason to believe that our
interpreter had given us a literal translation, although it astonished
us at the time.
* * * * *
WONDERFUL SAGACITY.――One day last week, when the crowd of fashionables
was greatest at the Union street exhibition, a beautiful girl, who
had fed the elephant with sundry cakes and apples, in taking an apple
from her bag drew out her ivory card case, which fell unobserved in
the saw-dust of the ring. At the close of the ring-performances, the
crowd opened to let the elephant pass to his recess, but instead of
proceeding, as usual, he turned aside and thrust his trunk in the midst
of a group of ladies and gentlemen, who, as might be expected, were
so much alarmed that they scattered in every direction. The keeper at
this moment discovered that the animal had something in his trunk. Upon
examination he found it to be the young lady’s card case, which the
elephant had picked up, and was only seeking out the fair owner.――_N.Y.
paper._
Tsze Pun Yu!
This is the title of a Chinese collection of tales, romances, fables,
&c., a kind of publication in which Chinese literature abounds. In the
work mentioned above, there are no less than seven hundred tales, the
titles of some of them being, “Ghost of a Fortune Teller,” “A Stolen
Thunderbolt,” “The Literary Fox advising Men to become Fairies,”
“Elves begging Fish,” “The Man with three Heads,” “The Devil turned
Matchmaker,” “A Pig acting the Priest of Taou,” “The Enchanted Tower,”
“The Ass of a Mohamedan Lady,” “A Demon bearing Children,” “Vulcan’s
Toys,” &c.
The following are translations from this work, made by a youth at
Canton, who was studying the Chinese language: they will afford a
specimen of a Chinese book of “Small Talk.”
_The Sagacious Pig._――In the district of Suhchow, in Keanguan, a man
was murdered, and his body thrown into a well. One of the officers,
having long sought in vain for the murderer, was riding by the well one
day, when the pig came before his horse, and set up a most bitter cry.
His attendants not being able to drive the pig away, the officer said
to them, What does the pig want? Whereupon the pig kneeled before
him, and made the _kow-tow_. The officer then bid his attendants to
follow the pig, which immediately rose up, and led them to a house,
and entering the door, crawled under a bed and began rooting up the
ground, and continued doing so until he had uncovered a bloody knife.
The attendants immediately seized the master of the house, who, on
examination, proved to be the murderer.
The villagers, having deliberated on the case, took the pig and
supported him in one of the temples of Budha; visitors came frequently
to see him, and gave money for his support, saying, “Such a sagacious
pig deserves to be rewarded.” After more than ten years, he died, and
the priests of the temple, having procured for him a coffin, buried him
with due formality.
_The Enchanted Box._――On the banks of the lake Kanning, in the province
of Yunnan, some husbandmen, while digging up the ground, discovered
a small iron box, on which characters were written in the ancient
form (used in the time of the Han dynasty.) The husbandmen did not
understand this writing, but the characters by the side of it were
intelligible, and were as follows: “Given by a fairy, in the first year
of Cheching.”
The husbandmen, not knowing what the box was, broke it open, when they
found a small _worm_, about an inch in length, apparently dead. The
boys, collecting, threw water on it. The worm then began to stretch
itself, until it became quite long, and then it darted into the air.
A hurricane soon came on; the rain fell in torrents; the heavens and
earth seemed enveloped in black clouds; in the midst of which appeared
a horned monster, fighting with two yellow dragons. Hail mingled with
dew descended; and the houses and all property of the husbandmen were
destroyed!
_The Black Pillar._――Once, in the district Shaouhing, there lived a
man whose name was Yen, who was married into the family of Wang, and
was taken home by his father-in-law, who had no son of his own. After
the ceremony, Yen returned to visit his family. His wife having been
suddenly taken ill, after his departure, a messenger was sent by his
father-in-law to inform him of it. Yen immediately left his father’s
house, although it was in the middle of the night.
By the light of a candle, he was proceeding along the road, when a
black cloud, resembling the pillar of a temple, descended between him
and a candle. If he moved a candle to the east, the pillar also moved
to the east; if he moved the candle westward, the pillar moved with it,
as if trying to obstruct the way, and not to permit him to proceed.
Yen, being very much frightened, entered the house of a friend, and
having procured a servant and another candle, proceeded, and the black
pillar gradually disappeared, while he hastened to his wife’s house. On
entering, his father-in-law met him, and said, “You arrived a long time
ago,――where have you come from now?”
Yen replied, “Most certainly I have not been in before!” Yen and the
whole family fled in astonishment to his wife’s room, where they found
a man seated on her bed, holding her hand. As he proceeded to his
wife’s side, the stranger disappeared, and his lady soon expired.
_Fidelity of Cats._――In Heängning, there lived a lad, whose surname was
Wang. His father had an old servant, upwards of seventy years old, who,
being extremely fond of cats, kept thirteen in her house, and loved
and cherished them like children. Each one had a nickname, and came
immediately at her call. In the reign of Keënlung, this old woman died.
The poor cats gathered round her coffin, crying bitterly, and refused
fish, rice, and every kind of food; and after three days, they all died!
So much for Chinese Romance.
* * * * *
LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.――The acuteness of the sheep’s ear surpasses
all things in nature that I know of. An ewe will distinguish her
own lamb’s bleat among a thousand all bleating at the same time,
and making a noise a thousand times louder than the singing of
psalms at a Cameronian sacrament in the fields, where thousands are
congregated――and that is no joke either. Besides, the distinguishment
of voice is perfectly reciprocal between the ewe and lamb, who amid the
deafening sound run to meet one another. There are few things have ever
amused me more than a sheep-shearing, and then the sport continues the
whole day. We put the flock into the fold, send out all the lambs to
the hill, and then send the ewes to them as they are shorn. The moment
that a lamb hears its dam’s voice, it rushes from the crowd to meet
her; but instead of finding the rough, well-clad, comfortable mamma,
which it left an hour or a few hours ago, it meets a poor, naked,
shivering――a most deplorable-looking creature. It wheels about, and
uttering a loud, tremulous bleat of despair, flies from the frightful
vision. The mother’s voice arrests its flight――it returns――flies,
and returns again, generally for ten or a dozen times, before the
reconciliation is fairly made up.――_James Hogg._
* * * * *
FIGHTING CRICKETS.――In China the people take as much pleasure in
cricket fights as the Spaniards do in bull fights. Two crickets are
pitted against each other, and crowds of people gather round to witness
the combat. The insects rush at each other with great fury, and the
spectators, high and low, rich and poor, seem to experience the most
lively sensations of delight.
* * * * *
LYING.――This is more common than some people suppose. A man who
contracts a debt without a good prospect of paying it when due, is a
liar. A man who gives his vote to serve a party, or to serve another
person in disregard of public good, is a liar. A mercenary suitor for a
lady’s hand, is a liar. An editor, who seeks in any way to make a false
impression, is a liar of a thousand tongues.
Signs of the Zodiac.
In a former number of the Museum, I have told you about the Zodiac, but
as I wish to make you remember all about it, I will just give you Mr.
Cruickshanks’ notions on the subject. He is a merry fellow in London,
and thus he draws the twelve signs, in his sportive humor:――
[Illustration: Aries the Ram, is a man
ramming down
a gun.]
[Illustration: Taurus the Bull, is a fat
John Bull, reading
a paper.]
[Illustration: Gemini the Twins, are the
famous Siamese
twins.]
[Illustration: Cancer the Crab, is a boy
with a crab biting
his toe.]
[Illustration: Leo, is a Pope who lived
in Italy, by that
name.]
[Illustration: Virgo the Virgin, is a single
woman feeding a
parrot.]
[Illustration: Libra the Scales, is an old
woman weighing
fish.]
[Illustration: Scorpio the Scorpion, is a
fierce woman beating
her husband.]
[Illustration: Sagittarius the Archer, is
a fat Miss shooting
at a target.]
[Illustration: Capricornus the Goat, is a
merry boy mounted
on a goat.]
[Illustration: Aquarius the Water-bearer,
is a boatman on a
river.]
[Illustration: Pisces the Fish, is two fish
dealers blowing their
horns.]
[Illustration: _Gutenberg._]
Invention of Printing.
The art of writing is one of great antiquity. At first, it consisted
of what are called _hieroglyphics_――which are pictures of objects, or
signs and symbols of objects, or figures, expressing words to the ear.
The ancient Egyptians, the Chinese, and the Mexican Indians, all appear
to have hit upon this hieroglyphical mode of writing.
The invention of letters, for spelling words, was of later date;
and the writing of them was later still. The first writing was
probably upon stone, and was used, doubtless, to record great events
upon national monuments, as pyramids, obelisks, temples, and other
structures. As the art grew more familiar, it was practised upon wood,
ivory, metals, and leaves.
The leaves of the _papyrus_, from which paper takes its name,
afterwards came into use, and for a long time were employed for books,
letters, &c., as we use paper. The papyrus is a water plant, the root
being always immersed in water. It grows eight or ten feet high, with a
stout naked stalk: the leaves are eight in number, sword-shaped, and
two feet long. They grow abundantly along the marshy borders of the
Nile, and in some parts of Sicily. It is still used in the countries
where it grows, for sail-cloth and cordage, and sometimes for wearing
apparel. Of the stems, closely woven together, basket-fashion, boats
are made.
The manufacture of the papyrus into paper appears to have been of
ancient date. The skin of the leaves, only, was used. This, which was
usually a foot wide, was taken off, by some process, and several layers
were pressed together, having been dampened by the water of the Nile.
Thus a texture as thick as parchment was formed. It was made into
rolls, for books. The city of Alexandria, in Egypt, carried on a large
manufacture of this kind of paper, and derived great wealth from it.
The making of paper, from cotton and linen rags, did not supersede the
papyrus paper till the eleventh century.
Writing was the chief means by which knowledge could be recorded and
diffused. Tradition could carry down events for a few generations,
but these soon became blended with fictions; and with the destruction
of a nation, its traditional records vanished. The art of writing,
therefore, was clearly of the utmost importance; and the means of
making it cheap and easy were cultivated with care. In the time of our
Savior it had become very common, and well educated persons, throughout
the vast extent of the Roman empire, were so far acquainted with it
as to be able to write letters. Still, nine persons in ten could not
write, and consequently, a class of persons, called scribes, made it
their profession to write. These scribes were constantly applied to,
to write letters and documents of various kinds. If a lover wished to
address his mistress, he applied to the professed writers. This trade
is still followed in countries where education is confined to a few
persons.
As society advanced, and great poets, historians and philosophers
arose, the desire of possessing their works, of course, began to
prevail. Accordingly, the scribes were called upon not only to prepare
business papers, but to make books. These, for many centuries, were
only written by the pen. Until the invention of the art of printing,
every page, every letter of a book, must be traced with the quill. The
making of a single book was therefore a work of great labor. None but
skilful and practised writers could pretend to write books. It was a
trade, which demanded careful training. Until the invention of printing
it required about four years, of close and severe labor, to make a
single Bible! A Bible, five hundred years ago, was worth a house and
farm of fifty acres! Now you can buy one, and a far better one, for
fifty cents! This change is the effect of an invention of which I am
now going to speak.
The art of printing, in some form, appears to have existed for ages.
Engravings were made on wood, and stamped on brick, at least four
thousand years ago, as appears by fragments found among the ruins of
Babylon, and Thebes in Egypt. This art of wood engraving, and taking
impressions therefrom, was lost for centuries, but was revived, and at
the time of the invention of printing, was in common use, for coarse
purposes――especially for stamping figures upon playing cards.
This art of wood engraving and printing therefrom, was employed
sometimes in lieu of writing; the letters were cut on the wood, and
in the print these were white, with a black ground. This process is
still in use, for the covers of books, labels, &c., and is called
_xylographic_ printing. It is said to have been invented by the
Japanese, and was in use in China as long ago as the year 1100 B. C.,
about the time of king David.
But still, the idea of making separate types, one for each letter, and
printing books from them, had not been started. This was undertaken
by John Gutenberg, a native of Mentz, in Germany. He appears to have
been occupied with it in the year 1436. He then lived at Strasburg,
in France, and here for several years he secretly but industriously
pursued his experiments.
In 1444, he removed to his native city, and taking one John Faust into
partnership with him, he succeeded in printing several works. They soon
separated, however: Gutenberg gave up the business, and Faust pursued
it. The latter has sometimes been considered the inventor of the art of
printing, but it belongs fairly to Gutenberg. In 1555, the “forty-two
line Bible” was produced, and was so called because each column
consisted of forty-two lines.
Faust soon produced several editions of the Bible. He went to Paris,
about this time, and it seemed so impossible, even to the monks, who
were educated men, that he could make so many Bibles by human means,
that they adopted the idea that he was in league with the devil. It
is a curious fact, that most good inventions, of ancient times, were
supposed to be produced by the help of the sable fiend. Certain it is
that the charge of sorcery was so laid upon Faust that he was obliged
to fly for his life.
We may here add, that the art of printing, which has done more for
mankind than any other human art, not only thus brought the life of
one of its first and ablest promoters into danger, but it has been the
special object of persecution from the day of its invention to the
present time. We shall pursue this subject in another number.
Comparison
BETWEEN GOOD AND BAD HOUSEWIFERY.
BY THOMAS TUSSER, WHO DIED 1580.
Ill huswifery lieth
Till nine of the clock:
Good huswifery trieth
To rise with the cock.
Ill huswifery trusteth
To him and to her:
Good huswifery lusteth
Herself for to stir.
Ill huswifery careth
For this, nor for that:
Good huswifery spareth
For fear ye wot what.
Ill huswifery pricketh
Herself up in pride:
Good huswifery tricketh
Her house as a bride.
Ill huswifery one thing
Or other must crave;
Good huswifery nothing
But needful will have.
Ill huswifery moveth
With gossip to spend:
Good huswifery loveth
Her household to tend.
Ill huswifery brooketh
Mad toys in her head;
Good huswifery looketh
That all things be fed.
Ill huswifery bringeth
A shilling to naught:
Good huswifery singeth――
Her coffers full fraught.
Ill huswifery rendeth
And casteth aside:
Good huswifery mendeth
Else would it go wide.
Ill huswifery craveth
In secret to borrow;
Good huswifery saveth
To-day, for to-morrow.
Ill huswifery pineth,
Not having to eat
Good huswifery dineth
With plenty of meat.
Ill huswifery letteth
The devil take all:
Good huswifery setteth
Good brag of a small.
[Illustration]
An Equinoctial Storm; or, Adventures of a Hat.
About the 20th of March and the 20th of September, of each year, the
day and night are of equal length, all the world over; that is to say,
the day is twelve hours long and the night twelve hours long.
The sun appears at this time to pass from east to west, around the
middle of the earth, or over the equator. If you were at Quito in South
America, or anywhere near the equator, either on the 20th of March or
the 20th of September, the sun would appear, at noon, to be exactly
over your head.
These periods of the year are called the _equinoxes_, and for some
reason which cannot be well explained, furious storms are usually
experienced about the time they occur. These are called _equinoctial_
storms. I am going to relate a story of one which occurred a good many
years since.
It was in March, about the year 1815, that Dr. Pill was riding along
toward his house. The wind was high, and the rain fell in torrents.
The doctor’s greatcoat was twirled about his ears, and he was himself
almost thrown off the horse. He galloped on, however, and came at last
in sight of the village steeple, near which was his house.
Just as his eyes gladly caught sight of his house, a furious rush of
wind took his hat off his head, and sent it away, skimming like a hawk
upon the breeze. The dog pursued the hat for some distance, but just
as it appeared to be falling to the ground, a fresh puff of the gale
lifted it high in the air, and carried it over the tops of the trees,
out of sight.
Poor Dr. Pill could not now stop to pursue his runaway hat――so, with
his hair flying in the wind, he galloped home. The storm lasted two
days, and then cleared away. But the whole country was drenched with a
flood. The rivers rose above their banks, and swept over the plains;
bridges were carried away; houses were undermined and torn to pieces;
cattle were drowned, and trees torn up by the roots!
It was near a week before the doctor could set out in search of his
hat. Taking his dog with him, at last he went to make an effort to
discover his lost property. Going to the place where it was taken off
his head, and proceeding in the direction whither it had been carried,
he made diligent search for it. His dog, Watch, seemed to understand
what was wanted, and exerted himself to the utmost in the hunt. But all
was unavailing, and Dr. Pill was obliged to return without his hat.
Several weeks passed, until, at length, the doctor was returning home
by a bridle path that led through some thick, wild shrubbery. Here
his attention was arrested by the barking of his dog, in a manner so
vehement as to show that something extraordinary was in the wind. The
doctor dismounted from his horse, and pushed through the bushes for
about a dozen rods.
Coming up to his dog, and looking in the direction of the animal’s eye,
he saw, about eight feet from the ground, his stray hat! He reached
up to it with some difficulty, and took it down, while a smile of
satisfaction covered his face. But his smile was soon changed to a gaze
of horror――for, on looking into the hat, there was an enormous black
snake, coiled up, and seeming to think himself quite at home! Soon,
however, the creature lifted his head, brandished his forked tongue,
and showed signs of battle.
The doctor threw down the hat, and Watch fell upon the snake. He took
him by the middle, and shook him so violently that the reptile was
dead in a few seconds. The doctor now took his hat, and rode home in
triumph. The hat, it seems, had been borne upon the gale, at least
half a mile, and then had lodged upon the bushes. The serpent thought
it a convenient dwelling, and took up his lodging there, by no means
expecting to be so rudely turned out of house and home.
* * * * *
Neatness is a cheap substitute for ornament, and it bestows a charm
upon the poorest which diamonds cannot give to the wealthy.
Yellow Hair.
It appears that the women of old Rome were fond of _yellow hair_, and
it is found that they were accustomed to turn it of this color by
saffron, and by long sitting, daily, in the sun; others, instead of
saffron, sometimes used medicated sulphur.
This art of changing their hair with saffron, was called
_crocuphantea_. Tertullian, observing this artifice of the women of his
time, told them that they were ashamed of their country, and would be
Gaulish or Germanic women, so much did they disguise themselves. St.
Cyprian and St. Jerome, with Tertullian, pronounced the seeking by art
to procure red-tinted hair, as presaging to the person who sought it,
the fire and red flames of hell.
Galen affirms that in his time numbers of women died with the headache;
neither could there any remedy be applied to this evil, because they
stood a long time bareheaded in the sun, to render their hair yellow;
and he reports that for the same cause some of them lost their hair and
became bald, and were reduced to Ovid’s remedy for that defect, either
to borrow other women’s hair, or to ransack the graves of the dead for
a dishonest supply.
Tertullian, speaking on this subject, says, that women were punished
for this their folly, for that by reason of their long stay in the sun,
their heads were often most grievously attacked with the headache; and
it seems, when this vanity was grown habitual to them, it degenerated
into dotage; for Lucian very satirically derides an old woman, who,
notwithstanding she was seventy years of age, yet would she have her
hair of a yellow tincture; he exhorts her to desist from her folly; for
though she could color her silver hair, yet she could not recall her
youth!
The Venetian women, even at this day, and the Paduan, and those of
Verona, and other parts of Italy, practise the same vanity, and receive
the same recompense for their affectation; there being in all these
cities open and manifest examples of those who have undergone a kind of
martyrdom to render their hair yellow.
Schenekins relates the history of a certain noble gentlewoman, about
sixteen or seventeen years of age, who would expose her bare head to
the fervent heat of the sun daily, for some hours, that she might
obtain long and yellow hair, by anointing it with a certain unguent;
and although she obtained the effect she desired, yet she consequently
procured to herself a violent headache, and bled every day abundantly
through the nose.
Another maiden, also, by using this same art, became almost blind with
sore eyes. Painting the hair blue or red, has been anciently noted by
many poets, who took occasion to describe it, as may be seen in Pliny
and Ovid.
This yellow hair was esteemed so great a rarity, that oftentimes,
also, the natural crop was shaven off, and a yellow periwig clapped on
instead; this Martial happily ridicules:
The golden hair that Galla wears,
Is hers――who would have thought it?
She swears ’tis hers――and true she swears,
For I――know where she bought it.
This, indeed, is carried to a great extent in the Low Countries, where
the Jewish women, who are all black-haired by nature, wear great yellow
periwigs instead,――golden-haired Dutch Venuses.
[Illustration]
April.
This second month of spring derives its name from the Latin word
_Aperio_, to open, in allusion to the opening of the flowers, or the
opening of the earth to receive the seed. Its zodiacal sign is Taurus,
which the sun enters on the 20th day of the month. It is true that in
April the flowers do not always begin to open, at least among us; but
in Italy, and France, and England, and also in the more southern parts
of our country, it is a month of buds and blossoms. It is the time for
setting out trees and shrubs; for ploughing the fields, and getting the
gardens ready for seed.
As this is a season which seems expressly made for the husbandman, let
us quote a passage we have met with in relation to him.
“The farmer is a lucky man; he is subject to few cares, diseases or
changes. He holds in fee a certain part of this planet, running from
the surface down to the centre, together with the atmosphere above
it; and if any man should build a tower overhanging his line by a
single brick, though a thousand feet in the air, it may be abated as
a nuisance. It is a great thing to have a legal and equitable title
to a portion of earth, to cultivate it, and to owe a support to the
application of strength, rather than the misapplication of wit. The
farmer is independent of all but Providence――he calls no man master.
‘He would not flatter Neptune for his pitchfork.’
“He is not only a friend of humanity, but he is kindly disposed
towards brutes. An ox is to him in the light of a friend, a cow is a
benefactor, and a calf is almost a child. He is clothed by the sheep,
and the cosset lamb is a foster brother of his children, who have a
heavy day when their mute friend is sold to the butcher. The farmer
has little to buy and much to sell; his means are large and his waste
little. He is an especial favorite of Ceres and Pomona, but he cares
little for Bacchus, Phœbus and other idlers.
“He puts his hand to the plough, and if he look back, it is in a furrow
like the wake of a boat. In May he puts a potato or two in the earth,
and in October he digs into the same place and finds a peck of them.
In spring he covers with earth three or four kernels of maize, and
in autumn he finds ears enough on the spot to furnish the materials
for many loaves. He hides in the soil a seed, no bigger than a large
bedbug, and in a few weeks a vine appears with several pumpkins
attached to it, of the capacity of four gallons.”
Who that walks forth, now, and sees grass beginning to spring up from
the ground, or the little flowers peeping forth, can refrain from
reflecting upon that Power that endows these things with life? The
following lines are full of natural thought and feeling:
THE DAISY.
Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep,
Need we, to prove a God is here;
The daisy fresh from winter’s sleep,
Tells of his hand in lines as clear.
For who but He that arched the skies
And pours the day-spring’s living flood,
Who works and dwells in mysteries,
Could rear the daisy’s purple bud?
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That sets in silver gleams within?
And fling it, unrestrained and free,
O’er hill, and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where’er he walks, may see
In every step the stamp of God?
Among the birds, that, having spent the winter in a warm climate,
return to us during this month, we may mention, as worthy of particular
notice, the familiar robin.
This bird sometimes spends his winter among our thick cedar forests,
living upon the berries of the cedars; but in general he prefers to go
to the middle states, or even farther south, where he lives a quiet
and secluded life, till he is advised of the melting of the snows. He
is then impatient to return, and often runs the risk of a few snow
squalls, rather than be behind his time. He is a familiar bird, and
loves to build his nest near our houses. He is a general favorite, and
should rather be treated as a friend than an enemy. He never meddles
with the corn, though he now and then filches a few cherries. His song,
however, is worth more than all he eats.
True Stories.
AN EASTERN OFFERING.――The three sons of an eastern lady were invited
to furnish her with an expression of their love, before she went a
long journey. One brought a marble tablet with the inscription of her
name; another presented her with a rich garland of flowers; the third
entered her presence, and thus accosted her: “Mother, I have neither
marble tablet nor fragrant nosegay, but I have a heart; here your
name is engraved, here your memory is precious, and this heart full
of affection will follow you wherever you travel, and remain with you
wherever you repose.”
* * * * *
GEORGE III.――In the prayer book of his Majesty, King George III., where
the worshippers implore the Almighty to bless and preserve “thy servant
George, our most gracious king and governor,” these words were struck
out, and the following written with his own hand: “thy servant George,
an unworthy sinner.”
* * * * *
BISHOP HEBER.――When bishop Heber was seven years old, a party of
his young companions were amusing themselves with riddles and cross
questions. Reginald was asked this question: “Where was Moses when his
candle went out?” “On mount Nebo,” was his immediate reply; “for there
he died, and it may well be said that his lamp of life went out.”
* * * * *
TALKING TOO MUCH.――The Rev. John Berridge was once visited by a very
talkative young lady, who engrossed all the conversation in speaking of
mere trifles. When she rose to retire, he said, “Young lady, I have one
piece of advice to offer you; when you go into company again, after you
have talked half an hour without intermission, stop awhile, and see if
any one of the company has anything to say.”
* * * * *
THE EMPEROR ADRIAN.――It is commonly said, that “revenge is sweet;”
but it can only be so to weak minds that are incapable of bearing an
injury. An elevated mind is superior to injuries, and pardons them. The
Emperor Adrian, meeting a man who had insulted him before he came to
the government, said to him, “Approach; you have nothing to fear; I am
an emperor.” This is an example well worthy of being imitated by those
who are called to return good for evil.
* * * * *
PETER THE GREAT OF RUSSIA.――As Peter the Great, of Russia, was
travelling through a village in France, he saw in a garden, belonging
to a parsonage, a man in a priest’s garment, with a spade in his hand,
digging hard at some beds of vegetables.
The Czar, much pleased at the sight, alighted, and asked him who he
was. “Sir,” answered the man, “I am the clergyman of the village.” “I
took you for a gardener. Why are you employed in this manner?”
“The revenues of my living being but very moderate, I do not choose
to be an expense to my parishioners, but wish rather to have it in my
power to assist them; they respect me the more, when they see, that, to
procure myself some of the conveniences of life, I improve this garden;
and in this humble occupation I spend as much of my time as the duties
of my ministry will allow.”
“You are an honest man,” replied the Czar, “and I esteem you the more
for thinking and acting in this manner; tell me your name.” He drew
out his tablets, and wrote down the name of the worthy clergyman; and
after telling him who he himself was, and giving him many proofs of
kindness, he took leave of him and returned to his carriage.
When he went back to Moscow, he did not forget this scene, and
endeavored to induce the priests in his empire to imitate so virtuous
an example.
* * * * *
ALEXANDER THE GREAT.――Alexander the Great, on being asked how he had
been able, at so early an age and in so short a period, to conquer
such vast regions, and establish so great a name, replied, “I used my
enemies so well, that I compelled them to be my friends; and I treated
my friends with such constant regard, that they were unalterably
attached to me.” He once degraded an officer of distinction, by
removing him to an inferior situation. Some time after, he asked the
officer how he liked his new office. “It is not the station,” said
the officer, “which gives consequence to the man, but the man to the
station. No situation can be so trifling, as not to require wisdom and
virtue in the performance of its duties.”
The monarch was so pleased with this answer, that he restored him to
his former rank.
* * * * *
AN ARMENIAN PRINCE.――The historian Xenophon relates, that when Cyrus
had taken captive a young prince of Armenia, together with his young
and blooming wife, of whom he was remarkably fond, they were brought
before the tribunal of Cyrus to receive their sentence. The warrior
inquired of the prince what he would give to be reinstated in his
kingdom; and he replied, that he valued his crown and his liberty at
a very low rate, but that if the noble conqueror would restore his
beloved wife to her former dignity and possessions, he would willingly
pay his life for the purchase.
The prisoners were dismissed, to enjoy their freedom and former honors;
and each was lavish in praise of the conqueror. “And you,” said the
prince, addressing his wife, “what think you of Cyrus?” “I did not
observe him,” she replied. “Not observe him!” exclaimed her husband;
“upon whom, then was your attention fixed?” “Upon that dear and
generous man,” she replied, “who declared his readiness to purchase my
liberty at the expense of his life.”
* * * * *
A FEMALE SLAVE.――The late Rev. Richard Watson, in his defence of
missions, states, that a master of slaves, who lived near the Methodist
chapel, in Kingston, Jamaica, exercised his barbarities on a Sabbath
morning, and interrupted the devotion of those who were assembled for
worship. This man wanted money; and one of the female slaves having
two female children, he sold one of them, and the child was torn from
her maternal embrace. In the agony of her feelings she made a hideous
howling, and for that crime, was flogged. Soon after, he sold her other
child. This “turned her heart within her,” and drove her into a kind
of madness. She howled night and day, in the yard; tore her hair; ran
up and down the streets and the parade, rending the heavens with her
cries, and literally watering the earth with her tears. Her constant
cry was, “Da wicked massa Jew, he sell my children. Will no buckra
massa pity neger? What me do? Me no have one child!” As she stood
before the window of the missionary’s house, she said, lifting up her
hands towards heaven, “My massa, do, my massa minister, do pity me! My
heart do so,” shaking herself violently; “my heart do so, because me
have no child. Me go to massa house, in massa yard, and in my hut, and
me no see ’em.” And then her cry went up to God!
[Illustration]
Shops in London.
The shops in London surpass everything of the kind in the world. We
do not speak now of the arcades and bazaars, where a whole village of
shopkeepers are associated together under one vast roof, but of single
shops situated upon the streets.
We give a picture above, of one of the shops of Ludgate Hill, and there
are others of equal magnificence in other parts of London. The rooms
in these establishments are of great extent, and fitted up in the most
elegant and imposing style. At the front, are windows with plates of
glass eight or ten feet in length, and of proportional width; the
sashes are of polished brass. The doors are of the richest mahogany,
and the entrance is altogether in the most sumptuous style.
Within, the shop presents a scene like fairy land. Splendid mirrors are
so arranged as to multiply the columns of the room, and throw a long
vista before the eye of the beholder: at the same time, the richest
and most gorgeous of merchandises are displayed on all sides, so as to
strike the eye, and add to the effect produced by the mirrors. When the
shop is filled with well-dressed ladies, as is usually the case from
ten in the morning till three in the afternoon, there is a bewildering
splendor about the scene, and one might almost fancy, that a species
of fascination, calculated to make the customer an easy prey to the
shopkeeper, is at once the object and the end of these devices.
The wealth displayed in the shops of London is suitable to the
metropolis of the world. In one you see heaps of silks, of the richest
and most splendid patterns; and if you pause to note their infinite
variety, you become at last surfeited and sickened with mere luxury. In
another shop you see every species of jewelry――and rubies, diamonds,
emeralds, sapphires, cameos, and intaglios, are so rife, that you pass
on, content that they are not yours.
You come to a window, where gold and silver plate are stretched out
before you in such profusion, that they almost look cheap and vulgar!
In one window is a display of cutlery, so bright and so fancifully
arranged, that it looks like the gaudy figures in a kaleidoscope; in
another, there is such an assemblage of furs, that you draw a long
breath, with a smothering sensation, just to look at it.
Thus, as you pass on, one after another of these shops presents you
with its treasures,――and all attended by every ingenious device, every
suggestion of busy fancy, to set them off to the best advantage. There
is a perpetual strife between the shopkeepers, to outshine each other:
each one is desirous of obtaining notoriety, of catching the public
eye, of securing a run of custom――in short, of being in the fashion and
making a fortune, of course.
Regent street, at night, seems like an illuminated city. The lights
in the shop windows, arranged to display the goods, are exceedingly
brilliant; yet they are generally hidden from the sight, while they
throw the whole flood of their blaze upon the merchandise. The effect
is truly beautiful,――and if any one desires to see the shops of London
to the greatest advantage, let them visit Regent street in the evening.
And one thing more――if a person wishes to save his money let him defer
buying till he has been in London a month; by that time, he is likely
to be so surfeited with splendor, as to feel weary of it.
Fishes playing the Jewsharp.
We have often a very queer story from the far South and West. It is
a land of wonders; for there they have alligators fifteen feet long;
rattlesnakes by the bushel; gallinippers as big as gad flies; birds
that cry out at night, “Chuck-will’s-widow!” mocking birds that surpass
the far-famed nightingale in song; pigeons in such abundance as to
crush the forests; wild deer that stare you in the face from the
bushes; bisons as abundant as cattle at Brighton; bears with claws five
inches long; and men, and women too, as brave as Julius Cæsar.
Such things there really are, in the far west; but once in a while they
tell us tales that are too much for us, sober Yankees, to believe.
Perhaps, in these cases, our bush-friends are only quizzing. They have
lately sent us the following tale; it is a little too beautiful, I am
afraid, to be really true. However, if it turns out a fable, it is a
very pretty one. Only think, a tub of cat fishes, turned musicians――and
that too after having had their mouths torn by the hook! Bravo! But
here is the story, as we find it in the papers.
“One of the wonders of the south-west is the mysterious music at West
Pascagoula. A correspondent of the Baltimore Republican, who examined
it attentively, thus takes the mantle of romance from it.
“During several of my voyages on the Spanish main, in the neighborhood
of ‘Baragua,’ and ‘San Juan de Nicharagua,’ from the nature of the
coast, we were compelled to anchor at a considerable distance from
the shore; and every evening, from dusk to late at night, our ears
were delighted with the Æolian music that could be heard beneath the
counter of our schooner. At first, I thought it was the sea-breeze
sweeping through the strings of my violin, (the bridge of which I had
inadvertently left standing;) but, after examination, found it was
not so. I then placed my ear on the rail of the vessel, when I was
continually charmed with the most heavenly strains that ever fell upon
my ear. They did not sound as close to us, but were sweet, and mellow,
and ærial; like the soft breathings of a thousand lutes, touched by the
soft fingers of the deep sea nymphs, at an immense distance. To the
lone mariner, far from home and kindred, at the still hour of twilight,
the notes were soothing, but melancholy.
“‘Although I have considerable ‘music in my soul,’ one night I
became tired, and determined to fish. My luck in half an hour was
astonishing――I had half filled my bucket with the finest white cat-fish
I ever saw; and it being late, and the cook asleep, and the moon
shining, I filled my bucket with water, and took fish and all into my
cabin for the night.
“‘I had not yet fallen asleep, when the same sweet notes fell upon
my ear; and getting up, what was my surprise to find my ‘cat-fish’
discoursing sweet sounds to the sides of my bucket.
“‘I examined them closely, and discovered that there was attached to
each lower lip an excrescence, divided by soft wiry fibres, and by the
pressure of the upper lip thereon, and by the exhalation and discharge
of breath, a vibration was created similar to that produced by the
breath on the tongue of the jewsharp.’”
Tea.
The tea plant is a native of China or Japan, and probably of both.
It has been used among the natives of the former country from time
immemorial. It is only in a particular tract of the Chinese empire
that the plant is cultivated; and this tract, which is situated on the
eastern side, between the 30th and 33d degrees of north latitude, is
distinguished by the natives as the “tea country.” The more northern
part of China would be too cold; and farther south, the heat would be
too great. There are, however, a few small plantations to be seen near
Canton.
The Chinese give to the plant the name of _Tcha_ or _Tha_. It is
propagated by them from seeds, which are deposited in rows, four or
five feet asunder; and so uncertain is their vegetation, even in their
native climate, that it is found necessary to sow as many as seven or
eight seeds in every hole. The ground between each row is always kept
free from weeds, and the plants are not allowed to attain a higher
growth than admits of the leaves being conveniently gathered. The first
crop of leaves is not collected until the year after sowing; and when
the trees are six or seven years old, the produce becomes so inferior,
that they are removed to make room for a fresh succession.
The flowers of the tea tree are white, and somewhat resemble the wild
rose; these flowers are succeeded by soft green berries or pods,
containing each from one to three white seeds. The plant will grow
in either low or elevated situations, but always thrives best, and
furnishes leaves of the finest quality, when produced in light, stony
ground.
The leaves are gathered from one to four times during the year,
according to the age of the trees. Most commonly there are three
periods of gathering: the first commences about the middle of April;
the second at midsummer, and the last is accomplished during August
and September. The leaves that are the earliest gathered, are of the
most delicate color, and the most aromatic odor, with the least portion
of either fibre or bitterness. Leaves of the second gathering are of
a dull green color, and have less valuable qualities than the former;
while those that are last collected are of a dark green, and possess
an inferior value. The quality is farther influenced by the age of the
wood on which the leaves are borne, and by the degree of exposure to
which they have been accustomed; leaves from young wood, and those most
exposed, being the best.
The leaves, as soon as gathered, are put into wide and shallow baskets,
and placed in the air or wind, or sunshine, during some hours. They
are then placed on a flat cast-iron pan, over a stove heated with
charcoal,――from a half to three quarters of a pound of leaves being
operated on at a time. These leaves are stirred quickly about with a
kind of brush, and are then as quickly swept of the pan into baskets.
The next process is that of rolling, which is effected by carefully
rubbing them between men’s hands; after which, they are again put in
larger quantities on the pan, and subjected anew to heat, but at this
time, to a lower degree than that at first, and just sufficient to dry
them effectually without risk of scorching. This effected, the tea
is placed on a table, and carefully picked over, every unsightly or
imperfectly dried leaf that is detected being removed from the rest,
in order that the sample may present a more even and better appearance
when offered for sale.
The names by which some of the principal sorts of tea are known in
China, are taken from the places in which they are produced; while
others are distinguished according to the periods of their gathering,
the manner employed in curing, or other extrinsic circumstances. It
is a commonly received opinion, that the distinctive color of green
tea is imparted to it by the sheets of copper upon which it is dried.
For this belief, there is not the slightest foundation, since copper
is never used for the purpose. Repeated experiments have been made to
discover, by an unerring test, whether the leaves of green tea contain
any impregnation of copper, but in no case has any trace of this metal
been detected.
The Chinese do not use their tea until it is about a year old,
considering that it is too actively narcotic when new. The people
partake of tea at all their meals, and frequently at other times of the
day. They drink the infusion in the same manner that we drink it; but
they do not mix with it either sugar or milk. The working classes are
obliged to content themselves with a very weak infusion. Mr. Anderson,
in his narrative of Lord Macartney’s Embassy, relates that the natives
in attendance never failed to beg the tea leaves remaining after the
Europeans had breakfasted, and with these, after submitting them again
to boiling water, they made a beverage, which they acknowledged was
better than any they could ordinarily obtain.
[Illustration]
The Finland Mother.
Finland is a cold and barren country to the north-west of Russia. The
inhabitants are simple and kind-hearted to one another; to strangers
they are extremely hospitable. They are frugal in their mode of living,
and mild, patient and resigned in their tempers. United with great
gentleness of character, the women have a remarkable turn for poetry.
It is quite common for one of them, at a party, or entertainment, to
compose extemporaneous songs, which are said to be full of feeling and
pleasant fancy.
The affection of a Finland mother for her infant is remarkable. The
latter is kept in a little box, which answers for a cradle. In this,
the child is swung from the ceiling of the house. If, however, the
mother has occasion to go to work in the fields, she takes the child
and cradle with her. She takes them also to church; and carries them
swung to her side, if she goes on a journey twenty or thirty miles.
As a specimen of the extemporaneous poetry of the Finland women, we
give the following passage, which is as it was written down by a
traveller, who happened to hear a mother addressing her infant:
“Sleep on, little bird of the groves. Sleep softly, pretty red-breast.
God, in time, will wake you from your slumbers. He has given you
branches to rest upon, and leaves to screen you from the cold blasts.
Sleep is at the door, and asks in a mellow-toned voice, ‘Is there
not a sweet child here, who is lying in its cradle, and is desirous
of sleeping; a little child, enveloped in white garments, whose mild
countenance speaks of the repose of heaven?’”
[Illustration]
Comets.
As a very splendid comet lately made its appearance among us, it may be
interesting to our readers to be told something about these mysterious
heavenly bodies.
Comets are a class of celestial bodies, of which, comparatively, little
is known; they appear occasionally in the heavens, approaching the
sun from one quarter, and, having passed it, disappear in another.
Unlike the planets, they seem confined to no particular regions of the
heavens, but seem distributed indifferently through space. The planets
are confined within certain limits, to the ecliptic, and are never seen
beyond a certain distance north or south of it. In their revolutions
about the sun, they all move from west to east; yet the comets are
governed by neither of these laws, for they approach the sun, and
sometimes pass near the ecliptic, sometimes near the poles; some move
from west to east, others from east to west, the only law by which they
seem influenced being that of gravitation.
Their numbers are very great; several have been seen by the naked
eye, and the telescope has increased the number to hundreds. What
they are, or what purpose they fulfil in the economy of nature, is
unknown. That they are material bodies of some sort, is known from
their being attracted by other bodies near which they pass. A few of
them are considered as permanent members of the system, as they return
at certain periods to the sun, moving in very elliptic orbits, some
of which are known. The comet which appeared in 1835, afforded all
an opportunity of seeing it. The important point, relative to this,
was that its orbit is known, and the interval between its periodical
returns has been calculated. Comets of much greater magnitude and
more splendid appearance have been seen, yet this, as it relates to
astronomy, is the most important of all. The honor of first predicting
its return belongs to Dr. Halley, a friend and contemporary of Sir
Isaac Newton.
What can be the use or nature of these bodies, is a question which
naturally occurs, but to which science can yet give no satisfactory
answer; their peculiarities being subjects of much greater wonder
to the astronomer, than to the children who gaze on them. They are
material bodies, it is true, yet composed of such materials as almost
to leave one in doubt as to their deserving the name.
The younger Herschel says that “the most unsubstantial clouds that
float in the higher regions of the atmosphere, may be looked upon as
dense and massive bodies, compared with the filmy and all but spiritual
texture of a comet.” It is even probable that the substance is not to
be compared for density with the air we breathe; that if a volume of
cometary matter could be weighed, it would not be found so heavy as an
equal volume of atmosphere.
I think you will understand some of the reasons that have led to such
a conclusion. If you observe smoke, steam, or any vapor, you will
find that the farther you are from it, the more difficult it is to
see through it. The fog which hides the distant mountains, or even
the sun, does not obscure those objects immediately about you; the
thin vapor which you see at a distance covering the meadow, disappears
on approaching it. A body of vapor, therefore, becomes at a distance
perfectly opaque and impenetrable to the direct rays of the sun; so,
were the planet Mercury composed of materials of a like nature and
density, they would still appear, during a transit, like a black
spot on the sun’s disc. The comet, however, instead of obstructing
the rays of the sun, offers little impediment to those of a star. No
vapory substance perceptible to our senses could maintain any degree
of transparency at a comet’s distance, but, if the volume were large
enough, would appear as a perfectly dense and opaque mass; yet during
the visit of the comet of 1835, a star of about the tenth magnitude was
seen through the most dense part of it, within one three hundred and
sixtieth part of a degree, of its centre. Through the centres of other
comets, stars have been seen, so small that it would require a thousand
to make one as large as the smallest of those seen by the naked eye.
The conclusion, then, is reasonable enough, that were thousands of
these bodies placed between us and the sun, it would obstruct no
appreciable portion of its rays, and that it would continue to appear
in undiminished splendor.
We shall have a little more to say about comets in our next number.
[Illustration: LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS
SEE! EACH MONTH,
OLD MERRY WEAVES,
FOR LITTLE FOLKS,
HIS LITTLE LEAVES!]
Things that have happened.
A CHILD’S REASONING.
It is related of a child, that he begged his preceptor to instruct him
in the law of God; but he declined, saying that he was too young to
be taught these things. “But, sir,” said the boy, “I have been in the
burial ground, measuring the graves, and find some of them shorter than
myself; now if I should die before I have learned the word of God, what
will become of me?”
STEALING.
A man, who was in the habit of going to a neighbor’s corn-field to
steal the grain, one day took his son, of about eight years old, with
him. The father told him to hold the bag while he looked on to watch if
any one were near to see him. After standing on the fence, and peeping
through all the rows of corn, he returned to take the bag from the
child, and began his sinful work. “Father,” said the boy, “you forgot
to look somewhere else.” “Which way, child?” supposing he had seen
some one. “You forgot to look up to the sky, father, to see if God was
noticing you.”
The father felt this reproof of the child so much that he left
the corn-field, returned home, and never again ventured to steal;
remembering the truth he had learned from his child that the eye of God
always beholds us.
THE MOTHER COUNSELLED BY HER
DAUGHTER.
A lady, while weeping on account of the death of one of her children,
was thus addressed by her little daughter: “Mamma, is God Almighty
dead, that you cry so?” The mother, said, “No.” “Mamma, lend me your
glove,” said the child. She gave it to her; and on requesting it back
again, the child said, “Now you have taken the glove from me, shall I
cry because you have taken your own glove? And shall you cry because
God has taken away my sister?”
PRINCESS ANNE.
When the Princess Anne, daughter of Charles I. King of England, who
died on the 8th of Dec., 1640, lay upon her death-bed, and nature
was almost spent, she was desired by one of her attendants to pray.
She said she was not able to say her long prayer, meaning the Lord’s
Prayer, but she would say her short one. “Lighten my eyes, O Lord, that
I sleep not the sleep of death!” The little creature had no sooner
pronounced these words than she expired. She was not quite four years
old.
[Illustration]
The Blind Beggar and his Dog.
It is a sad thing to be blind; but when one is blind, it is pleasant to
know that a little dog may lead one by a string, safely along the road.
I will tell you a story of a poor blind man and his dog Snip.
The man was very poor; and he had no money, or children, or friends
to take care of him. So he used to go from house to house, to beg his
bread and his clothes. He could not see anything at all: it was always
dark to him. He could not see the sun, nor the trees, nor the earth,
nor the sky.
Snip was a little lively dog, with a full black eye, a nose turned up,
and a tail curling over his back. He was so full of life that he used
to go on three legs more than half the time, as if it was too easy to
get along when he used all four.
The old man had a string tied around Snip’s neck; this he took in
his left hand, while he held his cane in the right. The dog trotted
forward, leading the way, and the old man followed. Snip knew the road
that his master wished to travel; so on he trotted, taking care always
to choose a smooth path.
Thus the dog and his master got along very well together. Sometimes
Snip would play the old man a trick; for instance, seeing some dog in
the path, and having a mind for a frolic, he would give a sudden jump,
and jerking the string from his master’s hand, he would scamper off,
racing and chasing with his fellow dog, as if he was mad.
In vain would the old man call and scold, threaten and flatter, till
Snip’s sport was over. Then he would approach his master, but take
pretty good care to keep out of reach of the cane. He would lie down on
the ground and whine, and seem to ask to be forgiven.
At last, when the old man’s rage was over, and Snip saw that his kind
feelings were apparent, he would run to his side, and jump up and lick
his hand, and seem to say――“Pray forgive little Snip, he won’t do so
again!” The old man would then pat him on the head, call him good
dog――and, no doubt happier for a little bit of a breeze, they would
both proceed on their journey.
But, at last, a sad accident befell the poor old man. In the spring,
when the river was very high, he was crossing a bridge; one of the
planks having been carried away, the old man fell into the stream and
was carried down by the waves. Snip jumped in after him, took hold of
his coat, and tried to pull him to the shore, but it was in vain.
The poor man was soon drowned, and his body was carried upon a little
island. When it was found, Snip was sitting by its side, having an
appearance of great sadness. The beggar was buried, but Snip would not
leave the spot. The people observed the affection of the dog, and their
hearts were touched by it; so they carried the poor creature food. He
ate a little, but he wasted away, and in about two weeks, he was found
dead upon the grave of his master!
[Illustration]
Mother’s Advice.
What do you like best, my little reader? Pies, pears, plums, peaches,
cake, or custards? You like all these things――but let me tell you,
there is a thing of more value than all these; and that is――your
mother’s advice.
If then a mother’s advice or counsel is of such importance, why do
children care so little about it――nay, why do they so often dislike it?
Tell me that, my young reader――tell me that!
[Illustration]
The Snow Drift.
[_Concluded._]
We have told, in a former number, how Dick’s sheep and lamb had
wandered away, and how a deep fall of snow had come, making the poor
boy fear that they were lost.
In two days the snow was three feet deep. It was impossible now
to travel about, and Dick gave up the search; but he was almost
heart-broken. He was sorry to lose Nan, but his heart was touched,
and his tears fell, to think that she and her poor little lamb were
probably frozen to death.
The storm cleared away, but the snow was deep, and for three weeks the
weather was very cold. Dick had given up all hope of seeing his sheep
and lamb. But he happened one day to be talking about them, when one of
his playmates said that he saw them grazing on a particular hillside
the day before the storm. Dick ascertained the exact spot, and with a
feeling he could hardly define, he went to the place.
He roamed about for sometime; but what could he hope to see? The snow
was still deep, and covered everything around. At last he came to a
snow-drift which rose by the side of a rock to the height of several
feet. Up this drift he ran, when the snow-crust gave way, and he
tumbled into a deep cavern! What was his amazement to find himself at
once in the presence of Nan and her lamb! Dick could scarcely believe
his senses; but such was the truth. They had been buried in the
snow-drift, and there they had dwelt for three weeks! The old sheep had
dug to the earth, and had got a few roots; and she had eaten all the
wool off her back, that she could reach. Thus she had sustained life,
though she was sadly emaciated.
By stepping and moving round, she had made a room of considerable size
in the snow-drift, and it was into this Dick had tumbled. Her lamb had
fared tolerably well, but he too was very thin. It was really very
affecting to see old Nan welcome Dick. She bleated as if her heart
would break; she licked his hands, and looked in his eyes in the most
beseeching manner. The whole story of her sufferings and her joy was
told in her countenance.
Dick now let Nan out, and she with her lamb followed him home. This
was a day of joy for him――and perhaps he had no happiness in after
life superior to that which he experienced in finding his sheep and
lamb alive; in leading them home; in telling the glorious news; and in
feeding the creatures till all traces of their sorrow were wiped away!
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER II.
_Jack gets better acquainted with his new friends.――The story
of the dead horse-fly.――Aunt Piper._
I have told you in the preceding chapter, how Jack watched the ants
in the garden, and how he found out their ways of living. He was very
young at this time, and having never been to school, he did not even
know how to read: but by observing and investigating things, he had
obtained a good deal of knowledge.
As he had now learnt something about the ants, he desired to know more:
so he used very often to go and look at them. He did not stamp, with
his heel, on the ant-hills, and crush the houses of the little busy
creatures, and kill the people in them. Some boys do this, and think
there is fun in it; but Jack looked upon all innocent and harmless
creatures with a feeling of affection, and he loved rather to help
them, than to kill or disturb them.
So it was with the ants. He used to go to their beds frequently, and
he carried them little pieces of meat; and after a time, when he came
near, the little creatures would run out of their holes, expecting
something to eat! In this way they got acquainted with him, and he with
them.
One day he found a large dead horse-fly; so he took it and laid it down
at a little distance from the ant-hill. Pretty soon he saw one of the
ants come near the fly. The little fellow began to smell about, and
then went to it. He took hold of it, and tried to carry it. He then
pulled and hauled with all his might; but finding it impossible for him
to manage it, he set off for the hill.
It was as much as two yards that he had to travel, but he very soon
got to the hill. He there met several of his companions. He went close
to them, and seemed to touch them with his little feelers. Immediately
four of them set off with him, and went to the dead fly. Jack did not
hear the ant speak, and, perhaps, he had no voice; but it was quite
plain that he told his friends what he had found, and that he wished
them to go with him.
When they got to the dead fly, they took hold, and began to drag
him toward the hill. It was twice as big as all the five ants put
together; but they jerked, and pulled, and twitched, and it was really
quite wonderful to see how fast they got the carcass along over the
rough earth. Every ant did his best: there was no lazy fellow among
them, shirking and shamming so as to put off the hard work upon his
companions.
In a very short time, the ants had brought the fly to the hill. As they
approached, great numbers ran out, to see what was coming. In a few
seconds all was life and bustle, and it really seemed like a city when
some great sight has brought all the people into the streets.
But the ants did not spend their time in gazing: immediately they began
to cut up the fly, for he was too big to be got into one of their
doors. One sawed off’ a leg, another a wing, and another the head; each
carrying his piece into the hill. In the space of about five minutes
the fly was cut to pieces, and stowed away in the city of the ants.
Jack was greatly delighted with what he saw; he had now found out that
ants, instead of being hateful little insects, as most people consider
them, are really quite interesting. Every evening he used to tell his
father and mother what he had observed during the day, and they were
always pleased with his simple stories.
But Jack had an aunt, whose name was Betsey Piper, and who, having no
husband or children to take care of, spent a great deal of her time
in talking with him. Whenever he met with anything curious, he used
always to tell her, the first thing. She was not only kind to Jack,
but she had read a great deal, and was therefore able to give him much
instruction.
Jack had got so much interested in the ants, that he now begged his
Aunt Betsey to go with him and see them. She agreed to go the next day,
and Jack went to bed, full of pleasure at the idea of visiting his
little insect-friends, the next morning, with his Aunt Piper. We shall
tell the wonderful discoveries they made, in another chapter.
CHAPTER III.
_Another visit to the anthill.――Honey-dew.――The different
kinds of ants, and other things._
As soon as breakfast was over, the next day, Jack and his aunt set out
to visit the ants in the garden. Jack soon pointed out a hill, which
he had observed before, and they both sat down to watch the little
creatures at their work.
As usual, all seemed to be busy. Some appeared to be occupied in
bringing out the eggs, which they laid in the sun, so that they might
hatch the sooner. Some were engaged in cleaning out the house, for they
were seen to bring out small pieces of sand, which they carried to a
little distance, and threw them away. One was seen to come up with a
pretty large piece of earth, which he rolled along with much difficulty.
While a part of the little people were thus engaged in housewifery,
others appeared to be bringing them food. Sometimes these brought flies
and pieces of insects; sometimes they appeared to have filled their
stomachs, and when they met their friends who staid at home, they would
put a part of their food into their mouths, and feed them, as a mother
does a child.
As I have said, Aunt Piper had a good deal of knowledge, and she had
heard that ants sometimes get a kind of honey from other insects. She
was very curious to see this herself. So she watched some of the little
creatures, and observed that they went to the dandelions that were
growing near by. They ascended the stalks, some of which were covered
with what is called honey-dew, a substance deposited by lice, which
live in great numbers upon vegetables.
Many of the ants stopped to eat this honey-dew, which they seemed to
be very fond of; but others, not finding any of this on the stalks,
mounted to the full-blown dandelions, where they found numbers of
these little insects imbedded in the yellow down. The ants immediately
began to suck the honey-dew from them, and what was wonderful, these
creatures kept quite still, and seemed pleased to have the ants lick
the honey off from them!
This sight gratified Jack and his aunt very much, and they spent a
long time in watching the operations of these curious creatures. After
spending two or three hours very pleasantly, they went to the house.
Aunt Piper then got a little book and read all about ants to Jack. I
will tell you a few wonderful things she read to him.
There are a great many kinds of ants; some are almost an inch long, and
others are not bigger than a grain of sand. In some countries the ants
build hills twice as high as a man’s head. In Africa there are white
ants, that devour trees, and they are so numerous that it is dangerous
for men to go among them, unless several can go together and destroy
them at once.
The little garden ants are very harmless; they not only eat up a great
deal of the honey-dew deposited by lice upon plants, and which would
otherwise injure them, but they also devour a vast deal of matter that
would putrefy and make the air unwholesome.
In our next number we shall tell some curious adventures between Jack
and the beetles.
[Illustration]
The Moon.
Here is a picture of the moon, not as it appears to the naked eye, but
as it looks when seen through a telescope.
By means of a telescope, we know that the moon is a great round world.
It has hills and valleys and mountains upon it; but it probably has no
sea.
Whether there are people living in the moon, we cannot tell, but it is
probable there are; perhaps, too, that there are animals of various
kinds in the moon.
The moon looks bright, because the sun shines upon it. When the moon
does not appear to be round, it is because the sun does not light the
whole of the surface turned toward us.
It is very pleasant to read about the moon, and the sun, and the stars;
and all children who will learn to read well, can know a great deal
about these interesting things.
[Illustration]
The Meadow Lark.
This is one of the handsomest birds that belongs to our country. Its
back is brown, mingled with black; its breast is a bright yellow marked
with black. It comes to New England in April. It lives in the meadows;
and both at morning and evening, it loves to mount an apple tree, and
sing its song.
This consists of a few simple notes, and though they are a little sad,
they are not unpleasing. The bird builds its nest on the ground, and
hatches three or four young ones at a time.
When autumn comes, the larks gather in small flocks, and proceed to the
south, where they spend the winter; but when the cold weather is gone,
and the snow has all departed, they come back to the places where they
were born and bred, singing their songs, as if pleased to return.
[Illustration]
The Bird’s Nest.
Do you see how carefully and how curiously this bird has built its
nest? Do you see how neatly it is tied to the tall grass? how nicely it
is rounded? how well it is bound together?
This bird has taken a deal of pains to build its nest, and do you not
think it would be cruel to destroy it?
The nest is a place where the little bird and its mate expect to hatch
their young ones; where they expect to shelter them, feed them, and
bring them up, till they can fly away and take care of themselves.
How sad would the little birds be if any one should come along and
carry away their pretty home, and destroy all their hopes and happiness!
Would not your father and mother be sorry, if any cruel person should
come and destroy their house? Why then shall boys and girls destroy the
houses of the pretty birds?
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. V. MAY 1843. No. 5.
[Illustration]
Shrine of San Rosalia, at Palermo.
San Rosalia, the Saint of Palermo, in Sicily, and whose shrine is
prefixed to this article, was, according to legend, the daughter of
William the Good, who reigned in the year 1159. At the age of fifteen,
she retired to Monte Pelegrino, in order to spend the remainder of her
life in religious solitude, and a period of nearly five hundred years
elapsed without her even being heard of. In 1624, a plague, which
threatened to depopulate this capital, raged at Palermo. A hermit,
whose name is not given in the legend, dreamt that the bones of the
saint Rosalia were on the top of Mount Pelegrino, and that if they were
carried in procession round the walls of the city, the plague would
cease.
After prayers and supplications, he induced a number of individuals
to go in procession to the top of the mountain, where the remains
of Rosalia were found, it is said, in a cave. Some pretend that the
body was fresh, and looked as if she had died at the age of fifteen;
while others assert that there were only the bones. Then they were
carried round the city walls, and the plague gradually ceased. This was
accounted a miracle; and churches were built to her honor. A chapel was
erected on the top of the mountain where she was found, and priests
appointed to perform divine service.
To facilitate the approach to those sacred relics, the Palermitans,
after immense labor, constructed a road up the face of the mountain,
which is nearly perpendicular; and though dangerous, that by no means
operates as a check to the devotion of hundreds who seek the protection
and patronage of the saint.
The pretended bones of this saint are now annually carried about the
city in a large silver box, and, according to popular belief, she has
several times since her discovery saved the Sicilians from the plague.
Long before the celebration of the festival, she becomes the subject of
general conversation, and excites the greatest interest. Her triumphal
car is made to an immense height, is built on the Marino, and, when
completed, is drawn through the principal street by a number of richly
dressed mules, preceded by dragoons with trumpets. On the lower part
of the machine is an orchestra, and above it is a small temple, in
the interior of which are figures of different saints, and on the top
of all a large statue of San Rosalia. Every side of the machine is
decorated with flowers, and during the ceremony, the street is crowded
with people, and the windows, to all of which are balconies, are
filled with ladies. At night there is a general illumination.
The amusements at this Palermo rejoicing vary each day: one night the
Flora Gardens are illuminated; on another one, the streets; and in
the daytime horse-races. The latter, from their peculiarities, are
worthy of notice. The horses start from the bottom of the principal
street, near the Porto Felice, and run to the Porto Nuovo. They have
no riders, but have small bladders fixed on their backs, in which are
inserted sharp spikes, serving, by the motion, to urge them on. The
prizes run for are generally small, consisting of from ten to fifteen
ounces in dollars fastened to a board, and the horse that wins is led
in procession with the prize before him.
The illumination of the Madre Chiesa, which is the cathedral church of
Palermo, excites the admiration of all travellers. It is here where
the box, containing the bones of St. Rosalia, is deposited. The last
ceremony is a grand procession, in which the silver box is carried by
the principal citizens, who consider it a great honor. Immense crowds
endeavor to get near to touch it, for they consider that this act is a
remedy for all evils.
The approach of this festival produces general joy and happiness;
and the people are so attached to the memory of the saint, that it
is supposed that any attempt to suppress her commemoration would be
attended with the most serious consequences.
* * * * *
ENGLISH CONUNDRUMS
Why is Mr. Roebuck a nice man?
When is a queen not a quean?
When is a breeze like a pocket handkerchief?
When is winter like a face?
When is a lion like a laundress?
_Conundrums to the Queen._
[Illustration]
May.
“May, the delicate-footed May, the month of flowers and song-birds,
of bland and balmy breezes and genial sunshine, the poet’s month, has
come at last.” Yes, it has come; but the first of May, in New England,
does not always bring the song of birds, or the bloom of flowers. In
England, the spring is a very beautiful season, and May is ever a month
of bloom. The first day of the month is one of rejoicing. The people
in the villages assemble, erect a pole, and, decked in flowers, they
dance around it. In France the people meet together, and one of the
girls is chosen queen of the festivity. They have a very gay time of
it. Sometimes the season is sufficiently advanced here, to admit of a
similar celebration. In Pennsylvania, and the states south of it, May
is a season of general bloom.
In New York, the first day of May is usually occupied by the people in
getting their furniture from the houses they are going to leave, to
those they are going to live in. “The first of May!” says one of the
New York editors, “there is something _moving_ in the very name.” The
following lines are descriptive of the occasion:
Bustle, bustle, clear the way,
He moves, we move, they move to-day;
Pulling, hauling, fathers calling,
Mothers bawling, children squalling,
Coaxing, teasing, whimpering, rattling;
Pots and pans, and kettles rattling,
Tumbling bedsteads, flying bedspreads,
Broken chairs, and hollow wares,
Strew the street――’tis moving day.
Bustle, bustle, stir about,
Some moving in――some moving out;
Some move by team, some move by hand,
An annual callithumpian band.
Landlords dunning, tenants shunning;
Laughing, crying, dancing, sighing――
Spiders dying, feathers flying,
Shaking bed rugs, killing bed bugs,
Scampering rats, mewing cats,
Whining dogs, grunting hogs,
What’s the matter? moving day!
COUNTRY PURSUITS.――How happy is the condition of the farmer, and
of country people generally, at this fine season; how great their
privileges, living amidst the fields which are now putting on their
green attire, the woods whose buds are bursting into leaf, and the
flowers which are beginning to display their bloom! How great is
their privilege, instead of being amid the din of carts and wagons,
to be cheered by the minstrelsy of birds during the day, and soothed
at night by the plaintive notes of the frogs, which issue from every
valley. How fragrant the air――how cheerful, healthful, peaceful, the
occupation of sowing, planting and pruning! Let no man living in the
country, envy city people and their fine houses. Let no man, whose lot
is to labor with his hands, envy those who live without labor. Of all
persons, those who live without bodily labor are most likely to miss
the great ends of life――health, peace of mind, and contentment; none
so likely to obtain them, as those who toil with their hands. There
is many a rich man, who has broken down his constitution by care,
anxiety, and mental exertion, that would gladly resign his houses,
and horses and carriages, for the good appetite, the sweet sleep, the
cheerful serenity of the day laborer. I once heard of a beggar, who
applied to a rich man for relief from hunger. “Hunger?” said the rich
man;――“hunger! why, my friend, I would give all I am worth for such an
appetite. Hunger, indeed!――why, you are infinitely less a beggar than
I. Sometimes you suffer, perhaps, for want of food; still, in general,
you can get a crust of bread, or a piece of cold meat; and with your
appetite, these are delicious. Thus, eating is, after all, a source of
great enjoyment to you. But I have no appetite; I never eat but with
aversion. Thus, in the midst of abundance and seeming luxury, through
loss of health, I am worse than a beggar.”
But let us turn our attention to the practical matters of the farm
and garden. May is the season for planting Indian corn, sowing oats,
and summer wheat. This latter, as well as winter wheat, has been much
neglected in New England for some years, from an idea that it is not
a safe crop. But take my advice, and try it again. Be assured that the
raising of wheat may be made very profitable in New England.
Fessenden is of opinion that it might be well for the population of
these United States, were we to consume as articles of diet more
poultry and less butcher’s meat. In France, poultry forms an important
part of the live stock of the farmer; and it has been said by well
informed persons, that among the French, the poultry yards supply a
much greater quantity of food to the mass of the community than the
shambles.
You will find much innocent and profitable amusement in your garden,
and will please to plant bush beans and pole beans of various sorts,
having enriched the soil with horse or hog manure. With regard to pole
beans, you will do as well to set the poles first, and then plant the
beans round the poles.
In the open ground, plant cucumbers, cabbages, cauliflowers, late
peas, early corn, squashes, melons, gourds, &c. Hoe and bush such peas
as have come forward, and weed all the plants which have made their
appearance.
Let me say a few words in favor of the birds, which, at this time,
are on every tree. A notion prevails that birds do great injury in
gardens and fields, and hence, many of them are shot, and boys are
encouraged to persecute them with stones. A person of long experience
has ascertained that birds, in general, do far more good by destroying
vermin, than they do harm by the little grain and fruit they consume.
In a district of Germany, there was once an order given to kill all the
rooks, which are birds of the crow kind. This was complied with, and
the consequence was, that the wheat crop was almost entirely destroyed
by insects, which the rooks would have devoured.
[Illustration]
The Village of Economy.
This is a New England village, and is remarkable for its pleasant,
cheerful aspect. Every person who rides through it is delighted; and
the place has such a reputation, that the land is worth more, and the
houses will sell for more, than in almost any other place of the kind
you can name. And this all arises from the good taste, neatness, and
order, which characterize the inhabitants. I give you a view of the
house belonging to Capt. John Pepperidge; a careful, correct, upright
man, who has risen from poverty to ease and competence, by industry,
economy, and prudence.
His house stands three or four rods back from the street; the front
yard is green and grassy, and decorated with fruit trees. The wood pile
is fenced in; the barn yard, pig pen, &c., are also tidily fenced.
It is a maxim of Pepperidge’s that there _should be a place for
everything, and that everything should be in its place_. This is his
great maxim; and he not only observes it himself, but he requires every
man, woman, and child, about him, to observe it also. He says it saves
him one hundred dollars a year.
He has other rules, such as _a stitch in time, saves nine_; and so as
soon as a stone falls off the wall he puts it up; when a rail gets out
of the fence, he replaces it; when a gate is broken, it is forthwith
repaired; if a clapboard is loose, a nail clenches it. Thus matters are
kept tight and tidy. Of a wet day, instead of going to the tavern, he
spends the time in making little repairs. At odd moments of leisure, he
sets out trees and shrubs――thus, year by year, beautifying his place,
and rendering it not only more comfortable, but also worth more money,
in case he should ever desire to sell it.
Capt. Pepperidge takes great pleasure, and perhaps a little innocent
pride, in his place――though, to say the truth, it is by no means
costly. He loves better to spend his time in making it more comfortable
and pleasant; in setting out trees, improving the grounds, mending the
fences, &c., than in going about to talk politics, or gossip upon other
people’s business, or in haunting a tavern bar-room. In short, his home
is comfortable, pleasant, delightful. It is neat and orderly, inside
and out. And he has made it so; though his wife, having happily felt
the influence of his example, contributes her share to the good work.
His children are well dressed――well educated――well behaved. Can such
a man be a drunkard? Can he be vicious? Can he be wicked? Who has so
good a chance of health, and wealth and happiness? Who so likely to be
respected by his neighbors? Who so likely to do good by his influence
and example? Come, Capt. Wideopen, I pray you, and learn a lesson of
farmer Pepperidge!
Let us look at the practical effect of Pepperidge’s example. Formerly
the village of Economy was called Uneasy-Swamp, and was inhabited by
a set of people becoming the name. They were poor, ignorant, idle,
and _uneasy_. They were jealous of all rich people, and considered
the unequal distribution of property a dreadful evil. They were
equally jealous of the wise, and considered the unequal distribution
of knowledge a nuisance to be abated. They were also jealous of
the virtuous, and hated nothing so much as a just and honest man.
In short, they were, half a century ago, where some conceited but
ignorant and uninformed people are now――willing to level everybody
and thing to their own standard. If a candidate for office was up,
who addressed their prejudices and coaxed them with promises,――though
meaning to cheat them――he was the man for them. The more ignorant a
magistrate――the more mean――the more base――the more fellow-feeling
rendered them kind, and the more ardently they espoused his cause. Such
was Uneasy-Swamp, a place which has its image still in some parts of
the country.
But Pepperidge came among the people and set them a good example. They
persecuted him――reviled him――hated him――ridiculed him――broke down his
fences at night――and played him sundry mischievous tricks. But he
was patient, and tough in his patience, as the tree that gave him a
name. And he overcame them at last. One by one, the villagers began
to imitate him. The small brown houses gradually lost their look of
squalidness and disorder. The swamp emerged from its shadow, and became
a cultivated valley. The little farmers and the humble mechanics rose
from their degraded condition; education spread its light; industry,
frugality, showered down their blessings, and Uneasy-Swamp became the
flourishing village of Economy.
And thus, though none of the people are what is called rich, none are
poor. The small houses are neat, and the fruit trees, the blossoming
shrubs, the green grass, around them, declare that the people are
happy. They are not mad in the foolish chase for riches, which is
destroying more peace in this country, than all the bodily diseases our
flesh is heir to. They are now, from better knowledge, satisfied that
the rich man shall possess his wealth, both because they perceive that
generally speaking the laboring classes are the happiest, and that the
security of property is the only steady impulse to economy, industry,
providence, and the other important village virtues. They are more
fond of knowledge, for they perceive that it increases their power of
being happy. They respect talent and wisdom, for they know that these
are gifts sent by Heaven, for the guidance of man to happiness. In
politics they are staunch republicans, but always give their votes
for men of sterling integrity. A man who has the general character of
being an artful, intriguing office-seeker, has no chance with them.
They are perhaps a little prejudiced against cities and city people.
If they ever have anything to do with a lawyer, they go to one who has
been bred in the country, and one who was in early life a farmer. They
think, and think justly, that while this rustic breeding gives a man
an habitually honest and plain turn of mind, it also renders him more
knowing, sagacious, and favorable in his feelings in respect to country
people.
I cannot better close this sketch than by introducing some lines which
are much esteemed in the village of Economy; every man, woman and child
knows them by heart.
“Let order o’er your time preside,
And method all your business guide.
Early begin, and end, your toil;
Nor let great tasks your hands embroil.
One thing at once be still begun,
Contrived, resolved, pursued, and done.
Hire not, for what yourselves can do;
And send not, when yourselves can go;
Nor till to-morrow’s light delay
What might as well be done to-day.
By steady efforts all men thrive,
And long by moderate labor live;
While eager toil and anxious care,
Health, strength, and peace, and life impair.
“Nor think a life of toil severe;
No life has blessings so sincere.
Its meals are luscious, sleep so sweet,
Such vigorous limbs, such health complete;
No mind so active, brisk, and gay,
As his who toils the livelong day.
A life of sloth drags hardly on;
Suns set too late, and rise too soon;
Youth, manhood, age, all linger slow,
To him who nothing has to do.
The drone, a nuisance to the hive,
Stays, but can scarce be said to live;
And well the bees, those judges wise,
Plague, chase, and sting him till he dies.
“With punctual hand your taxes pay,
Nor put far off the evil day.
How soon to an enormous size
Taxes succeeding taxes rise!
How easy one by one discharged!
How hardly in the mass enlarged!
How humbling the intrusive dun!
How fast, how far, the expenses run!
Fees, advertisements, travel, cost,
And that sad end of all, the post!
This gulf of swift perdition flee
And live from duns and bailiffs free.
“In merchants’ books, from year to year,
Be cautious how your names appear.
How fast their little items count!
How great, beyond your hopes, the amount!
When shelves o’er shelves inviting stand,
And wares allure, on either hand;
While round you turn enchanted eyes,
And feel a thousand wants arise,
(Ye young, ye fair, these counsels true
Are penn’d for all, but most for you,)
Ere fancy lead your hearts astray,
Think of the means you have to pay.”
* * * * *
GOD SEES EVERYWHERE.
A Father once said to his son, “Carry this parcel to your aunt’s.” “It
is the Sabbath, father,” said the boy. “Well, put it in your pocket,”
replied the father. “God can see into my pocket,” answered the child.
Mohammed.
Among the great changes which have been made in the world, not a few
have been made by arch impostors, for there seem to be no boundaries
to human credulity. Mohammed, the founder of the religion which bears
his name, was one of these. Of his history I intend to give my young
readers a few particulars, because I think they ought to know something
of a man who has given a religion to nearly a third portion of the
human race.
Mohammed began his reign A. D. 609, in the fortieth year of his age.
He first shut himself up, and fasted and prayed for a considerable
time. After this he pretended to have had communications with the angel
Gabriel, the particulars of which he related to his wife. Astonished
by his vehemence and the boldness of his pretensions, (for these two
qualities sometimes completely overpower people,) she began to give
out to her friends and neighbors that Mohammed was an apostle of God.
Through her instrumentality her uncle or cousin, Wooaka, was gained,
who is said to have been a Christian, and well acquainted with the Old
and New Testaments. Mohammed’s servant next became a convert; and, a
far more important person, his young nephew, Ali, called the Fiery,
from the ardor of his temper.
Soon after this, Mohammed gained over Abubeker, a man of excellent
character, who stood in high respect, and persuaded ten of the most
considerable citizens of Mecca to follow his example. They were all
instructed by Mohammed in the doctrine of the Islam, as he styled his
new religion; and Mohammed gave from day to day, as from the angel
Gabriel, the revelations he pretended to have received.
And now I wish my young readers to understand a fact――namely, that
it was to an admixture of much good with his imposture that the
importance of Mohammed succeeded. The religion of the people among whom
he dwelt was that of an absurd and wicked Polytheism. They were either
infidels or worshipped a number of bug-bears which they called gods.
Mohammed taught the great truth upon which true religion rests――namely,
that there was ONE GOD. He added, that Mohammed was his prophet; thus
mixing truth and falsehood so artfully together that it was impossible
for the weaker minded of his friends to separate them. Having believed
that Mohammed was the prophet of God, they, of, course, believed
everything else concerning him. And when he asserted that he put the
moon in the sleeve of his dress, his disciples believed him. And at
last the Mohammedan, although a profound mathematician and an excellent
calculator, placed implicit faith in his pretended journey to heaven on
the beast Alborak.
After a while Mohammed incited the members of his family and his
followers to a grand feast, and openly announced to them his
determination to found a new religion, and asked which of them would
undertake the office of vizier. All were silent, till the youthful Ali
declared his readiness to do so, and at the same time his determination
to inflict vengeance upon all those who dared to oppose his master. How
different was the conduct of our blessed Saviour, who, when Peter drew
his sword and cut off the ear of the servant of the high priest, said,
“Put up thy sword into its sheath; they who take the sword shall perish
by the sword.”
Mohammed, like all others who have wrought great changes in the
opinions of men, had powerful opponents among those who obtained rank
and profit from old errors. On several occasions Mohammed was attacked
by the adherents of idolatry with open force, and compelled to change
his residence, and often to flee for his life. But these persecutions
had the effect, as all persecutions ever have, to spread the faith they
were used to put down. Learn this, my young friends, that the more you
tread on a mind full of enthusiasm, the more it turns and flies in your
face.
At this time occurred Mohammed’s celebrated nocturnal journey to
heaven, on the beast Alborak, under the guidance of the angel Gabriel.
After this, great numbers of people flocked to him, and he began to
have thoughts of founding his religion by the sword. Exasperated at
seeing Mohammed and his followers gird themselves with weapons of
offence, his enemies formed a conspiracy to murder him; but, warned
of the imminent danger, he left Mecca, accompanied by Abubeker alone,
and concealed himself in a cave not far distant. There he spent three
days undiscovered; after which he arrived safely at Medina, though not
without many narrow escapes for his life. This event, from which the
Mohammedans commence their era, is known under the name of Hegira,
which signifies flight.
In Medina, Mohammed met with the most honorable reception. Thither he
was followed by many of his converts; and as the number of the faithful
continued to increase, he began making preparations for war. Many of
those who followed Mohammed did so for the sake of what they obtained
from him; but when the hopes of booty were added to other inducements,
thousands joined him. His first great military exploit was the spoiling
of a rich caravan, led by Abu Sophian, the chief of the Koreishites.
Mohammed surprised them, with an inferior force, in the valley of
Beder, and inflicted on them a total defeat. He took a rich booty and
numbers of prisoners.
Many other successful enterprises were now undertaken; but in the third
year of the Hegira, Abu Sophian, with 3000 soldiers, attacked Mohammed
with 950, on Mount Opud, not far from Medina, and a desperate conflict
ensued, in which the Moslems were utterly beaten, and the wounded
prophet with difficulty saved his life. Mohammed, with the craftiness
common to impostors, attributed this defeat to the sins of the Moslems.
He then promised Paradise to all that should for the future die in his
cause, and announced that everybody had a fate; that it was of no use
to endeavor to withstand it; that every one died at his _appointed
hour_, and if he did not die in battle, when the appointed hour came he
would die nevertheless. This of course made the poor weak creatures who
followed him ready to do anything.
In the following year, Abu Sophian appeared before Medina with 10,000
men; but, by a division among themselves, this army broke up, and
Mohammed fell upon some bands of Jews who had united with them. These
he cut to pieces, slaughtering nearly a thousand, and carried away the
women and children into captivity.
The next act of the prophet was to offer up prayers to God. He then
sent a summons to the principal neighboring princes, and also to those
of the various districts of Arabia, to embrace the new revelation of
the divine law made through him; and many of these princes embraced his
doctrine.
But the city of Mecca was a sacred city, according to the religion
of the Arabs, and Mohammed knew the importance of making his head
quarters, if possible, at so celebrated a place. He craved permission
to visit it and its temple as a pilgrim. While at his apparent
devotions he converted two men of great renown among the Arabs, called
Amru and Othman, and he in consequence became more powerful and raised
a larger army. Having made war on the city of Muta, in Palestine, he
soon returned to Mecca with an army of 12,000 men; and, having defeated
the Koreishites, compelled them, with the point of the sword at their
throats, to embrace the Islam. The idols of the Kaba were demolished,
and the sacred touch of the prophet made the black stone an object of
greater veneration. The temple became the sanctuary of the religion of
Mohammed, and its professors were allowed access alone to the holy city
of Mecca.
Mohammed now destroyed all the idols he could lay his hands upon; and,
going forward in the same course he had begun, and now at the head
of 30,000 men, he marched into Syria, claiming homage from all he
conquered, and soon became the master of the whole of Arabia. He forced
his religion upon the inhabitants, but allowed the Christians free
toleration.
In the tenth year of the Hegira, Mohammed took his farewell pilgrimage
to Mecca; and on this occasion he was surrounded with the utmost
splendor, and attended by 100,000 of his friends and followers. This
was the last and most important event of his life; for, soon after his
return to Medina, he died, in the eleventh year of the Hegira, and in
the sixty-third year of his age.
[Illustration]
A Fourth of July Oration,[1]
BY ONE ALCOHOL.
Ladies and Gentlemen,――This is a great day――a day of independence. It
is a day upon which myself and one Gunpowder, have long been accustomed
to make a display. I hope that the foolish attempt to celebrate the
fourth of July without us, will be frowned down. Who ever thought of
being funny without being fuddled? Who ever thought of being truly
independent, and setting all law and gospel at defiance, without my
help?
Ladies and gentlemen, I am a great character. Forgive me, if, on this
glorious occasion, I set forth my merits. It is one of my privileges,
as well as that of my subjects, to be boastful and vain-glorious. I
shall, therefore, proceed to speak of myself.
My name is _Alcohol_! I solicit the favor of your attention to a
subject, which lies near my heart. I am a great prince, and, like other
distinguished potentates, I have my followers. To thousands and tens of
thousands of these, I feel under profound obligations for the homage
they have done me. They have loved me to _intoxication_; and, in doing
me reverence, have often _fallen_ at my feet. If the heathen prostrate
themselves before stocks and stones, may not Christians prostrate
themselves before me?
Allow me to tell you something of my subjects. Let me expatiate upon
their merits. Let me set forth some of their characteristics; and then
pronounce your judgment――then say, if monarch ever had higher reason
than Alcohol to be proud of his people.
And _first_; my followers are remarkably _devoted_.
From the standards of Napoleon, Wellington, and even that of
Washington, _desertion_ was not uncommon. But, until recently, this
crime has scarcely been known in _my_ army. For my sake I have known
my friends forsake father and mother, wife and children. Nay, such
has been their zeal in my cause, that they have sacrificed property,
health, and even life itself. Indeed, I may say, that from a _pure_
devotion to me, thousands have come to an untimely grave.
The most popular monarchs have their enemies. Doubtless, I have mine,
particularly in these sad days of delusion and pretended reform. But,
then, I have reason to think, that some, and probably the number is
large, though ostensibly my enemies, are _secretly_ my friends. From
motives of _policy_, they say they must _appear_ to be against me,
but when _closeted_ they assure me that they still _love_ me, and I
think they often give no small evidence of the fact. They have a deep
_intestine_ attachment to me. Upon these friends I depend to restore me
to my former honors, and had they the power, I think I should reign as
triumphantly as ever.
Before I proceed farther, I must say a word about my domestic affairs,
and which explains the trouble that has grown up in society, in respect
to me. Many years ago I was married to Cold Water. We had a large
family, the pride of which we called Grog, and a glorious fellow he was
too. I hardly knew his equal, unless it was Toddy――the drollest dog you
ever met with. Such times as we did have! Toddy, Grog, and the rest,
used to fall to and scratch, bite, pull hair, give black eyes, &c.
Those were glorious days, and I am sorry to say, that the times have
grown very degenerate. I positively fear that a row or a black eye will
not be heard of ten years hence.
However, I must go on with my speech. Some evil-minded persons brought
about a divorce between me and Cold Water; she then set up for herself,
and since that time, there’s been a regular strife between us. We’re
now trying to see which shall get the biggest army, and the consequence
is that society is torn to pieces. My dear friends, listen to me, and
then choose on which side you will enlist.
Let me tell you something about my followers. In the first place they
are _brave_. In a single instance, during the revolutionary war, the
English officers mingled gunpowder with the spirit, in order to inspire
their soldiers with greater courage. I could have taught them a better
lesson than this. They needed a little _Fourth proof Jamaica_. FOURTH
PROOF, you observe――_that_ manufactures the courage. Why, I never yet
saw an army or a rabble, whose courage flagged, if they had taken a
sufficient quantity of the pure “_critter_,”――pure, pure, you observe,
not weakened down till you couldn’t tell whether there was most water,
or most spirit. I have some _veterans_ in my service, which I think
would stand an action as hot as Bunker Hill is said to have been. These
are my _red-eyed_ and _red-nosed_ soldiers, and whom I keep as a _corps
de reserve_. I think of enrolling them in a regiment by themselves.
They are without “fear of things present or things to come.” Promotion
is certain in this corps, and all my soldiers get into it, after a
proper length of service. My subjects, also, possess strong points of
_similarity_.
And 1st., of their _uniform_. The uniform adopted by me is _red_,
sometimes bearing upon purple. My subjects look exceedingly well in it,
especially when set with jewels, known by the name of _carbuncles_. A
few prefer a _pale_ exterior for their uniform, inclining to _yellow_.
These are those whom I call _gin_-ites. They are mostly of the softer
sex, who have acquired this pallid look by the use of gin or opium, and
snuff. To my eye, there is nothing in creation half so beautiful as a
woman, under the influence of gin or opium, in the attitude of taking
_snuff_, especially when her fingers scatter it over her dress like a
Scotch mist.
2d. _Language._ My subjects belong to different countries, and
consequently speak different languages. But even here strong
resemblances may be traced. Whatever be their mother tongue, their
accents, inflexions and _cadences_, especially the latter, are
strikingly similar. Some _lisp_ beautifully――some have an elegant
_clip_ of their words――others at times are affected with _hesitancy_
and _stammering_, or perhaps they are unable to speak at all. I have
known persons complain that it is difficult to understand them; but it
must be remembered, that union is a great thing, and this affection of
the speech makes all alike, and therefore cultivates fellow-feeling,
which makes us kind to one another.
3d. _Attitudes._ In this term, I include walking, marching, riding and
evolutions in general; in all which my followers exhibit a wonderful
sameness. You would at once perceive that they had been disciplined
by the same master, and were actuated by the same _spirit_. The many
graces of action are probably better understood by them, than by any
other people on the globe. I have often been in ecstasies, in looking
at one of my veterans, advancing towards me――he has given me such a
delightful idea of _Hogarth’s waving line of beauty_. But my _mounted_
volunteers are, perhaps, my greatest pride. In elegant horsemanship,
they excel. I doubt whether Mohammed himself, when he rode Alborak,
presented a finer appearance than some of our _Knights of the Bottle_.
They are so easy――so full of elegant motion――now on this side――now on
that――forwards and backwards――lateral, circular, and zigzag, that you
would decide it to be equal to any “_ground_ tumbling” you ever met
with. And with all their _courtesies_, for they seldom pass any one
without making a _profound_ bow――they seldom lose their balance so
as to fall. This I account for, in some instances at least, from the
sagacity of their horses, which usually know more than their riders!
_A fourth characteristic is Independence._ My followers are ever ready
to pay me and my family the honors of sovereignty; but here their
homage terminates. They are, to a man, _freemen_, and have taken their
oath a thousand times, that they will live _freely_, however they may
die. They sing beautifully, and sincerely, especially such couplets as
these:
“He that lives and goes to bed mellow,
Lives as he ought to do, and dies a clever fellow.”
Generally, they feel rich, however poor; and have golden prospects,
without the certainty of a single dollar. I have known them, even when
lying at the bottom of a ditch, and unable to move a limb――so buoyant
with spirits, as to call out to the universe――“to the right wheel,
march!”
A _fifth_ characteristic of my subjects is, _genius_. The tendency of
all my influence is to bring the _energies of the skull into action_.
Under my tuition, genius is sure to expand; and I have known even
those who were thought to be wanting in common sense, to have heads
that would delight Spurzheim himself. Phrenologists often talk about
_bumps_, as indications of great powers. This is sound philosophy,
and I have a mode of making bumps by an expeditious process. I assure
you, I have known a whole family of geniuses made in one night, at
a bar-room or a grog-shop. A jug of the pure thing is superior to a
college education, for developments of the craniology.
Finally, my friends, one of my people knows more than anybody else――or
he thinks he does, which is the same thing. It is an old adage, that
“_the drunken man thinks the world turns round_.” What a glorious
privilege! It is true that he reels and staggers, and perhaps tumbles
down; but still, he thinks that he alone is upright, steadfast and
perpendicular! while everybody else is tipping and diving as if there
was an earthquake! Is not this an enviable superiority? Thus it is, my
friends, if you embrace me, you will, in your own heart and mind, be
――――“glorious,
O’er all your enemies victorious!”
You may be clothed in rags, tumbled into a gutter――an object of pity
and sorrow to all around; yet, strong in your confidence in me, you
will remain
“A man superior to his accidents!”
You will think that you know more than anybody else, are better than
anybody else, and are alike superior to the restraints of decency,
morality, religion and law. This is true independence! This is
unbounded liberty. If, the next day, you feel the horrors――take a
little more of me. A little more and a little more――is the true way to
keep it up. Walk up, gentlemen and ladies! now’s your time. Who’s for
King Alcohol and independence! Who’ll enlist under my banner, for time
and eternity?
[1] The substance of this was delivered by a youth at a
temperance celebration, on the Fourth July last.
* * * * *
CLEAN CLOTHES.――Purity of vesture seems to be a principal precept of
nature, and observable throughout the animal creation. Fishes, from the
nature of the element in which they reside, can contract but little
impurity. Birds are unceasingly attentive to neatness and lustration
of their plumage. All the slug race, though covered with slimy matter,
calculated to collect extraneous things, and reptiles are perfectly
free from soil. The fur and hair of beasts, in a state of liberty and
health, is never filthy, or sullied with dirt.
Some birds roll themselves in dust, and occasionally particular
beasts cover themselves with mire; but this is not from any liking or
inclination for such things, but to free themselves from annoyances,
or prevent the bites of minute insects. Whether birds in pluming, or
beasts in dressing themselves, be directed by any instinctive faculty,
we know not, but they evidently derive pleasure from the operation, and
thus the feeling of enjoyment, even if the sole motive, becomes to them
an essential source of comfort and of health.
* * * * *
SUBSERVIENCY.――A farmer in Surrey, England, being asked for whom he
intended to vote at the next election, naively replied, “Can’t tell;
ha’n’t heard from master yet.”
[Illustration: _Apollo._ _Jupiter._]
Heathen Mythology.
A great many years ago, the people, over almost all Europe and a large
part of Asia, believed in gods whom they called Jupiter, Mars, Mercury,
Apollo, &c. They believed in goddesses too, such as Juno, Venus, Vesta,
&c.
These people built temples in honor of their gods and goddesses, many
of which were very splendid. In these temples they had statues of the
particular gods to whom they were dedicated. Here, also, there were
priests, who offered sacrifices to the gods, such as bulls, sheep,
birds, &c.
This system, having its origin in the fancy of man, was called
_Mythology_――which means a religion of fables. It is supposed to have
been commenced by the Egyptians, three or four thousand years ago, when
the greater part of the world was in a state of barbarism, or perhaps,
uninhabited by man.
This mythology, or religion of fables, probably began in this way. Some
poet, having heard of the great deeds of some warrior, made a poem
about him, and not only told things which he did, but some things which
he did not. He represented him as having power above other men, and as
performing deeds which man, alone, could not do.
Some other poet, afterwards, took up the story, and added other
wonderful tales about this great warrior. The story thus begun, would
increase very fast; for it is very easy to tell great stories, and very
easy for ignorant people to believe them too. Thus, in the course of
two generations, the warrior became a being quite above mankind, and
therefore a god.
When once such a system was begun, it was quite natural that it should
increase. Every man of lively imagination could invent a god or a
goddess, and the people were likely to adopt them, as fast as they
could be manufactured. The priests and poets had both an interest in
carrying on this business, for they either got a living by it, or
gained freedom, fame and consequence among the people.
The Greeks, for many ages after they settled their country, which took
place above three thousand seven hundred years ago, held constant
communication with Egypt. To this country they went for education and
for the arts. They not only imitated their buildings, furniture and
curtains, but they adopted the Egyptian religion also. The Greeks were,
however, a people of a great deal of genius. Beginning with Egyptian
arts and customs, they modified or changed them, by the suggestions of
their own taste and fancy. Thus, in time, they soon became superior, in
many things, to the Egyptians, who were their schoolmasters.
The mythology of the Egyptians was soon changed, in the hands of the
lively and inventive Greeks; and, indeed, it became so different, that
it got the name at last of the Grecian mythology. A large part of the
poetry and literature of the Greeks was filled with the achievements of
their gods and goddesses. Men of the greatest genius, such as Homer,
Hesiod, Anacreon, and others, wrote splendid pieces about the fabulous
deities; and the people believed them all to be true.
According to these poets, Jupiter or Jove was the greatest of the gods.
He was represented in the temples, as sitting on a throne, with the
eagle, the most powerful of birds, at his side, as an emblem of his
superiority. In his hand, he held thunderbolts, ready to hurl them
forth upon his enemies. He was supposed to reside chiefly upon Olympus,
a tall mountain of Greece, where he held councils with his deities.
The early history of Jupiter, as told by the poets, is droll enough.
The ancients knew very little about astronomy or geography. So they
divided the universe into three great kingdoms――the heavens, the earth,
and the infernal regions. Titan, a powerful king, gave Saturn the
kingdom of the earth, upon condition that he should kill all his male
children. Saturn married a woman by the name of Ops. They had several
children, but as soon as a boy was born, Saturn always ate him up.
At last little Jupiter was born――and Ops determined to save him.
Accordingly she gave Saturn a stone, and told him it was the boy.
Saturn devoured it――and did not discover the cheat. This is a hard
story, but the Greeks believed it, and we must not laugh at them, for
we see things quite as foolish in our day. The Mormons, who live in
Illinois, believe that one Joe Smith, a vile and wicked man, found
certain brass plates, written over with a revelation from God, which he
alone could translate; and they think this translation, which they call
the Book of Mormon, is as true as the Bible. There are certain deluded
people, even among us, misled by one Miller, who imagines that the
world is to be speedily destroyed. These things teach us how easy it is
to be deceived in religious matters, and how careful we should be not
to adopt new and singular notions upon this important subject.
Jupiter, having escaped his father’s jaws, was nursed by a goat. When
he was a year old, he was a prodigious fellow. By this time the Titans
had imprisoned his father, Saturn. So Jupiter made war upon them; he
released his father, and conquered heaven, earth and hell. The heaven
and earth he reserved to himself; the sea he gave to Neptune, and the
lower regions to Pluto.
Jupiter was supposed to be immortal, and of boundless power; but he
yet had the passions of a man. Many of his actions, as detailed by
the Grecian poets, would be regarded by us as very base, selfish
and wicked, and worthy of being punished by confinement in the
penitentiary. Such is the character of the chief god, in a system of
man’s invention. Does not this show us that the religion of the Bible,
which reveals to us a God pure, holy, just and good, is of divine
origin? Does it not also show us the danger of taking anything for
religion, such as Mormonism and Millerism, and all other mythologies
which come from man?
Apollo was the name of several gods, and this has led to some
confusion. The great Apollo was the son of Jupiter and Latona.
Jupiter’s regular wife was Juno, a fierce, proud goddess, who hated
Latona, and sent a prodigious serpent, called Python, to torment her.
In order to protect her, Jupiter raised up a beautiful island, called
Delos, in the sea, to which Latona retired. Here Apollo was born, and
when he grew up he became the god of the fine arts, music, poetry,
painting, &c. His adventures, as detailed by the ancient Greek poets,
are quite interesting.
[Illustration: _Vulcan._ _Pluto._]
Vulcan was the god of blacksmiths and all who wrought by fire in iron.
He was the son of Jupiter and Juno, and appears to have been so hideous
that his mother was ashamed of him. However, he seems to have loved his
mother――for on one occasion, she having behaved ill, Jupiter tied her
up. Vulcan, however, let her loose; for this he paid dearly, for his
father, being greatly incensed, gave him a tremendous kick, which sent
him out of heaven. He was no less than nine days and nights in tumbling
down to earth; it is no wonder, then, that he broke his leg in falling
upon the island of Lemnos, where he alighted. He was lame ever after.
Pluto was the king of hell, or the regions which lay beneath the earth.
Here he reigned over his dark, dismal, and gloomy regions, peopled by
the souls of departed men. Such was his savage character, and the
horrid gloom of his dominions, that nobody would marry him. Still, as
he wanted a wife, he determined to have one by hook or by crook. So one
day, as he was driving along in his chariot, in the island of Sicily,
he saw a beautiful goddess, named Proserpine, surrounded by her nymphs.
Pluto drove up, seized the lovely deity, and carried her off. With his
trident he opened a passage in the earth, down which he drove headlong,
and having arrived at home, Proserpine became queen of hell.
Mercury was the messenger of the gods, especially of Jupiter. He was
also the patron of travellers and shepherds, and had a kindness, I am
sorry to say it, for thieves, pickpockets, and rogues of all kinds. It
would seem that such a god could hardly be respectable; yet I believe
that he was rather a favorite with the Greeks.
[Illustration: _Mars._ _Mercury._]
Mars was the god of war――a fierce and terrible god, indeed. Yet,
strange to say, Venus, a handsome goddess, and wife of the old limping
blacksmith, Vulcan, liked his company very well. Vulcan made a net of
iron links, in which he caught Mars and Venus, and then called in all
the gods to look at them! This seems to have made a great deal of fun.
[Illustration: _Hercules._ _Neptune._]
Hercules was a famous hero, who performed wonderful exploits, by his
bodily strength alone.
Neptune was the god of the sea. His father, Saturn, ate him up, when a
baby――but he was afterwards brought to life, and received his empire
from his brother Jupiter.
Minerva was the goddess of wisdom. She was said to be born of Jupiter’s
brain. A famous temple was erected to this goddess at Athens, by
Pericles, about four hundred and fifty years before Christ. The chief
circumstances of her history were beautifully represented in sculpture
around this temple. The edifice still remains, though in ruins, a
splendid monument of the genius of the ancient Greeks.
[Illustration: RUINS OF THE PARTHENON AT ATHENS.]
This is a very brief sketch of some of the deities belonging to the
ancient Grecian mythology. For nearly two thousand years this prevailed
in Greece, and it was afterwards adopted by the Romans, who added
many gods to suit themselves. It became the Roman religion, and was
inculcated through that vast empire. It was not till about three
hundred and twenty years after Christ, that the Christian religion was
adopted, as the religion of the Roman government.
[Illustration]
The Elephant.
The elephant, on first view, appears to be a large mass of unwieldy
flesh, and on further examination, scarcely gives us any idea but of
an animal of extreme stupidity, with small eyes, large pendulous ears,
and an enormous trunk. He is generally about ten feet high, but does
sometimes attain the astonishing height of twelve or fourteen feet. It
is covered with a hide, without hair, which is hard and callous; it has
heavy and misshapen legs, with round feet, and a tail with a tuft of
hair at the end.
There are two species of the elephant, the Asiatic and African; they
are much alike, though there is some difference in the teeth. In
Africa, the people never train the elephant to any useful purposes,
but in Asia this is quite common. In India, the animal is taught to
carry burdens, and it performs a great deal of labor. We know that two
thousand years ago elephants were used for war; this does not appear
common now. They, however, carry large loads, and often, in hunting
tigers, they are very expert.
Though extensively used, the elephant is not so domesticated as to
breed in its state of confinement. All those that are employed by
men, are taken when wild, and trained to their state of servitude. An
elephant will carry three thousand pounds on his back, which is about
six times as much as a horse will carry. In its natural state it is
a mild and peaceable animal, and will always run away from a man. It
seems to have no disposition to quarrel even with the brute creation;
and as lions, tigers, and rhinoceroses, usually let the elephant alone,
he lets them alone.
Though the elephant looks like a stupid creature, it is in fact very
intelligent, and appears to have some faculties and sentiments almost
human. It delights in music, and easily learns to beat time; it is fond
of sweet odors, and often picks flowers, unites them into a nosegay,
and seems delighted with the perfume; it has a delicacy of touch in
its trunk, like that of the fingers, by which it can pick up a pin,
tie and untie knots, lock and unlock doors, and even write with a pen;
it learns to love its keeper, whom it caresses and obeys; it seems
gratified with kindness, and distressed by abuse; it has even been
known to die of grief, when, in some fit of madness, it has killed its
conductor.
[Illustration]
The Lion.
This animal, on account of its fierceness and strength, called the king
of beasts, is a native of both Asia and Africa. In countries where it
lives, all other animals fly before it. Wherever man dwells, he wages
war against it, and finally prevails. The lion is, therefore, not found
where the country is thickly peopled. But in the vast solitudes of
Africa it is common, and reigns monarch of all it surveys.
The lion is called cruel, but he only slays for the purpose of
satisfying his hunger. The wolf, tiger, pole-cat, fox, will kill only
for the sake of killing――even beyond what they can eat――whereas the
lion, when his appetite is appeased, will lie down and let animals,
upon which he usually feeds, pass by him unhurt.
There is something very noble in the aspect of a lion; his head is
large, and his features have a serious and lofty expression. Though of
the cat family, he has nothing of the sly, insinuating look of puss.
The strength of the lion is immense. It is said that he can break the
skull of an ox by a single stroke of his paw. It is also said that a
lion will carry off an ox that it has killed, dragging it over hills
and ravines and across streams, and proceeding at long and rapid leaps
with his burthen.
[Illustration]
The Gnoo.
This singular animal, which seems to be between the ox and antelope,
was formerly regarded as a very rare and strange beast; but of late we
have become better acquainted with it. Several of these creatures have
been exhibited in the caravans, and beside, many English travellers
have lately been in Africa, where they are found, and they have given
us many descriptions of them.
They live in herds, like the bisons or buffaloes of the west, and
sometimes hundreds or thousands of them are seen scattered over the
plains. They are about as large as our common cattle at the age of two
years; their color is dark brown; the head and breast are covered with
long shaggy hair, and the horns bend forward at the base and backwards
at the middle.
They are very timid, and generally fly from the approach of men. They
seem to be put in a rage by the sight of scarlet. Mr. Pringle, a
traveller in Africa, tells us some very amusing tales as to this. When
he and his party met with troops of these creatures, they would hoist
a red handkerchief on a pole. At this the gnoos would approach, tear
up the ground, lash their sides with their tails, and show signs of
violent rage, and then they would suddenly bound away to a distance.
A Swedish Girl.
Gustavus III., king of Sweden, passing one morning on horseback through
a village in the neighborhood of his capital, observed a young peasant
girl, of interesting appearance, drawing water at a fountain by the
way-side. He went up to her, and asked her for a draught. Without
delay, she lifted up her pitcher, and with artless simplicity put it to
the lips of the monarch. Having satisfied his thirst, and courteously
thanked his benefactress, he said:――
“My girl, if you would accompany me to Stockholm, I would endeavor to
fix you in a more agreeable situation.”
“Ah, sir,” replied the girl, “I cannot accept your proposal. I am not
anxious to rise above the state of life in which the providence of God
has placed me; but even if I were, I could not for an instant hesitate.”
“And why?” rejoined the king, somewhat surprised.
“Because,” answered the girl, “my mother is poor and sickly, and has
no one but me to assist or comfort her under many afflictions; and no
earthly bribe could induce me to leave her, or to neglect the duties
which affection requires from me.”
“Where is your mother?” asked the monarch.
“In that little cabin,” replied the girl, pointing to a wretched hovel
beside her.
The king, whose feelings were interested in his companion, went in,
and beheld, stretched on a bedstead, whose only covering was a little
straw, an aged female, weighed down with years, and sinking under
infirmities. Moved at the sight, the monarch addressed her: “I am
sorry, my poor woman, to find you in so destitute and afflicted a
condition.”
“Alas! sir,” said the venerable sufferer, “I should indeed be an object
of pity, had I not that kind and attentive girl, who labors to support
me, and omits nothing she thinks can afford me relief. May a gracious
God remember it to her for good,” she added, wiping away a tear.
Never, perhaps, was Gustavus more sensible than at that moment of
the pleasure of occupying an exalted station. The gratification
arising from the consciousness of having it in his power to assist a
fellow-creature, almost overpowered him; and putting a purse into the
hand of the young villager, he could only say, “Continue to take care
of your mother; I shall soon enable you to do so more effectually.
Good-bye, my amiable girl; you may depend on the promise of your king.”
On his return to Stockholm, Gustavus settled a pension for life on the
mother, with the reversion to her daughter at her death.
The Story of “Gander.”
Let us understand each other at the outset, gentle reader. GANDER, as
you will suppose, was not a _goose_; but you will be surprised to hear
that he was a “_horse_.” Why the creature got this name, I cannot tell,
unless it was that he was _white_, and was always a leader among the
horses. But, however the name originated, the following is a true story
of him, as told to me by a gentleman of veracity.
In the year 1825, on a summer’s day, my friend left the vicinity of the
Dunderberg mountain, in Rockland county, in the state of New York, with
this and another horse, for a town on the Connecticut river. The other
horse was _bay_, small, old, lean, and of a submissive aspect; while
Gander, as I said before, was _white_, and, although somewhat advanced
in years, was large, well-built, and quite proud in his bearing. These
horses, together with a wagon, my friend had taken of a doubtful
debtor, and at the above time left the vicinity of the Dunderberg, as I
said, for his home, some hundred miles to the east.
For two reasons “Bay” was doomed to be the drudge on the journey.
One was, that Gander and the wagon did not agree; the other was,
that my friend chose to give him an easy journey, for the purpose of
more readily converting him into cash on his reaching home. Gander,
therefore, was tied behind.
“Matters being thus arranged,” my friend proceeded, “we commenced our
journey; but we were destined not long thus to be linked together; for
although Gander appeared to recognise his new master, he liked not the
compulsory method I had taken to assure myself of his company. A single
toss of his head was sufficient to break his halter, and he seemed to
understand this snapping process to perfection; but, then, instead of
running away, and thus securing for a time his freedom, he would stand
still, quietly waiting for me to dismount and again attach him to his
post.
“His late master had been abundant in commendation of his sagacity and
other notable qualities, but assured me he would not be led. Not being
inclined, however, to yield my belief without a trial, I had tied him,
as above noticed. We had not proceeded far, however, before Gander gave
intimation that _indeed_ ‘he would not be led.’ Snap went the halter,
again. With much good nature, I again tied it, but with precisely the
same result. At length, it was quite plain the animal was willing to
acknowledge his allegiance to his new master, although he had not been
consulted in the transfer; but his submission must be _voluntary_――he
would not be led like a criminal, especially with a halter about his
neck.
“The rope was soon useless; and now necessity became the mother of
invention. I slipped the remnant of the halter from his head, jumped
into my wagon, and drove on. This movement seemed quite satisfactory
to the hitherto disobliged animal; and from his future conduct, it was
evident he had obtained his wishes. Immediately he came to the side of
the vehicle;――afterwards he chose ‘Bay,’ for a time, as his companion;
and thus, side by side, and cheek-by-jowl, with either drudge or
master, he jogged on for an hour or two. Finally, however, he fell back
to the rear of the wagon, and, singular as it may appear, he kept this
spot to the end of his journey, with, perhaps, a single exception,
which I shall by-and-by mention; excepting, also, that occasionally he
turned upon the road-side, while ascending a hill, to crop a tuft of
green grass. At such times, if for a moment he forgot his master till
he had disappeared, in a few minutes more his shrill voice was heard,
and he recovered his post behind, with all expedition.
“On the morning of the second day, we left Newburgh, and crossing
the Hudson at Poughkeepsie, directed our course to Litchfield, in
Connecticut. I had not travelled fast, however, and it was quite dusk,
when I arrived at the foot of Mount Tom, within eight or ten miles of
the end of my journey for the day. I had observed a few heavy clouds in
the west, and now these were approaching and increasing with so great
rapidity, that I had scarce a hope of escaping the impending storm.
I was entirely unacquainted with the road over the mountain, but it
was a long distance to any shelter which I had passed. I determined,
therefore, to push forward.
“Had ‘Bay’ possessed my fears, I should have had some hope of escaping
from the storm; but he was, of the two, the greater philosopher. The
distant thunder had no terrors for him; besides, it was an up-hill
journey, and this, instead of increasing his energy, seemed to be a
good reason for abating his exertions. Consequently, before we had
gained half the distance to the summit of the mountain, darkness was
upon us; ominous drops of rain were beginning to fall, and the thunder
was rolling overhead.
“In this dilemma, although sometimes aided by a flash of lightning, my
situation became almost appalling. However, when it was impossible to
see the road, I left my wagon, and, after feeling and ascertaining the
way a few rods, I managed to guide my horse a short distance. This plan
I had repeated several times, and was at the last returning to start
again, when Gander, whom before I had scarcely thought of for an hour,
advanced from his post, and planted himself immediately in front of
‘Bay.’ This extraordinary movement of the animal, (for he had only once
before taken precedence on our journey,) was so very singular, that it
at once occurred to me he had some good motive for it. His color was
_white_; did his sagacity teach him that ‘Bay’ could see _him_, if not
the road? Was his sight more keen than my own, and did he discover it?
Did his instinct teach him that his color might render him conspicuous,
even in darkness, so that we could follow him? Can this be called
instinct, or was it _reason_? Let it be called by whatever name it
may, I had before heard of the sagacity of the horse, but I was now to
witness it.
“I again seated myself in my wagon, by which time the rain fell in
torrents. Gander was not discoverable from my seat when we started, but
I drove on. ‘Bay’ now showed less reluctance, and, encouraged by his
pioneer, moved forward more rapidly; we soon gained the mountain-top,
and the frequent flashes of lightning showed Gander still in his new
position, a foot or two in advance of Bay, and in the very centre of
the road. Soon after our descent of the mountain commenced, it became
so light, that I could just discern my leader; and thus we jogged on
for some time, till at length a light was visible in the distance. I
had scarcely discovered it, when a shrill neigh from Gander announced
his pleasure at the prospect. He guided me safely to it, and to the
door of an inn, as it proved, in Bradleyville. I need hardly add, that
Gander received, not only the hearty caresses of his master, but an
extra quantity of delicacies for his supper, good attendance, and a
bundle or two of straw for his bed. He should have had a mattress, had
he preferred it.”
The Dog of Montargis.
There is in France a castle by the name of Montargis. In the hall of
this castle there is a sculpture which represents a dog fighting with a
champion. The story connected with this sculpture is as follows:――
Aubri de Mondidier, a gentleman of family and fortune, travelling alone
through the Forest of Bondi, was murdered, and buried under a tree.
His dog, an English blood-hound, would not quit his master’s grave for
several days; till, at length, compelled by hunger, he proceeded to the
house of an intimate friend of the unfortunate Aubri’s, at Paris, and
by his melancholy howling, seemed desirous of expressing the loss they
had both sustained. He repeated his cries, ran to the door, looked back
to see if any one followed him, returned to his master’s friend, pulled
him by the sleeve, and with dumb eloquence entreated him to go with him.
The singularity of all these actions of the dog, added to the
circumstance of his coming there without his master, whose faithful
companion he had always been, prompted the company to follow the
animal, who conducted them to a tree, where he renewed his howl,
scratching the earth with his feet, and significantly entreating them
to search that particular spot. Accordingly, on digging, the body of
the unfortunate Aubri was found.
Some time after, the dog accidentally met the assassin, who is styled,
by the historians, Chevalier Macaire; when, instantly seizing him by
the throat, he was with great difficulty compelled to quit his prey.
In short, whenever the dog saw the Chevalier, he continued to pursue
and attack him with equal fury. Such obstinate virulence in the animal,
confined only to Macaire, appeared very extraordinary; especially to
those who at once recollected the dog’s remarkable attachment to his
master, and several instances in which Macaire’s envy and hatred to
Aubri de Mondidier had been conspicuous.
Additional circumstances created suspicion; and at length the affair
reached the royal ear. The king, Louis VIII., accordingly sent for the
dog, who appeared extremely gentle, till he perceived Macaire in the
midst of several noblemen, when he ran fiercely towards him, growling,
and attacking him as usual.
The king, struck with these circumstantial evidences against Macaire,
determined to refer the decision to the chance of battle; in other
words, he gave orders for a combat between the Chevalier and the dog.
The lists were appointed in the Isle of Notre Dame, then an unenclosed,
uninhabited place, and Macaire was allowed for his weapon a great
cudgel.
An empty cask was given to the dog as a place of retreat, to enable him
to recover breath. Everything being prepared, the dog no sooner found
himself at liberty, than he ran round his adversary, avoiding his
blows, and menacing him on every side, till his strength was exhausted;
then, springing forward, he griped him by the throat, threw him on the
ground, and obliged him to confess his guilt, in the presence of the
king and the whole court. In consequence of this, the Chevalier, after
a few days, was convicted upon his own acknowledgment, and beheaded on
a scaffold in the Isle of Notre Dame.
Natural Lamps.
The queen beetle is about one inch and a quarter in length, and carries
by her side, just about her waist, two brilliant lamps, which she
lights up at pleasure, with the solar phosphorus furnished her by
nature. These little lamps do not flash and glimmer like those of the
fire-fly, but give as steady a light as that produced by a gas-burner,
exhibiting two perfect spheres, as large as a minute pearl. These are
so powerful that they will afford a person light enough to read print
by them.
On carrying this insect into a dark closet in the daytime, no light
is emitted at first, but she quickly illuminates her lamps, and
immediately extinguishes them, on being brought again into the light.
But language cannot sufficiently express the beauty and sublimity of
these lucid orbs in miniature, with which nature has endowed the queen
of the insect kingdom.
* * * * *
A mind occupied becomes fortified against the ills of life and is
braced for any emergency. Children amused by reading and study, are of
course considerate and more easily governed.
LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.
[Illustration]
The School-Ma’am.
In one of his little books, Peter Parley has told us how Aunt Delight
taught him his letters; and I believe that I have given some account of
the early lessons that I, Robert Merry, received from Miss Sally St.
John.
In old times, children were generally taught their a-b-c, by some good
old woman, who was called the “School-ma’am.” Above is a picture of one
of these dames, giving a first lesson to a child. How hard the little
fellow tries to say his letters! A man laying stone wall, does not make
a greater effort.
I have told my readers of some of the pranks of the friend and playmate
of my early days, Bill Keeler; but there is one which I have not yet
told. It was as follows:――
You should know that Sally St. John, the school-ma’am, having no
husband, made a great pet of her cat. This was named Nip, and, strange
to say, he used regularly to go with her to school.
Many a child had a “box with five nails in it,” for playing some trick
upon Nip, but this was especially the case with Bill. He was always
getting into some trouble on account of the cat.
Now Bill had a great love for gunpowder; and of all things, he
delighted in what is called a _witch-quill_. This is made of a quill,
filled with layers of wet and dry powder: when set on fire, the quill
goes jumping about, hither and thither, all the time spouting forth a
stream of fire.
On one occasion he carried one of these to school, and when Aunt
Sally’s back was turned, he gave it a toss into the fire. In an instant
the quill was lighted, and, starting from the fire-place, darted
directly under the school mistress’s chair. Pop――fizz! pop――fizz! it
went.
Now it chanced that Nip was under Aunt Sally’s chair at that very
moment. He was fast asleep, when the wicked witch-quill popped in,
taking its station exactly under his nose. Never was there such horror,
as appeared in Nip’s countenance. He stuck up his back, drew his tail
out at full length, set apart his jaws, and with glaring eyes gazed at
the terrible monster.
The comet that has lately been seen in the sky, with a tail ninety
millions of miles in length, never scared any poor Millerite half so
much as did Bill Keeler’s witch-quill, Aunt Sally’s cat. Nip didn’t
know at all what to make of it. He had seen squirrels with long
tails,――rats, moles, bats, owls, and other strange things,――but never,
in all his days, had he beheld anything that spouted forth fire――real
fire――before.
After gazing at the witch a few seconds, Nip mustered all his courage,
spit at it, and gave it a thump with his paw. Fizz――pop! went the
quill! Nip’s courage was exhausted――and he ran away with all his might.
Strange to say, at that moment the quill started, and shot along the
floor, in the exact direction puss had taken.
It stopped, however, about the middle of the school-room floor, and
then it began to whirl round, popping, spinning, and fizzing, in a most
wonderful style. “What on airth is that?” said Aunt Sally. “Oh dear!”
“Oh dear!” “Oh dear!” said a dozen children at once.
“Oh! it’s Bill Keeler! it’s Bill Keeler!” said the school
mistress――knowing by instinct where all mischief came from. “Oh dear,
I’m shot! I’m popped! I’m fizzed! I’m bewitched! Oh! Bill, Bill, you’ll
be the death of me!”
All this time, the wicked witch-quill was spinning and spouting about,
in the middle of the floor. The children shrieked, and Bill Keeler
laughed as if his sides would split. At last, the witch-quill, with a
dying effort, hissed along the floor, and went straight at Nip, who
had got beneath a writing bench. With a horrid yell, the cat fled, and
leaping upon Aunt Sally’s shoulder, hung on to the flesh with all her
claws. The good woman shook and pulled, but Nip held the tighter for
all that; and Bill, seeing that things were getting serious, took his
hat and ran.
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER IV.
_A Story about the Beetles._
One day, as Jack was going along in the field, he saw a dead mole lying
upon the ground. He took it up, and admired its soft fur, and the rays
upon its nose, making it look, in shape, like a star. He looked, also,
very carefully to see if it had eyes, for he had been told that moles
were blind.
After looking all over the head of the mole, Jack at last discovered
two little eyes, as black and shining as beads, very near the
creature’s nose. They were deeply hidden in the fur, and for
this reason it is that people say that a mole is blind. Jack, by
investigating for himself, discovered the truth, which is, that moles
have eyes. The reason for having their eyes so small, and so imbedded
in fur, is this,――they live under ground, and dig a great deal in the
earth; it is therefore very well that they have little eyes, sheltered
with fur, so that the dirt may not get into them.
[Illustration: _Moles._]
Having examined the mole some time, Jack threw it down, and went along.
About two or three hours afterwards, he was coming back the same way.
As he was passing the dead mole, he noticed that it appeared to be sunk
in the ground. He stopped, and looked at it attentively. Pretty soon he
saw a large black bug, which we call a beetle, creep from under it, and
run around it.
This attracted Jack’s attention, and kneeling down, he watched
carefully to see what was going on. After looking about a little, he
noticed that there were four or five beetles, all at work, digging a
hole under the mole, into which the creature was gradually sinking.
He lifted up the mole a little, so that he might observe them more
carefully; but the creatures did not seem to mind him. They went to
work again, immediately, digging away the earth, which they threw out
at the sides. It was amusing to see how hard they toiled.
The heads of the beetles were shaped somewhat like a spade. With
these they dug up the earth, and then clawed it away with their feet.
Never did a set of men, digging a cellar, appear more active, busy and
efficient.
Jack had always before hated beetles, as being ugly, disagreeable
things; but now he was delighted to see them. He immediately ran off to
get his aunt Piper to come and observe what was going on. She was very
busy, but Jack persuaded her to go with him.
They soon came to the spot, and aunt Betsey now saw that what Jack had
told her was all true. The beetles were, indeed, burying the mole. “But
what are they doing it for?――are they sextons?” said Jack.
“They are called _burying beetles_,” said the aunt; “but, Jack, I shall
leave you to find out yourself what they are burying the mole for.”
So, after a time, Jack and his aunt went away. The next day Jack went
to the place, when, behold, the mole was not to be seen! There was a
little spot of fresh earth where it had lain, but that was all.
“So,” thought Jack to himself, “so, neighbor beetles, I guess you have
buried the mole,――at any rate, we will see.” So Jack began to dig away
the earth a little, with his fingers, and about two inches below the
surface, there was the mole, sure enough. The beetles were all around
the carcass, and every one of them was at work, making a feast. Jack
covered up the hole, and left them all to themselves.
[Illustration]
Lucy and Ann.
A DIALOGUE.
_Ann._
Tell me, dear Lucy,
Tell me true――
What is that thing
Above, so blue?
_Lucy._
My little Ann,
We call it sky――
And there, you know,
God lives, on high.
And it is heaven
Far up above,
Where angels dwell,
In peace and love.
And there, when dead,
Good people go,
To dwell with God,
And angels too.
_Ann._
’Tis beautiful!
But, sister dear,
Is it in heaven
As ’tis here?
Are there sweet flowers,
And blossoms fair,
And silver streams,
And fragrant air?
And pretty birds,
And butterflies,――
Are there such things
Beyond the skies?
_Lucy._
We cannot tell;
We only know,
’Tis happier there
Than here below.
The sweetest thing
On earth is _Love_;
That fills each heart
In Heaven above.
These things amid,
The birds and flowers,
The butterflies
In blooming bowers,――
All these are fair,――
And yet more blest
Art thou, dear Ann,
On mother’s breast.
’Tis Love, dear child,
That makes thee so,
And Heaven is Love,――
That’s all we know.
[Illustration]
The Little Flower Girl.
How beautiful is Spring! See this little girl――she has gone
forth into the fields alone, and she has gathered a handful of
blossoms――dandelions, buttercups, and pansies.
Why should the little girl gather flowers? Because they are beautiful,
you will tell me. And who told you they were beautiful? You cannot tell
me that, perhaps; then I will tell you.
It is God, who made us, that has told us flowers are beautiful. He made
us with eyes to see, and hearts to feel their beauty. He made these
things, and He formed us so that we might love them, and take pleasure
in them. How good and kind is it of our Heavenly Father, to spread
pleasant things around us, and give us faculties to enjoy them!
Surely, when we see so many lovely blossoms, and so many pleasant
things, scattered around us, we should think with gratitude of Him who
has arranged all these things; and our hearts being filled with love to
Him, we should all try to please Him, by doing as He wishes us to do.
God has done other kind things for us――He has not only made flowers,
but He has made truth, charity, kindness, goodness, and other things,
which are called virtues. God looks on these things, as we do upon
flowers, as very lovely things; and what he wishes of us, is, that our
hearts shall be full of these virtues. He likes to look on a virtuous
mind, as we do on a flowery garden.
Now, my little reader, you can love these virtues, if you please, and
you can adorn yourself with them. When you have learned to love them,
it will give you great pleasure to think of them, and if they dwell in
your own heart, you will be happy indeed. If you love truth, if you
love charity and kindness, if you are fond of everything that is good
and amiable, then God will love you, and you will be cheerful and happy.
[Illustration]
Dash won’t learn his Lesson!
Here is Dash in his kennel, and Alice by his side. Alice has got a
book, and she tries to get Dash to read. Let us listen, and hear what
Alice says.
“Oh Dash, you are a naughty dog! Why don’t you say a, b, c? Look on the
book! Mind! If you don’t mind, I’ll whip you!
“A’nt you ashamed, Dash, not to learn your letters? What! be a
blockhead all your days, and not learn to read? Shame! Shame on
you! Why, father says you are six years old, and you don’t know your
letters! Naughty Dash!”
To Correspondents.
We are gratified to find from the letters we get from our friends
in all quarters, that the “Little Leaves” are acceptable to our
subscribers. We are particularly glad to find that our larger readers
do not object that so many pages should be devoted to the amusement of
“Little Readers.”
To J. L. S., who inquires if the story of Limping Tom is true, we have
to reply that if it is not, it sounds very like the truth.
As to R――――, who discovers that in our April number we have got in
a cut which was inserted last year, we beg to observe, that we had
noticed this ourselves, but were afraid to speak about it, lest it
should be only an April fool trick of the printer’s boys, and we should
get the laugh upon us, thereby.
We say to L――――, who wishes to hear something more about Bill Keeler,
that we have inserted an anecdote of him in this number. We are glad to
find that the story of Inquisitive Jack is approved of. We shall make
Jack out a very clever fellow, before we have done with him.
[Illustration]
Truth Triumphant.
In a far-off country, there was once a jeweller who left home with some
valuable diamonds, for the purpose of selling them in a city at some
distance from his own residence. He took with him his son and a slave.
This slave he had purchased when quite a small boy, and had brought him
up more like an adopted child than a servant.
The merchant at length reached the city whither he was going, and
disposed of his diamonds with great advantage. While preparing to
return home he was seized with a sudden illness, which in a few hours
terminated his life. The merchant was quite a stranger in the city.
This his servant knew, and believing himself quite safe, he declared
himself to be the son of the deceased jeweller, and entitled to take
charge of his property.
The real son was filled with great grief, but what could he do? He had
no means of establishing his right to the property, for he had no means
of proving himself to be the son of the deceased. The servant was loud
in his pretensions, and one circumstance served to favor his claims.
He was a young man, quite comely in his person, and polished in his
manners; whereas the jeweller’s son was mean in his appearance, and
had been seriously injured in his education by the indulgence of his
parents. It was, therefore, quite natural that strangers should take
part with the servant against the son.
At length, in order to end the dispute, the latter referred the matter
to a court of law. There, however, from a total want of proof, nothing
could be decided. Each party was equally positive, but neither could do
more than to assert his claim. At length the judge declared his utter
inability to determine which was the rightful heir to the property.
The novelty of the case, and the great amount of property in question,
excited the interest and curiosity of a large part of the city.
Divers opinions prevailed, and the subject became a fruitful theme
of conversation and dispute. It was thought to be a case of so much
importance as to merit the attention of the prince of the country.
The case was accordingly stated to him; but in like manner he also
was confounded, and at a loss how to decide the question. At length a
happy thought occurred to the chief judge of the prince, by which to
ascertain the real heir. The two claimants were summoned before him.
He ordered them to stand behind a curtain prepared for the occasion.
Through this curtain two openings were made. They were directed to
project their heads through these holes, and then each one might tell
his story. When the judge had heard them he was to decide the case, and
cut off the head of the one whom he should judge to be the slave.
Both agreed to the plan; the son relying upon the honesty and the
justice of his cause; the servant, through his confidence in the
impossibility of detection.
The judge took his seat, and the parties took their stations. An
officer with a drawn sword stood in front ready to strike off the head
of the one whom the judge should decide to be the impostor.
They now told their stories. Just as the last one had finished, the
judge cried out in a stern voice to the officer, “Enough! Enough!
strike off the villain’s head!” The officer sprung towards the young
men with an uplifted sword. The impostor, conscious of his guilt,
started back behind the curtain; the son, conscious of the justice of
his cause, stood unmoved!
The judge immediately decided for the latter, ordered the property
to be given to him, and the slave to be punished for his wicked and
ungrateful attempt at deception.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. V. JUNE, 1843. No. 6.
[Illustration]
Louisa Vinning.
This little artist of nature, who has recently excited the astonishment
of the musical world, and claims the admiration of all, as a remarkable
instance of precocious powers, was born on the 10th Nov., 1836, at
Kingsbridge, Devonshire, England. Her father, John Vinning, is
a musician of talent: as violinist and composer, he has acquired
celebrity. His two brothers are also musicians, having been induced, by
an irresistible inclination for music, to abandon the professions to
which they had been bred.
When the little warbler who is now the subject of notice, had reached
the age of nine months, it was observed that she derived intense
delight from music; and if she was ever fretful, the sound of her
father’s violin immediately soothed her; at the same time her whole
frame would move in unison with the measure, and her face beam with
ecstasy. Her father indulged the child in occasionally playing to her,
but the excitement was so intense that he became apprehensive it might
injure her. He accordingly took the advice of several medical men, who
recommended a moderate indulgence only of the child’s passion.
Before Louisa could speak words, she began to sing tunes with accuracy
and effect; and often while asleep, she would warble forth some soft
and sweet melody,――an air she had heard, or the impromptu suggestion of
a dream. On one occasion the father was called by the mother, whom he
found in tears by the bed-side of the sleeping child, who was singing a
beautiful air, in a soft and mellow voice. The father remained at the
place, and the little warbler repeated it several times. He immediately
took a pen and wrote it down. This song was sold to Mr. Burkley, of
London, who wrote some lines to it, and it was published under the
title of the “Infant’s Dream.” This composition has been much admired.
In the morning after the child had sung this song in her sleep, she
said to her mother, “Oh, I have seen such beautiful angels in my
sleep――all gold――beautiful gold!”
When this interesting prodigy was two years old, she was announced
to sing in public in London. Her performances were such as to excite
the utmost wonder, even of musicians of the highest standing. The
celebrated Thalberg, then in London, Sir G. Smart, and the Misses
Moschelles, stated that her singing was astonishingly correct, her
voice pleasing and of great compass, her ear correct, and her feeling
quick and deep. Such was her fame, at this age, that the queen sent
for her to come to Buckingham palace. On hearing the child sing, her
majesty was so touched, that she clasped her warmly to her breast, and
afterwards placed a large diamond pin in her bosom, as an expression of
her delight.
From this time, this little singer continued to attract public
attention, and promises, when she arrives at maturity, fully to realize
the hopes her early displays and genius have inspired.
Importance of a Fly.
The following facts may give our readers some idea of the vast
importance to the British treasury of a little insect, called the hop
fly, or _Aphis Humelia_.
In the year 1822, on the 14th of May, the hop duty, on a fair estimate,
according to the prospect of the crop, was laid at £100,000; the fly,
however, appearing pretty plentifully towards the end of the month, it
was estimated as likely to produce only £80,000. The fly increased, and
by the end of June the duty had gone down to £60,000; by the end of
July, to £30,000; by the end of August, to £22,000, and by the end of
December to £14,000. The duty actually paid this year was £15,463 10s.
6d.
In 1825, the duty commenced at an estimate of £130,000; but, owing to
the excessive increase of the fly, it had in July fallen to £16,000;
at the beginning of September it rose to £29,000, but towards the end
fell again to £22,000. The amount paid was £24,317 0s. 11d.
In the following year, the summer was remarkably dry and hot; the
thermometer for several nights continued above seventy degrees all the
night through. The crop of hops was immense; scarcely a fly was to be
found, and the duty, which was estimated in May at £120,000, rose to
£265,000, and the amount actually paid was £262,331 0s. 9d., being the
largest amount ever known.
From this, it will appear, that in duty alone, a little insignificant-
looking fly has a control over £150,000, or 700,000 dollars, annual
income to the British treasury! Supposing the hop grounds of England
capable of paying this latter duty annually, which they certainly are,
it is very manifest that in 1825 these creatures were the means of
robbing the treasury of over £100,000; this seems a large sum, but it
is only a small part of the amount actually destroyed, for we here
only speak of the tax, and not of the entire value of the hops
destroyed. This, no doubt, is three times as much as we have
estimated, for the duty alone. In some years it is probable that the
hop fly destroys hops in England to the value of nearly two millions
of dollars! Is not this driving business on a large scale?
[Illustration]
June.
This first month of summer is said to derive its name from Juno, a
Roman goddess, in honor of whom a festival was celebrated at the
beginning of the month: its zodiacal sign is Cancer, which the sun
enters on the 21st. Summer is now fully established, and even in New
England the grumblers say nothing of easterly winds, and confess that
it is warm enough. In the southern states, the people are beginning to
fear the return of fevers; beside, the days and nights are there too
hot for comfort――and, therefore, those who can leave home are about
departing for the north.
The mower is now in the field with his scythe. At an early hour we hear
the merry ringing of the stone upon the steel, as he is sharpening it.
How beautiful now is the meadow――the orchard――the wheat field, the
maize field, and the forest! How various and how brilliant the flowers;
how fragrant the air――how balmy, yet how healthful the breeze!
[Illustration: _William the Conqueror._]
[Illustration: _Henry II._]
[Illustration: _Edward Longshanks._]
[Illustration: _Henry I._]
[Illustration: _Richard of the Lion Heart._]
[Illustration: _Henry IV._]
A Chapter of English Kings.
In the year 1041, the Danes were finally driven out of England, and for
a short space the Saxon kings were restored to the throne. The last of
these, Harold, was defeated by _William, Duke of Normandy_, or _William
the Conqueror_, in the celebrated battle of Hastings, in the year 1066.
This decided the fate of England: Harold was killed upon the field, and
the Norman line of kings succeeded to the throne. William reigned about
twenty years. He was an able warrior, but he ruled with great severity.
He divided the lands of the nobility of England among his followers,
and oppressed the people by rigorous laws. They therefore held meetings
to devise plots of rebellion, usually in the evening. To suppress them,
he ordered a bell to be rung every evening at eight o’clock, at which
time they were required to put out their fires and lights. This was
called the _couvre feu_,――French words, signifying _cover fire_: it is
from this that the word curfew has come, which now means, the bell rung
at evening, about the time for the people to go to bed.
William endeavored to make the English people live like Frenchmen; he
required the French language to be used in the courts of law, and it
was spoken by himself and all around the palace.
William took pains to make his new kingdom thrive; he had a careful
survey made of the lands and property, and these were registered in a
book called the Dooms-day book, copies of which are still preserved.
During William’s reign, the laws were firmly established, and a great
deal was done to benefit the people. He was at first hated as a
conqueror and oppressor, but he was finally regarded as a sagacious,
though severe king. He died at Rouen, in France, 1087, aged 63 years.
_William Rufus_, or William the Red, the second son of the Conqueror,
succeeded his father; he was addicted to field sports, and one day,
while pursuing a deer in the forest, he was killed by an arrow,
discharged by Walter Tyrrel. The arrow first hit a tree, but it
glanced, and struck the king in the breast. This occurred in the year
1100.
_Henry First_, the third son of the Conqueror, succeeded. He was very
despotic, but still he sought to promote the prosperity of his kingdom.
He patronised learning, restored the University of Cambridge, and
received the title of _Beau Clerk_, which implies that he was a good
scholar. He punished robbers, who were very numerous in his day, with
severity; he abolished the hated curfew, established a uniform standard
of weights and measures, and granted charters of various kinds, which
were the first beginnings of English liberty. He died in Normandy, 1135.
_Stephen_ usurped the throne which Henry had bequeathed to his
daughter, Matilda, in 1135. After a disturbed reign of nineteen years,
Stephen died in 1154, and was succeeded by _Henry II._, son of Matilda.
He held the kingdom of Brittany, in France, and conquered Ireland,
which has ever since been attached to the British crown.
He was a wise prince, but he had great trouble with the clergy. Thomas
á Becket, the primate of England, who was thought to be disposed
greatly to extend his power, was murdered by some persons in the
cathedral of Canterbury. This crime was laid to King Henry, and he was
obliged, by the Pope of Rome, to take a solemn oath that he had nothing
to do with it, in order to clear himself. He was also obliged to walk
barefoot to the tomb of Becket, and to yield to various penances,
imposed by the monks of Canterbury. He was severely whipped with rods
by the monks, during his penance, and to this he patiently submitted.
He died 1189.
_Richard the Lion-Hearted_, his son, succeeded him, and was crowned
1189. He was a man of great bodily strength, of invincible courage, and
possessed many generous qualities. He was seized with the mania of the
age, to go and fight against the Turks for the recovery of Jerusalem.
In Palestine, he performed prodigies of valor, and on his way back, was
taken and imprisoned by the Duke of Austria. He was released after some
years, his people paying a heavy ransom. He was afterwards shot by a
cross-bow, while besieging a castle in Normandy.
He was succeeded by his brother _John_, who was so poor as to get the
surname of _Lackland_. John was a weak, vicious king; but one good
thing happened during his reign. He signed a paper, called _Magna
Charta_, or _Great Charter_, in which he yielded some portion of the
despotic power before claimed by the kings of England. This was a
serious abridgement of the king’s authority, and it opened the way for
still further enlarging the liberties of the people. He died in 1216.
_Henry III._, though but nine years old, succeeded his father John,
and reigned fifty-five years. He was a weak and vicious king, and the
people took advantage of his folly and weakness, to extort from the
crown various concessions, which extended and secured their liberties.
He was succeeded by his son _Edward_, in 1272, called _Longshanks_,
on account of his uncommonly long legs. He was a famous warrior, and
conquered Wales. He made war upon Scotland, and was bravely resisted by
the famous William Wallace. While marching with a great army against
Robert Bruce, who headed the Scotch, he died, and his son, _Edward
II._, succeeded him in 1307. He led an army of 100,000 men against
Scotland, but was defeated with vast slaughter, in the celebrated
battle of Bannockburn. He was a foolish king, and his own wife
imprisoned him, and caused him to be murdered.
His son, _Edward III._, began to reign in 1327, at the age of eighteen.
He was a brave warrior, and beat the Scotch and the French. His son,
the celebrated Black Prince, was not less renowned as a warrior, while
he was also distinguished for his kindness and generosity. This prince
died 1376, and his father the year after.
_Richard II._, grandson of Edward III., came to the throne in 1377,
being only eleven years old. During his reign, there was a famous
rebellion, the leader of which was Walter Tyler, a blacksmith. Walter,
in a conference with the king, was so insolent, that William Walworth
knocked him down with a club, and one of the soldiers despatched him.
Richard was deposed by the duke of Lancaster, and being imprisoned, was
either killed or starved to death. The Duke was crowned king in 1400,
under the title of _Henry IV_. It was during his reign, that the wars
of _the two roses_ took place; that is, the war between the houses of
York and Lancaster. Their partisans were distinguished, the one by
red, the other by white roses. He died 1413, aged forty-six, and was
succeeded by his son, Henry V.
We shall have something more to say of English Kings, in a future
number.
* * * * *
“SIR, you have had an education, I suppose,” said an illiterate
preacher in Maine to a learned clergyman. “Yes, sir,” was the reply. “I
am thankful,” rejoined the former, “that the Lord has opened my mouth
to preach without any learning.” “A similar event,” replied the latter,
“took place in Balaam’s time; but such things are of rare occurrence at
the present day.”
True Stories.
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.――When this eminent architect was building St.
Paul’s cathedral, he caused the following notice to be affixed to
several parts of the structure. “Whereas, among laborers and others,
that ungodly custom of swearing is so frequently heard, to the dishonor
of God and contempt of his authority; and to the end that such impiety
may be utterly banished from these works, which are intended for the
service of God and the honor of religion: it is ordered, that profane
swearing shall be a sufficient crime to dismiss any laborer that comes
to the call; and the clerk of the works, upon a sufficient proof, shall
dismiss him accordingly: and that if any master, working by task, shall
not, upon admonition, reform the profanation among his apprentices,
servants, and laborers, it shall be construed his fault, and he shall
be liable to be censured by the commissioners.”
* * * * *
MADAME DE GENLIS.――Madame de Genlis relates the following anecdote,
which occurred during her residence at Berlin:――
“My saloon had two doors, one opening into my chamber, and the other
conducting to a private staircase, descending to the court. On the
platform of this staircase was a door opposite to mine, belonging to
the apartments of an emigrant. This man was of a savage disposition,
and never saw any one in the house. Some one had given me two pots of
beautiful hyacinths; at night I placed them on this platform, between
my neighbor’s door and my own. In the morning, I went to take them
again, and had the disagreeable surprise to see my beautiful hyacinths
cut into pieces, and scattered round the pots which held them. I easily
guessed that my neighbor was the author of this deed, who had been
excited to it, doubtless, notwithstanding his French politeness, by
the libels which were published against me. Not wishing the affair to
be known, I did not ask more flowers of the persons who had given me
these, but directed a servant to buy me some. Having placed these in
the pots, I attached to them a slip of paper, on which I wrote these
words:――‘Destroy my works, if you will, but respect the works of God.’
At night I placed them on the platform: in the morning I went with
eagerness to see what had been their fate, and saw with great pleasure
that some one had been content with simply watering them. I carried
them immediately into the saloon, and placing them on the table,
perceived that there were attached to them two silk strings, each
suspending a cornelian ring.”
* * * * *
A GENTLEMAN IN AMERICA.――“A man of my acquaintance,” says Dr. Dwight,
“who was of a vehement and rigid temper, had, many years since, a
dispute with a friend of his, a professor of religion, and had been
injured by him. With strong feelings of resentment, he made him a
visit, for the avowed purpose of quarrelling with him. He accordingly
stated the nature and extent of the injury; and was preparing, as he
afterwards confessed, to load him with a train of severe reproaches,
when his friend cut him short by acknowledging, with the utmost
readiness and frankness, the injustice of which he had been guilty;
expressing his own regret for the wrong he had done, requesting his
forgiveness, and proffering him ample compensation. He was compelled to
say that he was satisfied, and withdrew full of mortification that he
had been precluded from venting his indignation and wounding his friend
with keen and violent reproaches for his conduct.
“As he was walking homeward, he said to himself to this effect: ‘There
must be something more in religion than I have hitherto suspected.
Were any man to address me in the tone of haughtiness and provocation
with which I accosted my friend this morning, it would be impossible
for me to preserve the equanimity of which I have been a witness;
and especially with so much frankness, humility and meekness, to
acknowledge the wrong which I had done; so readily ask forgiveness of
the man whom I had injured; and so cheerfully promise a satisfactory
recompense. I should have met his anger with at least equal resentment,
paid him reproach for reproach, and inflicted wound for wound. There
is something in this man’s disposition which is not mine. There is
something in the religion which he professes, and which I am forced
to believe he feels; something which makes him so superior, so much
better, so much more amiable, than I can pretend to be. The subject
strikes me in a manner to which I have hitherto been a stranger. It is
high time to examine it more thoroughly, with more candor, and with
greater solicitude, also, than I have done hitherto.’
“From this incident, a train of thoughts and emotions commenced in the
mind of this man, which terminated in his profession of the Christian
religion, his relinquishment of the business in which he was engaged,
and his consecration of himself to the ministry of the gospel.”
* * * * *
A QUAKER.――A gay young man, travelling in a stage coach to London,
forced his deistical sentiments on the company, by attempting to
ridicule the Scriptures; and, among other topics, made himself merry
with the story of David and Goliath, strongly urging the impossibility
of a youth like David being able to throw a stone with sufficient force
to sink into the giant’s forehead. On this he appealed to the company,
and particularly to a grave Quaker gentleman, who sat silent in one
corner of the carriage. “Indeed, friend,” replied he, “I do not think
it at all impossible, if the Philistine’s head was as soft as thine.”
This grave rebuke reduced the young man to silence.
* * * * *
AN AGED MINISTER.――A venerable minister at H―――― preached a sermon on
the subject of future punishment. On the next day it was agreed among
some thoughtless young men, that one of them should go to him, and
endeavor to draw him into a dispute, with the design of making a jest
of him and of his doctrine. The wag accordingly went, was introduced
into the minister’s study, and commenced the conversation by saying,
“I believe there is a small dispute between you and me, sir, and I
thought I would call this morning and try to settle it.” “Ha!” said
the clergyman, “what is it?” “Why,” replied the wag, “you say that the
wicked will go into punishment, and I do not think that they will.”
“Oh, if that is all,” said the minister, “there is no dispute between
you and me. If you turn to Matt. xxv. 46, you will find that the
dispute is between you and the Lord Jesus Christ, and I advise you to
go immediately and settle it with him.”
* * * * *
A COUNTRYMAN.――It has often been a matter of wonder, that the
principles and reasonings of infidels, though frequently accompanied
with great natural and acquired abilities, are seldom known to make any
impression upon thoughtful people. It is said of a deceased gentleman,
who was eminent in the literary world, that in early life he drank
deeply of the free-thinking scheme. He and one of his companions,
of the same turn of mind, often carried on their conversations in
the hearing of a religious but illiterate countryman. This gentleman
afterwards became a true Christian, and felt concerned for the
countryman, lest his faith in Christianity should have been shaken.
One day, therefore, he asked him, whether what had so frequently been
advanced in his hearing, had not produced this effect upon him. “By no
means,” answered the countryman; “it never made the least impression
upon me.” “No impression upon you!” said the gentleman; “why, you must
have known that we had read and thought on these things much more than
you had any opportunity of doing.” “Oh, yes,” replied the man; “but I
knew also your manner of living; I knew that to maintain such a course
of conduct, you found it necessary to renounce Christianity.”
* * * * *
REV. S. WESLEY.――The Rev. Samuel Wesley, rector of Epworth, and father
of the celebrated John Wesley, once went into a coffee-house in London
for some refreshment. There were several gentlemen in a box at the
other end of the room, one of whom, an officer of the guards, swore
dreadfully. The rector saw that he could not speak to him without much
difficulty; he therefore desired the waiter to give him a glass of
water. When it was brought, he said aloud, “Carry it to your gentleman
in the red coat, and desire him to wash his mouth after his oaths.” The
officer rose up in a fury; but the gentlemen in the box laid hold of
him, one of them crying out, “Nay, colonel, you gave the first offence;
you see the gentleman is a clergyman; you know it is an affront to
swear in his presence.” The officer was thus restrained, and Mr. Wesley
departed.
Some years after, being again in London, and walking in St. James’s
Park, a gentleman joined him, who, after some conversation, inquired
if he recollected having seen him before. Mr. Wesley replied in the
negative. The gentleman then recalled to his mind the scene in the
coffee-house; and added, “Since that time, sir, I thank God, I have
feared an oath; and as I have a perfect recollection of you, I rejoiced
at seeing you, and could not refrain from expressing my gratitude to
God and to you.”
* * * * *
JOHN FOX.――When Fox, the well known author of the “Book of Martyrs,”
was once leaving the palace of Aylmer, the Bishop of London, a
company of poor people begged him to relieve their wants with great
importunity. Fox, having no money, returned to the bishop, and asked
the loan of five pounds, which was readily granted; he immediately
distributed it among the poor, by whom he was surrounded. Some months
after, Aylmer asked Fox for the money he had borrowed. “I have laid
it out for you,” was the answer, “and paid it where you owed it――to
the poor people who lay at your gate.” Far from being offended, Aylmer
thanked Fox for thus being his steward.
* * * * *
INTEMPERANCE.――A TEMPERATE MAN. A man of temperate habits was once
dining at the house of a free drinker. No sooner was the cloth removed
from the dinner table, than wine and spirits were produced, and he was
asked to take a glass of spirits and water. “No, thank you,” said he,
“I am not ill.” “Take a glass of wine then,” said his host, “or a glass
of ale.” “No, thank you,” said he, “I am not thirsty.” These answers
produced a loud burst of laughter.
Soon after this, the temperate man took a piece of bread from the
sideboard, and handed it to his host, who refused it, saying he was not
hungry. At this, the temperate man laughed in his turn. “Surely,” said
he, “I have as much reason to laugh at you for not eating when you are
not hungry, as you have to laugh at me for declining medicine when not
ill, and drink when I am not thirsty.”
[Illustration: _The Western Hemisphere._]
Geography.
Geography is that science which describes the earth on which we live;
its lands and waters; its mountains and valleys; its hills and plains;
its towns, cities, countries, nations, and inhabitants.
The above picture is a representation of one half of the earth, or what
is called the _Western Hemisphere_. On this you see the _continent_ of
America, the Atlantic _Ocean_, the Pacific ocean, the Northern ocean,
and the Southern ocean. About three fourths of the surface of the
Western hemisphere is covered with water.
The continent of America consists of North America and South America.
These are united by a narrow strip of land, called the _isthmus_ of
Darien. In the narrowest part, this isthmus is but about thirty-seven
miles wide.
North America is separated from Asia at the north-west, by Behring’s
_Straits_, which are about thirty-nine miles wide. North America is
separated from Greenland, which is a great _island_, almost always
covered with snow and ice, near the north _pole_.
The continent of North America is about 9000 miles long, from _Cape_
Horn, to the Northern ocean. It has a vast _range of mountains_,
extending, in a bending line, nearly the whole length of it. This range
is the longest in the world. In South America, some of the mountains
are about five miles high, and are the loftiest in the world, except
the peaks of the Himmaleh mountains, in Asia. It is supposed that there
are two hundred _volcanoes_ in America.
The largest _river_ in the world is the Mississippi, which, including
the Missouri, properly one of its branches, is about 4000 miles long.
The river Amazon, in South America, though not quite as long, spreads
its branches wider than any other river in the world, and carries more
water to the sea than any other river.
The largest fresh water lake in the world, is that of Lake Superior, in
North America.
[Illustration: _The Eastern Hemisphere._]
The above picture represents the _Eastern Hemisphere_. It includes the
Eastern Continent, which is divided into Europe, Asia, and Africa.
Africa is the south-western portion, Europe the north-western portion,
and Asia the north-eastern portion. The eastern continent contains
about twice as much land as the western continent.
Between Europe, Africa and Asia, is the Mediterranean sea, which is
about 2000 miles long, from east to west. The Atlantic ocean lies
west of Europe and Africa; the Indian ocean lies south of Asia, and
south-east of Africa; the Pacific ocean lies east of Asia.
Between the Indian ocean and Pacific ocean, are many large islands.
The largest is New Holland, which is about as extensive as all Europe.
This island belongs to the British nation, who have settlements here,
occupied by English, Scotch, and Irish people.
There are many curious things upon this island. The natives are a kind
of negro, who live in a manner almost as rude and savage as wild bears.
Among the animals, are the kangaroo, which goes forty feet at a leap,
and the platypus, with fur like a beaver and a bill like a duck; swans
which are black, and a kind of bird with a tail shaped like a harp.
Asia is the most populous part of the globe, and has more inhabitants
than Europe, Africa, and America, all together. China alone has about
three hundred and sixty millions of people.
In America there are only a few great cities, such as New York, Boston,
Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New Orleans, in the United States; Havana,
in the West Indies; Mexico, in the United States of Mexico; Lima,
Buenos Ayres, Valparaiso, and Rio Janeiro, in South America.
In Europe there are many great cities, among which London and Paris
are the largest; in Asia, Constantinople and Pekin are the largest; in
Africa, Grand Cairo and Alexandria are the largest.
Asia was the first part of the globe inhabited by human beings; Africa
was next inhabited, Europe next, and America last. America was not
discovered by the Europeans, till about three hundred and fifty years
ago.
[Illustration]
The Bob-o-link.
This is the familiar name of the Rice Bunting. He is about seven
inches and a half long, of a deep black color, with the feathers
edged with white and yellow. In Massachusetts, it is first seen in
May, among the fields and meadows, which at that period begin to ring
with its cheerful song. This is familiar to every school-boy, and is
composed of sounds which resemble the words Bob-o-lee, Bob-o-linke. Mr.
Nuttall, who has written several books about birds, says that as the
Bob-o-link rises and hovers on the wing, near his mate, he seems to
say――“Bob-o-link, Bob-o-link, Tom Denny, Tom Denny, come, pay me the
two and sixpence you’ve owed me more than a year and a half ago! tshe,
tshe, tsh, tsh, tshe!” He then dives down into the grass, as if to
avoid a reply.
This bird builds its nest on the ground; it is formed of loose withered
grass, and can scarcely be distinguished from the earth around it. The
eggs are five or six, of a light olive color, spotted with brown. The
male keeps up a continued song while his partner is sitting, as if to
cheer her in her confinement; but when the young brood appear, this
song is less frequent, and he joins his mate in the task of feeding and
rearing them.
In August, the whole brood, old and young, set off for the south, where
they spend the winter, gathering the wild rice of Delaware as they
proceed, and offering great sport to the gunner. They swarm in the rice
fields of Carolina and Georgia, and are much disliked by the planters
for their voracity. They are excellent eating, being so fat when they
reach the West Indies, as to be called Butter birds. Here they spend
the winter, but never fail to return in the spring to their native
meadows, where they feed on insects, worms, crickets, beetles, and also
on grass seeds.
Boys are very fond of catching the Bob-o-link, which they sell for
cages; but, although he is tolerably lively in captivity, yet no one
who has seen and heard him at liberty, can take any pleasure in his
deadened music and dulled plumage. In a state of nature all birds
moult, that is, change their plumage, and after a time generally
reappear in their former gay attire; but we have been told that the
Bob-o-link, in captivity, after moulting once, never resumes the dress
he wore in freedom; as if, absent from his mate, for whom alone he
sung and plumed himself, it were of no consequence what his appearance
might be. Let those of my little readers who have an opportunity of
observing, see if this story be true.
[Illustration]
The White or Polar Bear.
This formidable animal is generally found within the polar circle. It
is a land animal, yet it depends upon the sea for its subsistence.
It preys principally upon seals, young walruses and whales, and upon
those foxes and wolves which sometimes seek their food among the ice.
Its size varies, being from eight to twelve feet long, and weighing
from 900 to 1600 pounds. His fur is thick and very long, and, like the
feathers of water birds, cannot be wet by almost any exposure to water.
He swims at the rate of three miles an hour. He cannot climb trees like
other bears, nor does he need so to do, as his habitation is among
the icebergs. He is a very formidable and powerful animal, and when
attacked, makes desperate resistance.
From the nature of their food, the flesh of the polar bear is rank and
fishy, though not unwholesome. The fat resembles tallow, and melts
into a transparent oil, which has no offensive smell. The skin is very
serviceable, as well as handsome, for a variety of domestic purposes,
and it is an article of considerable value to the people of the cold
northern regions. The Greenlanders pull it off whole, and make a sack
of it, into which they creep, and find a warm and comfortable bed. The
natives of Hudson’s Bay make very handsome and pliable garments of
these skins.
The Polar Bear may be considered as the most interesting of all bears.
Much is said of its great strength, and power of enduring hunger and
cold; of the peculiarity of its form and appearance; of the perils and
privations to which it must often be exposed; of its great ferocity
and daring when attacked, and of its strong attachment to its young.
Nothing but death can stop the attentions of the female to her cubs.
When they are wounded, she will fondle them, turn them over, lick them,
offer them food, and pay them even more tender attentions than some
human beings bestow upon their offspring; and when she finds all her
efforts unavailing, she makes most piteous moans.
The White Bear is found in the polar regions of both continents.
* * * * *
THE BOY AND HIS MITTENS.――I was going around the corner of Park street
church, in February, 1835. It was the morning of one of those days when
the thermometer was hovering about the chill point of zero. I chanced
to notice a small boy, standing with his back to the basement wall of
the church; his cheeks glistening in the keen wind, the tears flowing
down his face, and a kind of blubbering sound issuing from his mouth.
His little red hands were bare, but in one of them he held a pair of
mittens. He was the picture of distress and imbecility. I went up to
him, and asked him why he was crying. “My fingers are cold,” said
he. “But why don’t you put on your mittens?” said I. “Oh, because my
fingers are so cold!” said he. “But can’t you put them on?” said I. “Oh
yes, I _can_ put them on,” said the boy, “but it hurts.”
“The child is father of the man,” thought I. This boy, here, in a
matter of his fingers, is acting precisely as many men act in regard to
matters of the deepest importance. Rather than bear the slight pain of
putting on his mittens, he will run the risk of freezing his fingers.
And when I see a man spending his time in idleness, and thus laying
up a prospect of future poverty and distress, rather than work and be
industrious, _I think of the boy and his mittens_. When I see a man
indulging in a habit of tippling, or any other bad practice, _because
it is hard to leave off, I think of the boy and his mittens_.
* * * * *
IDLENESS.――If the intellect requires to be provided with perpetual
objects, what must it be with the affections? Depend upon it, the
most fatal idleness is that of the heart; and the man who feels weary
of life may be sure that he does not love his fellow-creatures as he
ought.
The Unfaithful Servant.
A noble Duke of Scotland, in one of his walks, chanced one day to see a
very fine cow. Having ascertained to whom the animal belonged, he went
to the owner, and offered him a handsome price for her. For a time the
latter hesitated, but at length accepted it, and promised to drive the
cow the next morning.
Not finding it convenient to go himself, the farmer sent his boy
to drive the cow. On approaching the house, the animal appeared
frightened, and refused to proceed. At the time, the Duke happened to
be walking at a short distance, and the boy, not knowing who he was,
craved his assistance, in his Scotch brogue.
“Heh, mun, come here, an’ gie’s a han’ wi’ this beast.”
The Duke, perceiving the boy’s mistake, pursued his walk, without
appearing to understand it. In the mean time, the cow became still more
unmanageable, upon which the lad, with a tone of apparent distress,
cried out, “Come here, mun, and as sure’s anything, I’ll gie ye the
hauf o’ what I get.”
Pleased with the boy’s manner, and especially with his generosity, the
Duke now stepped forward as requested, and lent a helping hand.
“And now,” said the Duke, as they drove the cow forward, “how much do
you think you will get for this job?”
“Oh, I dinna ken,” said the boy, “but I’m sure o’ something, for the
folk up bye at the house are guid to a’ bodies.”
As they approached the house, the Duke darted by the boy, and, entering
by a private way, called a servant, and putting a sovereign into his
hand, bid him give it to the boy that drove the cow.
The Duke now returned to the avenue, and was soon rejoined by the boy.
“Well, and how much did you get, my lad?” inquired the Duke.
“A _shilling_,” said the boy, “and there’s half o’t t’ ye.”
“A shilling!” rejoined the Duke, “only a shilling! you got more.”
“No I dinna,” said the boy with great earnestness, “as sure’s death,
that’s a’ I get, and d’ye no think it plenty?”
“I do not,” said the Duke; “there must be some mistake, and as I am
acquainted with the Duke, if you’ll return with me, I’ll get you some
more money.”
The boy consented, and back they went. The Duke rang the bell, and
ordered all the servants to be assembled.
“Now,” said the Duke to the boy, “point out to me the person that gave
you the shilling.”
“It was the chap there, wi’ the white apron,” said the boy, pointing to
the butler.
“You villain,” said the Duke.
The butler fell upon his knees, and confessed the wicked act.
“Give the boy the sovereign, and immediately leave my house,” said the
Duke.
The butler implored.
“No,” said the Duke, “you are no longer to be trusted. You have been
detected in an act of villany, which renders you unfit to serve _me_.
You have lost your shilling, your situation, and your character. Go,
and henceforth learn that ‘honesty is the best policy.’”
By this time, the boy discovered, to his amazement, his assistant, in
the person of the Duke; and the Duke was so delighted with the sterling
worth and honesty of the boy, that he ordered him to be sent to school,
and to be provided for at his own expense.
* * * * *
Daniel Purcell, the punster, being desired to make a pun extempore,
asked, “Upon what subject?” “The king,” was the answer. “O, sir,”
replied Daniel, “the king is not a _subject_.”
The Barber of Paris.
In the city of Paris, there is an ancient street known by the name of
Rue de la Harpe. In one part of this street there formerly stood two
dwelling-houses, in one of which a crime of a most horrible nature was
some years since perpetrated, and the discovery of which was remarkably
sudden and providential.
In one of these houses a barber had his shop; a part of the adjoining
house was occupied by a pastry-cook.
One day two gentlemen entered the shop of the barber for the purpose
of being shaved. These gentlemen belonged to a town some distance
from Paris. They were men of wealth, and had come to the city for the
purpose of transacting business. It is not uncommon for persons in
France, who are well able to ride, to travel on foot. In this manner
had these gentlemen come to the city. Their only attendant was a
faithful dog.
Before proceeding to execute their business, they called, as I said,
at the shop of the barber to get shaved. The barber being employed in
shaving another person, the strangers, in the interim, incautiously
entered into conversation with each other, during which they alluded to
a sum of money which they had about them. The barber overheard them,
but appeared to take no notice of the conversation.
At length one of the strangers was called to the chair, and the shaving
operation was soon finished. This done, he turned to his companion,
and observed, “We have but a short time, you know, to transact all our
business; and now, while you are being shaved, I will step down the
street and attend to an errand which has been entrusted to me.”
“Return soon,” said his friend.
“Before you are ready to move,” replied he; and upon this he left the
shop, and hastened forward to perform the errand.
After a short absence only, he was again at the door of the barber’s
shop; on opening which, he was informed that his friend was already
gone.
“Gone!” said the other with some surprise. But as the dog, which
belonged to his friend, was still sitting without the door, he ceased
to wonder; and, as his friend would probably be back soon, he seated
himself, and chatted with the barber, till he should return.
A half hour had passed, and he began to be impatient. At length, he
went out, and walked up and down the street; but nothing could he
see or learn of his friend. Again he returned to the shop, and again
interrogated the barber. “Did my friend leave any message for me?”
“No,” said the barber, “all I know is, that when he was shaved he went
out.”
“It is strange,” said the man.
“It _is_ singular,” said the barber. “I wish I could help you, my
friend. Pray command my services, as you please.”
But the stranger knew not what measures to adopt. At length, the
singular movements of the dog, still there, attracted his notice. He
appeared restless and watchful; and, at intervals, uttered a low and
piteous howl. This startled the stranger, and the suspicion of foul
play crossed his mind. He hinted his suspicion, delicately indeed, but
the barber took fire and ordered him to quit the shop.
The manner of the barber rather increased than allayed his suspicion.
And then the dog――his conduct was inexplicable. Nothing would induce
him to quit the place. The poor animal appeared kind to the remaining
stranger, but nothing would induce him to stir from the spot.
The distress of the stranger now amounted to agony. At length he
ventured to make known his story to some passers-by. They stopped and
listened. Others came up and listened also. A crowd was soon collected.
By some it was proposed to send for the officers of the police. Others
said, “No, let us search the house.” This latter course was at length
agreed upon. Accordingly, a competent number of men entered, and
as the people greatly increased without, they barred the door, and
began to examine. No discovery, however, was made, and the search was
relinquished.
All this time, however, the dog continued at his post. At length,
when the search was through, and nothing found, the barber requested
the people to leave his shop, which they did. Now, coming to the
door, he began to assure the people of his innocence. At this moment
the dog descried him. In an instant he sprang and caught him by the
throat. Persons flew to his assistance, and, at the hazard of their
lives, rescued him from the grasp of the dog, who seemed urged on with
indescribable madness and fury.
What could this mean? Was the dog really mad, or had the barber
secretly made way with his master? One opinion only prevailed. There
had in some way been foul play, and the dog was only acting out the
sagacity which the God of nature had given him. It was agreed that the
dog should have his liberty and be allowed to pursue the course he
pleased.
The crowd fell back, the doors were opened, and the dog let loose. He
sprang to the threshold, and entering the shop, smelled his way down a
pair of stairs into a dark cellar, which he filled with his howlings.
The noise of the dog was heard without. Several persons entered the
shop――lights were procured, and on searching the cellar, a door was
found which communicated with the cellar of the adjoining house.
Information was immediately given to the people above. They forthwith
surrounded the house. That cellar was also searched, and there was
found the murdered remains of the unfortunate stranger. On his trial,
the barber confessed his guilt.
The World within a Plant.
“The fragrance of a carnation,” says a fine writer, “led me to enjoy
it frequently and near.” While inhaling the powerful sweet, I heard
an extremely soft, but agreeable murmuring sound. It was easy to know
that some animal, within the covert, must be the musician, and that the
little noise must come from some little body suited to produce it. I
am furnished with apparatus of a thousand kinds for close observation.
I instantly distended the lower part of the flower, and placing it in
a full light, could discover troops of little insects, frisking and
capering with wild jollity among the narrow pedestals that supported
its leaves, and the little threads that occupied its centre. I was not
cruel enough to pull out any one of them, but adapting a microscope to
take in, at one view, the whole base of the flower, I gave myself an
opportunity of contemplating what they were about, and this for many
days together, without giving them the least disturbance.
Under the microscope, the base of the flower extended itself to a large
plain; the slender stems of the leaves became trunks of so many stately
cedars; the threads in the middle seemed columns of massy structure,
supporting at the top their several ornaments; and the narrow places
between were enlarged into walks, parterres and terraces.
On the polished bottom of these, brighter than Parian marble, walked
in pairs, alone or in large companies, the winged inhabitants; these,
from little dusky flies, for such only the naked eye would have shown
them, were raised to glorious glittering animals, stained with living
purple and with a glossy gold, that would have made all the labors of
the loom contemptible in the comparison.
I could, at leisure, as they walked together, admire their elegant
limbs, their velvet shoulders, and their silken wings; their backs
vying with the empyrean in its hue; and their eyes, each formed of a
thousand others, out-glittering the little planes on a brilliant. I
could observe them here singling out their favorite females, courting
them with the music of their buzzing wings, with little songs formed
for their little organs, leading them from walk to walk among the
perfumed shades, and pointing out to their taste the drop of liquid
nectar, just bursting from some vein within the living trunk. Here were
the perfumed groves, the more than myrtle shades, of the poet’s fancy
realized; here the happy lovers spent their days in joyful dalliance;
in the triumph of their little hearts, skipped after one another from
stem to stem among the painted trees; or winged their short flight
to the shadow of some broader leaf, to revel in the heights of all
felicity.
Nature, the God of nature, has proportioned the period of existence
of every creature to the means of its support. Duration, perhaps, is
as much a comparative quality as magnitude; and these atoms of being
as they appear to us, may have organs that lengthen minutes, to their
perception, into years. In a flower, destined to remain but a few days,
length of life, according to our ideas, could not be given to its
inhabitants; but it may be, according to theirs. I saw, in the course
of observation of this new world, several succeeding generations of the
creatures it was peopled with; they passed under my eye, through the
several successive states of the egg and the reptile form, in a few
hours. After these, they burst forth, at an instant, into full growth
and perfection in their wing form. In this, they enjoyed their span of
being as much as we do years; feasted, sported, revelled in delights;
fed on the living fragrance that poured itself out at a thousand
openings at once before them; enjoyed their loves; laid the foundation
for their succeeding progeny, and, after a life thus happily filled
up, sunk in an easy dissolution. With what joy in their pleasures did
I attend the first and the succeeding broods through the full period
of their joyful lives! With what enthusiastic transport did I address
to each of these yet happy creatures, Anacreon’s gratulations to the
cicada:
Blissful insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning’s sweetest wine,
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy fragrant cup does fill;
All the fields that thou dost see,
All the plants, belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with ripening juice.
Man for thee does sow and plough,
Farmer he, and landlord thou.
Thee the hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year;
To thee alone, of all the earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy creature! happy thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But when thou’st drank, and danced, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
Sated with the glorious feast,
Thou retir’st to endless rest.
While the pure contemplative mind thus almost envies what the rude
observer would treat unfeelingly, it naturally shrinks into itself, on
the thought that there may be, in the immense chain of beings, many,
though as invisible to us as we to the inhabitants of this little
flower whose organs are not made for comprehending objects larger than
a mite, or more distant than a straw’s breadth, to whom we may appear
as much below regard as these to us.
With what derision should we treat those little reasoners, could we
hear them arguing for the unlimited duration of the carnation, destined
for the extent of their knowledge, as well as their action. And yet,
among ourselves there are reasoners who argue, on no better foundation,
that the earth which we inhabit is eternal.
[Illustration]
The Kildeer Plover.
This bird is so called from its cry, resembling the word _kildeer_, and
is well known in all parts of the United States. It builds its nest in
level pastures which afford pools of water, or on sandy downs near the
sea. Its nest is a mere hollow, lined with straw or weeds; the eggs
are four, cream-colored, and spotted with black. The bird is about ten
inches long, is of an olive-gray color, and has long legs, which enable
it to wade in the water, of which it is very fond.
While rearing its young, the kildeer makes an incessant noise, and if
any one approaches its nest, it flies around and over him, calling
_kildeer_, _kildeer_, _te dit_, _te dit_, _te dit_, seeming to evince
the utmost anxiety. If this clamor does not frighten away the intruder,
it will run along the ground, with hanging wings, pretending to be
lame, in order to draw off attention from the nest. It seems to be a
sleepless bird, for it may be heard very late at night, in the spring
and fall.
The kildeer feeds on grasshoppers and insects which it finds in fields
and in pools of water, wading in search of them. It is very erect, runs
with great swiftness, and flies very high in the air. Toward autumn,
large flocks descend to the seashore, where they are more silent and
circumspect.
* * * * *
FORCE OF TRUTH.――Some years ago, a motion was made in the house of
commons, in England, for raising and embodying the militia, and for
the purpose of saving time, to exercise them on the Sabbath. When the
resolution was about to pass, an old gentleman stood up and said, “Mr.
Speaker, I have one objection to make to this, which you will find in
an old book called the Bible.” The members looked at one another, and
the motion was dropped.
Early Impressions.
A STORY FOR PARENTS.
FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
A gentleman and lady, the parents of an only daughter about three years
old, residing in one of our southern cities, proposed, a few months
since, a visit to the lady’s friends at the north. She was particularly
anxious once more to see an aged mother, who, during her absence, had
experienced a long and distressing sickness, and whom, considering
the distance which separated their residences, she could not hope to
see many times more. One day, she told Augusta, her little daughter,
of the journey, and inquired how she should like it. Of course, the
child was delighted with the project, and from that time it occupied
many of her thoughts and much of her conversation. She should see her
friends, of whom her mother had made frequent mention, and especially
her grandmother, who, of all the rest, was of course an object of the
greatest interest. Augusta’s inquiries, about her in particular, were
often repeated, and almost daily the question was renewed when her
father would be ready to start.
After her usual round of inquiries about the journey and her mother’s
friends, Augusta, one day, concluded by saying, “My grandmother will be
glad to see me――don’t you think she will, mother?” “Certainly,” replied
the mother. “Don’t you think she will be very glad to see me?” “Yes,”
said the mother, “she will almost eat you up.”
The reply was inconsiderate, but who has not heard it a hundred times?
Nothing more common――but it sunk deep into the heart of the child, and
from that time, though she continued daily to talk of the contemplated
journey, it was with diminished joy, and sometimes with positive
reluctance. The idea of being devoured, and by one with whom she had
associated so many ideas of tenderness and love, preyed, as it was
afterwards discovered, upon her imagination, and nearly annihilated her
hitherto happy anticipations. She frequently spoke of her grandmother’s
devouring her, and on one occasion gave her father a pretty serious
practical idea of the manner in which she expected her aged relative
would proceed. She began by telling him what her mother had said――that
her grandmother loved her so well that she would eat her up. “When she
sees me, she will do _so_,” said Augusta――applying her sharp little
teeth to his cheek, which brought the blood to the surface, and at the
same time sent a pang to the extremities of his frame――“she will do
_so_!”
The time set for their departure at length arrived, and Augusta and
her parents, in a few weeks, reached the place of their destination.
From motives of convenience, the grandmother had, some months before,
left her own residence, and was at lodgings in the village of W――――.
Consequently, the parents of Augusta sought quarters at a friend’s in
the immediate neighborhood.
After a few hours’ rest, a call upon the grandmother was proposed,
and Augusta was to accompany her parents. But she did not wish to
go. “Why, my daughter,” inquired the mother――“do you not wish to see
your dear grandmother?” Augusta was silent. “You were delighted,”
continued the mother, “with the idea before you left home――what has
changed your mind?” Augusta made no reply――but she did not wish to go.
Thinking that her reluctance was the offspring of a childish whim, or
at most the effect of timidity at meeting one who, notwithstanding her
relationship, was indeed a stranger, but which would be removed in a
single half hour’s acquaintance, she insisted upon her going.
A walk of a few minutes brought them to the residence of this object
of love and tenderness to the mother, but of distrust and terror to
the daughter. They were ushered into her presence. The meeting of the
younger and of her more aged mother was tender and mutually affecting.
They embraced each other after the lapse of years, and each imparted
and each received a kiss of friendship and affection. Tears flowed in
copious streams, if not along the cheeks of her aged mother, down those
of her daughter.
Augusta, young as she was, was an intent and interested spectator
of the scene. She watched every look――marked every action――weighed
every word. Her own time of being welcomed soon came, when the
caresses of the grandmother were transferred from the daughter to the
grand-daughter. She shuddered in the embrace――and her eyes, generally
large and brilliant, rolled more widely and wildly; but she escaped the
anticipated mastication, and at length breathed more at her ease!
Augusta was delighted, as she bounded forth from the gate into the path
that led back to her lodgings, and was as much inclined to expedite her
return, as she had been slow and reluctant in going.
Up to this time the intensity of her feelings was unknown, and even the
nature of them was scarcely if at all suspected. But the secret was
gradually developed, and at length the parents were able to explain
many a circumstance and many a declaration in regard to Augusta’s
change of feelings towards her grandmother, which, perhaps, with more
consideration, they might have explained before, but which had been set
down rather to the whim of the child than the unguarded expression of
the mother.
On reaching her quarters, a young lady, to whom the casual mention had
been made that Augusta expected her grandmother would eat her up, said
to her――
“Well, Miss Augusta, your grandmother, it seems, didn’t eat you up.”
“No, she didn’t eat _me_,” said she, “but she tried to eat _mother_.”
Some circumstance at the moment intervening, the conversation was
interrupted, but on the following day, it was renewed by Augusta
herself, who, approaching her mother, said:
“Mother, what did grandma’ do to you yesterday?”
“She kissed me, my dear.”
“She didn’t kiss you mother――she _bit_ you.”
“No, my daughter, you mistake, she did not bite me, but she kissed me
affectionately.”
“She _did_ bite you, mother――I’m sure, I saw her, and she made you cry.”
“My daughter――why!”
“You said, mother, one day when we were at home, that grandmother would
eat _me_ up, but she tried to eat _you_.”
The grandmother, as already intimated, had kissed her daughter
fondly――with a mother’s ardor. Augusta saw her lips impressed on the
mother’s cheek, and the tears starting fast, and rolling down; and she
mistook the kiss for a bite, and thought those tears of joy were tears
of pain. The whole mystery now vanished. “She will love you so much as
to eat you up,” misconstrued, had been for weeks and months a sort of
death-note sounding in the child’s imagination. This story, however
improbable it may seem, is literally true, and may show how careful of
early impressions, a parent should be. C. G.
About the Chicadees,
FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
A good many years ago, a man named Alexander Wilson, a Scotchman by
birth, wrote a large book, called “American Ornithology,” in which
he described almost all the birds belonging to this country, and
gave an account of their nests and eggs, their food and habits, and
migrations, or removing from one part of the country to another, &c. He
also made pictures of all the birds described in his book, which were
beautifully colored with the natural colors of the birds themselves.
Since then, another celebrated naturalist, (as those men are called,
who study the works of nature,) Mr. John J. Audubon, has made a still
larger book, with pictures, of the size of life, of all the birds
described by Mr. Wilson and many others, and colored also in the same
beautiful manner, and sometimes having several pictures of the same
bird, in different attitudes, and showing its different habits, such
as procuring its food, building or sitting on its nest, defending its
young, &c. One copy of these books, (which consists of five very large
volumes, as large as a small table, besides the volumes which contain
the descriptions and accounts of the habits or biography of the birds,)
costs the very great sum of one thousand dollars. It is very beautiful
indeed, and I hope all Robert Merry’s black and blue-eyed friends will
one day have an opportunity to look at either this or Mr. Wilson’s
book, and see such beautiful pictures as they contain.
As almost all good boys and girls are fond of seeing birds, and hearing
about them, I think they will like to read something more about them
in Merry’s Museum; and this is the reason why I propose to write about
some of them. I hope, too, that none of those children who read the
Museum, will be guilty of wantonly killing the little birds, or robbing
their nests of the eggs and young, as some cruel boys do, but will
learn to love them and treat them kindly. I will here copy a short
story from Mr. Audubon’s book, that I have been telling about.
“On the 4th of January, we stopped at Bonnet Carré, where I entered a
house to ask some questions about birds. I was received by a venerable
French gentleman, whom I found in charge of about a dozen children
of both sexes, and who was delighted to hear that I was a student of
nature. He was well acquainted with my old friend Charles Carré, and
must, I thought, be a good man, for he said he never suffered any of
his pupils to rob a bird of her eggs or young, although, said he with
a smile, ‘they are welcome to peep at them and love them.’ The boys at
once surrounded me, and from them I received satisfactory answers to
most of my inquiries respecting birds.”
This shows what feelings good children should have towards birds.
I will now say something about the Chicadee, or Black-capped Titmouse,
as the naturalists name him. He is a beautiful bird, although his
colors are very plain and simple. His head is covered with a black
spot, that looks like a cap; from which he takes the designation of
_Black-capped_. Why he is called _Titmouse_, I cannot tell. The sides
of his head and neck are of a very pure white, but he has another black
spot on his throat, which ends in a point on each side of his neck.
The contrast of the deep black spots on his head and neck with the
pure white around them, gives him a beautiful appearance. His back and
wings are brownish ash-color, or bluish-brown, the wings rather darker,
and underneath he is a brownish white. I presume almost all my little
readers, in the country especially, know him and call him the Chicadee;
for he is so called from his note or song, which sounds very much like
Chicadee-dee-dee, Chicadee-dee-dee-dee, and which you may hear almost
continually while he is hopping about from tree to tree, and from limb
to limb, and exhibiting himself in almost every imaginable position,
gathering his food.
Mr. Wilson has a beautiful picture of one hanging on the under side of
a twig and bending his black-capped head over it to pick something from
it, as you may frequently see them do. Mr. Wilson says in his book,
“They also frequently visit the orchards, particularly to fall, the
sides of the barn and barn-yard in the same pursuit,――trees in such
situations being generally much infested with insects. We, therefore,
with pleasure, rank this little bird among the farmer’s friends, and
hope our rural citizens will always recognise him as such.” In the same
account he tells us how they make their nests, &c., as follows: “About
the middle of April they begin to build, choosing the deserted hole
of a squirrel, or woodpecker, and sometimes, with incredible labor,
digging out one for themselves. The female lays six white eggs, marked
with minute specks of red; the first brood appear about the beginning
of June, and the second towards the end of July; the whole of the
family continue to associate together during winter.
“They always go in little flocks, or companies, probably, in general,
of more than one brood, and frequently are accompanied with the
white-breasted nuthatch, or tomtit, as he is sometimes called in the
country, and also with the small woodpecker, and sometimes, in spring
and fall, with the golden-crested wren,――a beautiful and very small
bird, with a bright flame-colored spot on the crown of his head,――and
sometimes by the brown creeper. Their food consists, in a great part,
of insects, though at some times in the year, partly of seeds and of
various kinds of oily substances. They frequently in the winter come
around our houses and woodsheds, to pick among whatever offal is thrown
out from the kitchen, and often become very familiar. I sometimes hang
up bones and little bits of meat by my woodshed, to which many of them
continue to resort and pick at them, day after day. Sometimes they
venture into my wash-room; and one day this winter, they were so bold
that I clapped my hand on one as he was feeding, and caught him and
took him into my kitchen, where, after a few minutes, he began to feed
upon a bone that I hung up there. He also sung his chicadee-dee-dee
several times while I kept him in the house.
“He has another note or song, which, although not so merry and cheerful
as his common one of chicadee, is much softer and sweeter, but is not
so often heard. On fine pleasant days of summer, and especially on a
delightful spring morning, you may hear him, perched on the top of a
tree, utter at short intervals a note of two syllables, sounding like
the word Phe-be,――the sound rising on the first syllable, and falling
on the last, and sounding delightfully sweet.”
The Two Travellers.
A FABLE.
FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM, FROM THE FRENCH.
A cunning fellow named Thomas, and his friend Lubin, were going
to a neighboring city, on foot. Thomas found upon the road-side a
well-filled purse. Lubin, with a contentful face, exclaimed, “What
a windfall for US!” “For US is not quite right: say rather for ME,”
replied Thomas. Lubin said no more, but in leaving the plain, they
discovered some robbers hid in the adjacent wood. Thomas trembled, but
not without cause, and turning to Lubin, said, “We are lost.” “WE is
not the true word, but YOU,” replied Lubin, and then scampered away.
Thomas, almost petrified with fear, stood still, and was soon caught
and gave up the purse.
MORAL.――He who only thinks of himself in his happy days, will have very
few friends in his unhappy ones. G. V. K.
To our Correspondents.
We are under many obligations to our little friends, who write us
letters, and pay the postage. If they do not pay the postage, they do
not often come to us; and when they do, they receive no notice.
We insert the letter of our Providence admirers, and will comply with
their request in part; they shall see a piece of music in the next
number.
We have many letters on hand, not seeming to require a particular
reply; we hope this acknowledgment will be sufficient for all our
unanswered correspondents.
* * * * *
_Providence, April 7, 1843._
MR. ROBERT MERRY:
SIR――You will oblige a large number of yearly subscribers,
if you will put some music in your Museum. We have seen
only one piece of music in all the numbers that you have
issued for the year 1843. If you will put a piece of flute
music in your next number, you will oblige a number of your
Providence friends. They set a great deal by your work
here, and if you would put a piece of music in it, you
would have a great many more subscribers. We shall do all
in our power to get you some, and we presume many others
will. Mr. J. E. Risley is your agent here; he says he is
doing very well.
We remain your interested and obligated friends,
GEORGE J――――s. | JACOB P――――n.
CHARLES J――――s. | JOSEPH W――――d.
JOHN BROWN F――――s. | J. H――――s.
* * * * *
_Sandwich, April 10, 1843._
MY DEAR FRIEND MERRY.
I am very much pleased with your Museum, and I hope your
stories may do me good. I am going to Boston soon, and I
hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. I like the
story of the Siberian Sable-Hunter, and Thomas Trotter,
very much. I go to school all the time now, and my time is
so taken up with my studies that I hope you will pardon
me when I say that I have not yet read quite the whole of
Philip Brusque. I feel sorry for this, but I am not yet ten
years old. I hope you will allow me to say, and take it
kindly, that I am often much disappointed in not getting my
number in season. Many little girls get theirs sooner than
I get mine; and I wish you would say to those who have the
care of sending the Magazine to the various subscribers,
that I should like to have mine sent sooner, and directed
to _me_ instead of my father. I have tried to get
subscribers for you, but have not succeeded; but I will try
again during this volume,――for I think you offer a handsome
reward. I have been much pleased with your allegories, and
particularly with the Garden of Peace, and I hope they will
make a good impression on my mind, and I have no doubt it
was your design they should. I am sorry we do not have
painted pictures in the Museum now, for it made the Natural
History more interesting. I must tell you, when they bound
my numbers, they kept all my painted pictures, and did not
put them into the volume which they bound. This grieves me
much, and I thought I would tell it to you. I have a little
sister, almost three years younger than myself, and she
likes to read your _Little Leaves_ very much, and thinks
you are very kind to remember such little ones. Please
excuse all mistakes.
From a blue-eyed friend, EMILY C. C――――s.
* * * * *
PUZZLE.
Blue-eyed Mary, of N. Y., sends us this. Can any one guess it?
I am a word of twelve letters.
My 7, 8, 4, 5 is a kind of feeling often manifested.
8, 6, 7 is a kind of wood.
1, 8, 6, 6 is a kind of fish.
6, 8, 7, 8, 12, 11 is a deserted tract of country.
1, 12, 11, 6, 6 is a common metal.
7, 5, 8, 12, 4 is a part of the body.
6, 7, 2, 3, 3 is a covering to an article of food.
8, 12, 4, 6 has done much to enlighten the world.
1, 5, 3, 4 is a part of a dress.
12, 8, 4 is a troublesome animal.
1, 5, 4, 6 have ruined thousands.
1, 5, 3, 3 is used to give warning.
2, 11, 6, 4 is a point of the compass.
8, 6, 6 is a useful animal.
1, 5, 6, 4 is the superlative degree.
9, 5, 1, 12, 8 is a beautiful animal.
6, 11, 3, 4 is an article used in cookery.
3, 8, 4, 7 is used in buildings.
4, 11, 1, 3, 2 is an article of furniture.
7, 5, 3, 3 is what all men should shun.
3, 8, 6, 4 is an article used by shoemakers.
6, 11, 12, 8, 7 is a common name among females.
5, 8, 6, 4, 2, 12 is a day much celebrated by the church.
3, 11, 4, 7, 5 is an instrument used by turners.
6, 7, 11, 8, 12, 6 is used by tailors.
4, 5, 3, 3 is the name of a hero.
7, 11, 4 is a covering for the head.
11, 1, 5, 3 is a celebrated antediluvian.
7, 8, 12, 5 is the name of an animal.
My whole is the name of a good man.
LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.
[Illustration]
Good morning, my little friends, Black-eyes, Blue-eyes, and Gray-eyes!
It is now June. What a beautiful month it is! How lively and happy
are the birds! How pleasantly the grasshoppers sing! How sweet is the
air, how many thousand flowers are blossoming around! How green is
the meadow, the hill-side, and the forest! How blue is the distant
mountain! Indeed, June is a beautiful month.
Do you see the picture at the head of this page? Do you notice the boys
and the girls in the garden? Do you see the flowers around, and observe
how happy these children seem to be?
I am afraid Bob Merry will hardly be welcome, when everything out of
doors is so lovely. Well, be it so; let the Museum lie on the shelf
till a wet day, and then, my little friends may take it up, and read
about Inquisitive Jack, and the spiders, and such other matters as
please them.
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER V.
_About spiders.――How they make their webs, set their nets, and
other things._
There are a great many people who imagine that such little things as
bees, bugs, butterflies, spiders and other insects, are unworthy of
their notice; but this is a great mistake.
All these creatures have eyes, legs, feet, and other organs. They are
all curiously contrived, like little machines, to creep, crawl or
fly. They have all wonderful faculties; by which they are able to get
a living, and to make themselves happy. They are, therefore, very
interesting to all persons who will inquire into their structure and
their habits.
These creatures are so common that we are apt to overlook them as
unworthy of our notice; but Inquisitive Jack, the hero of our story,
did not fall into this error. He had an inquiring mind, and nothing was
beneath his observation.
He had already discovered that there were many curious and wonderful
things, even in insects, flowers, and other common objects; and in the
study of these, he found never-ceasing amusement.
These things were like a pleasing book, full of pretty stories and
curious pictures, and every day he found some new and interesting page.
One morning, very soon after the sun had risen, he was walking along
among some bushes; it was early summer, and a heavy dew had fallen. As
he was going along, the thread of a spider, strung from one bush to
another, came across his nose, and he broke it as he passed along.
Pretty soon, he met with other instances, in which the spiders’ threads
were extended from one shrub to another. Now, Jack was always asking
himself how such and such a thing is done; and he therefore began to
inquire how these spiders could stretch a line across from one tree to
another; for he observed that these threads were sometimes ten, or even
fifteen feet from the ground, and that they extended often to as great
a distance from the branch of one tree to that of another.
Jack’s habit of investigation had made him very ingenious in explaining
things; but here was something quite beyond his reach. He could in no
way explain what he saw.
“Strange!” said Jack to himself, “that these little insignificant
spiders should know more than I do. I like to find out things myself,
but I can’t explain this; so I must go and ask aunt Piper about it.”
As Jack turned on his heel to fulfil his resolution, he noticed another
spider’s web, covered with dew. His attention now being excited to the
subject, he turned round, and saw as many as fifty others, set like
nets among the bushes and the tall grass.
Jack had seen these things before, but his attention had not been
excited, and therefore he had not investigated them. He now set about
the inquiry, with all the ardor of youthful curiosity.
He spent some time in observing the different kinds of webs, and then
proceeded to his aunt to ask her about them. She accordingly sat down,
took her knitting-work, and while she worked briskly at her needles,
she gave Jack the information he desired. The best way to tell the
story, is to put it in the form of a dialogue.
_Jack._ Oh! aunt Betsey, I’ve found something so curious! Do you know
I’ve been looking at the spiders, and I want to have you tell me about
them. Pray, where do they get their threads? and how do they weave
their nets so curiously? and how do they fasten their thread to the
leaves? and how do they stretch their threads from one tree to another?
and what do they do it all for――for fun, or for business?
_Aunt P._ One question at a time, if you please, Jack.
_Jack._ Why, I want you to tell me all about the spiders.
_Aunt P._ But where shall I begin?
_Jack._ Oh! I don’t care where you begin――I want to have you tell me
everything.
_Aunt P._ Well, Jack, I’ll tell you what I know, and I shall answer
your last question first. The spiders, I suppose, make their nets both
for fun and business, for pleasure and profit. These creatures are
made to live chiefly upon flies, but they are themselves destitute of
wings. They are, therefore, provided with the means of making nets, by
which they can catch as many flies as they want.
Thus you see that God, who made the spiders, has provided them with a
good trade, by which they can get a living. So it is, dear Jack, that
Providence provides for everything――the wants of even the insects are
supplied; nothing is overlooked, and we shall see, on investigation,
what wonderful ingenuity and contrivance the Creator has resorted to,
in order to take care even of such insignificant creatures as spiders.
_Jack._ I thank you, aunt Betsey, for that idea――it makes the spider
much more interesting, when we consider it as the work of God.
_Aunt P._ Yes, that is true, my boy. Now, as the spiders spread their
nets in order to get a living, or for business, as you express it, they
do it also for pleasure――for business and pleasure usually go together.
It may be very agreeable to children to scamper about, just for the
sake of a frolic, but, generally speaking, the path of pleasure is the
path of utility――in other words, there is more real satisfaction in
doing something that is useful, than in mere idle sport. It is so with
human beings, and, no doubt, it is so with spiders.
_Jack._ Well, aunt Betsey, you have answered one of my questions; but
pray tell me where the spiders get their threads. They must have an
immense manufactory of it somewhere. Are any of them rope-makers?
_Aunt P._ Yes, Jack, every one of them. Each one spins his own thread,
and this is the most wonderful part of the whole story. You observe
that the lower part of a spider’s body consists of a round ball.
In this, nature provides the insect with a gummy substance, which is
spun into thread. It somewhat resembles melted glass, for a coarse
thread of it is brittle, when it becomes dry; while a fine thread is as
flexible as the fibres of cotton or silk.
The manner in which this gum or paste, is twisted into threads, has
occupied the attention of many philosophers. By looking at the process
through magnifying glasses, it has been discovered that even the finest
thread in the web of the spider consists of many hundred strands.
These are drawn out from the body of the insect, being then in a soft
state, like paste, but they immediately unite, and form one compact
cord. In some instances, it is said that a single thread consists of
four thousand strands.
_Jack._ Whew! that sounds like a whapper.
_Aunt P._ Still, it is no doubt true. There are many things invisible
to the naked eye, which are revealed to us by the aid of magnifying
glasses.
With the naked eye, we cannot see more than a thousand stars in the
sky; with a telescope, we can see millions of stars. To the naked eye,
a glass of pure water is perfectly transparent; yet a microscope will
show that it is full of little animals.
With the naked eye, we can see nothing but fibres in the stalk of a
flower, but by the aid of a microscope, we can see there myriads of
creeping things. So, by the aid of a microscope, we can easily discover
the thousand strands of which the spider’s thread is composed.
_Jack._ Well, aunt Betsey, I am not going to dispute you, for I know
that you have always a good reason for what you say. But, pray tell me,
how do the spiders tie their lines to the leaves and grass?
_Aunt P._ They stick them on with a kind of glue, with which nature has
provided them.
_Jack._ Well, how do they stretch their lines across from one tree to
another?
_Aunt P._ When a spider wishes to build a bridge from one shrub to
another, he climbs up to a certain height, and draws out a long, loose
line, taking care to have it in such a situation that the wind will
carry it across to some other tree.
The end of the floating line is provided with a gummy substance, and
fastens itself at once to whatever it touches. When the spider finds
that his line has caught, he pulls it, to see if it is fast. If it is
loose, he draws it up till it is straight, and then fastens it with gum.
Having secured the line, the spider makes a bridge of it, and crosses
over in perfect safety. He now goes backwards and forward, each time
adding a thread, for the purpose of giving it strength.
This line is like the rope to a fisherman’s net, and the spider
immediately begins to weave his net upon it. He proceeds to set several
strings round somewhat like the spokes of a wheel, and these he binds
together by a series of circular threads.
When the whole is done, he weaves a hole in some sly corner, into which
he retreats; but the moment that a fly gets entangled in his net, he
darts forth, binds him round and round like a prisoner, and carries him
off to his den.
Such was the main part of the dialogue that passed between Jack and his
aunt. The boy expressed great satisfaction for what she had told him,
and then went away to take another walk in the fields.
[Illustration]
The Hoop; or Look ere you Leap.
See this boy with his hoop! How the hoop flies, and how the little
fellow enjoys the fun! But take care, George! take care――there is a
ditch before you!
But, alas, George is like other boys, so eager in his sport that he
thinks of nothing else. On goes the hoop, and on goes George after it.
By-and-by, he comes to the ditch. The hoop bounds across, and poor
George tumbles in! What a sight he is when he comes out――all over mud!
Next time, George, look before you leap――or, in other words, be not so
absorbed in your sport, as to forget everything else. Look a little
before you, and see that you run into no danger.
This looking before, is what we call _prudence_. This heedless running
on, without seeing where one is going, we call imprudence. A prudent
person will seldom get into trouble; an imprudent person is very likely
to get into a great deal.
George was an imprudent boy, and tumbled into the ditch. Let my young
friends take warning by his mishap; let them cultivate prudence; in
other words, let them look ere they leap.
[Illustration]
Hay-Making.
It is very pleasant to see the men at work making the hay and getting
it into the barn. Do you not love to hear the mower whetting his
scythe? Do you not love to see him swing his blade through the grass,
and see it fall before him?
And how sweet is the fragrance of the new-mown hay! When it is dry, do
you not love to see the men rake it into heaps; then toss it on to the
cart and carry it away?
Hay-making is, indeed, a pleasant business, and it is very useful also.
What would the poor cows and horses do in winter if they had no hay?
In winter, the grass is dead, the leaves have fallen from trees and
shrubs, and the earth is covered with snow. If there were no hay in the
barn, the horses, the cows, and the sheep would all perish.
We should then have no horse to draw us along in the sleigh; no cow to
give us milk; no sheep to supply us with wool for clothing. Hay-making
is therefore very important business.
What do you think the people do in very cold countries, where no grass
grows? They are obliged to use reindeer, who feed on moss, and do not
need hay. These creatures give milk, like cows; they draw sledges, like
horses; and their flesh is as good as the beef of the ox.
[Illustration]
The Moth.
The moth looks like a butterfly, but it is not so beautiful. The moth
usually flies by night, and the butterfly by day.
There are many kinds of moth; some are large and some are small. You
often see moths flying into the lamp or candle, of a summer evening.
Persons who are so fond of pleasure as to injure themselves in the
pursuit of it, are compared to the silly moth, which is dazzled with
the light, flies into it, and perishes.
Pleasure is a good thing, and I love to see children pursue it――but
some kinds of pleasure are dangerous, and are as fatal to young persons
as the blaze of the lamp or candle to the heedless fly or moth.
Chapter on Spices.
_Q._ What are nutmegs?
_A._ The nutmeg is the kernel of a large, handsome tree, like a walnut.
It is enclosed in the same sort of spongy coat as the walnut; the husk
opens at one end, when the fruit is ripe.
_Q._ What is mace?
_A._ That which is found between the outer coat of the nutmeg and the
kernel.
_Q._ What is cinnamon?
_A._ The dried bark of a tree which grows in the East Indies and the
island of Ceylon.
_Q._ What is pepper?
_A._ The produce of a creeping plant which grows in Java, Sumatra and
Malacca.
_Q._ What is ginger?
_A._ The root of a plant which grows in the East Indies.
_Q._ What are cloves?
_A._ The flower buds of a tree which grows in Malacca.
_Q._ What are carraway seeds?
_A._ The seeds of a plant growing wild in many countries.
* * * * *
IDLE MARY.
Oh, Mary, this will never do!
This work is sadly done, my dear;
And then so little of it too!
You have not taken pains, I fear.
Oh no, your work has been forgotten,
Indeed, you’ve hardly thought of that;
I saw you roll your ball of cotton
About the floor to please the cat.
See, here are stitches straggling wide
And others reaching down so far;
I’m very sure you have not tried
In this, at least, to please mama.
The little girl who will not sew,
Must neither be allowed to play;
And then I hope, my love, that you
Will take more pains another day.
[Illustration]
The Balloon.
Here is a picture of a balloon! It is a great silk bag, with a net
around it. Fastened at the bottom of the net, is a little car, in which
a man sits.
The balloon rises into the air, and the man in the car goes up with it.
He sails along like a cloud; at first the balloon looks large, but it
seems to grow less and less, and by-and-by it looks no larger than a
fly. Then it disappears and is seen no more.
Now, what do you think it is that makes the balloon rise up into the
air? It is a kind of gas, which is very light. The balloon is filled
with this gas. You know that smoke is so light as to rise up in the
air; but this gas is still lighter than smoke.
Perhaps you desire to know how the man gets his balloon down, when he
has risen in it up to the clouds. I will tell you; he lets out a little
of the gas, and down he comes. He must be careful to let out only a
little at a time, so as to come down gradually; if he lets out too
much, he will come down with a terrible thump.
* * * * *
SLEEPY HARRY.
“I do not like to go to bed,”
Sleepy little Harry said;
“Go, naughty Betty, go away,
I will not come at all, I say!”
The little birds are better taught,
They go to roosting when they ought;
And all the ducks and fowls, you know
They went to bed an hour ago.
The little beggar in the street,
Who wanders with his naked feet,
And has not where to lay his head,
Oh, he’d be glad to go to bed.
MAMA AND BABY.
What a little thing am I!
Hardly higher than the table;
I can eat, and play, and cry,
But to work I am not able.
Nothing in the world, I know,
But mama will try and show me:
Sweet mama, I love her so,
She’s so very kind to me.
And she sets me on her knee,
Very often, for some kisses:
Oh! how good I’ll try to be,
For such a dear mama as this is.
[Illustration]
The Harrow.
This is a picture of a man with a harrow. A harrow consists of several
iron spikes fixed in a frame. When this is dragged over the ground, the
spikes break the earth in pieces, and thus fit it to receive the seed.
If the seed be sown, then the harrow is used to cover it up in the
earth. Perhaps my little readers do not care to hear about the harrow,
but how can they have bread and butter without it?
We cannot have bread without wheat to make it of; and we cannot have
wheat, unless the ground be duly ploughed and harrowed. So my young
readers will see that the harrow is a good friend of theirs, however
little they care about it.
Handsome is that handsome does.
_John._ Mama, I want something to look at; what can I have?
_Mother._ Why, my dear, cannot you find something in the room to look
at――some pretty story-book, or amusing puzzle?
_J._ No, mama, I don’t want to read, or be puzzled either; and I have
looked at the shells and fossils on the mantelpiece, and the gold
fishes in the globe, and counted the window-panes and the flowers on
the carpet twenty times, and I’ve been looking into the looking-glass
for the last half hour.
_M._ Into the looking-glass, John! for what purpose?
_J._ That I might know how handsome I am, mama.
_M._ Why, do you really think that you are handsome?
_J._ Yes, mama; do not you?
_M._ Only sometimes.
_J._ Why――only sometimes, mama?
_M._ Because, John, you are only handsome when you are good; when you
are naughty, you are a very ugly little fellow!
_J._ Why, mama, my hair is always curled, and my hands always white,
and I am sure that my clothes are always very pretty.
_M._ Yes, my dear, that may be; but does any one love you more on this
account?
_J._ I should think they do, mama.
_M._ Then let me tell you, my dear, that if a child be ever so pretty,
and dressed ever so fine, he cannot be loved unless he is good. No
person is pleasing to look at, who is naughty. A person who is naughty
has a bad heart, and a bad heart usually spoils the face.
ROBERT MERRY’S
MUSEUM.
EDITED BY
S. G. GOODRICH,
AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.
VOLUME VI.
BOSTON:
BRADBURY, SODEN, & CO.,
NO. 10, SCHOOL STREET.
1843.
Stereotyped by George A. Curtis, New England Type and
Stereotype Foundry.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI.
JULY TO DECEMBER, 1843.
A Midsummer Morning, 1
Listening, 2
Eugene Aram, 3
Bald Eagle, 10
Gallantry in a Dog, 11
Charon, 12
A Civilized Bear, 13
The Palisadoes, 14
A Real Hero, ”
A Revolutionary Story, 15, 100, 133, 162
Having a Good Time, 16
Examination at Bow-street, 18
Honest Tar, ”
July, 19
Jumping Rabbit’s Story, 20, 54, 65, 118, 140, 179
Passage of Mountains in India, 23
Whistling Tom, 24
Little Leaves, 25, 90, 121
The Giraffe, 25
The Arbor, 26
Fire-works at Rome, 28
Careless Nancy, ”
Charity, 39
Inquisitive Jack, 30, 60, 94, 126, 152, 183
The 4th of July, 31
To Correspondents, 32
Hindostan, 33
Peter Somebody, &c., 34
George Washington, 35
London, Past and Present, 36
Whale Stories, 36, 78
The Life of Columbus, 41, 80, 114, 148, 171
Ancient Castles, 46
Æronautics, ”
Eccentric Characters, 51, 71, 111
A Lost Elephant Found, 53
Anna Maria Schurman, ”
An Indian Youth, ”
Shenstone and the Robber, 56
George IV. and Lord Roden, ”
The Old Oaken Bucket, 57
France, 58
The Moose, 59
The Race, 62
The Swing, 63
A Strange Bird, ”
Letter, 64
September, 65
The Smuggler, 68
The Poet’s Dog, ”
A Shark Story, 69
Mirage, 70
Punch and Judy, 73
Attakullakulla, 74
A Droll Mimic, 77
Turn the Carpet, 82
A Monkey Trick, 83
The Light of all Nations, 84
Varieties, ”
Precocity of Frenchmen, 86
September Thoughts, 87
Politeness, 88
Chinese Filial Piety, ”
To our Correspondents, 89
A True Story, ”
Christ Healing the Sick, 90
Going to School, 92
The First Sailor, 93
A Child’s Philosophy, 96
October, 97
The Island of Hong Kong, 99
Tippoo Saib, ”
The Blue Bird, 104
Keicher, 105
Green, 106
What is it to be Polite, ”
Early Rising, 107
Pope Julius II., 108
Questions, 123
Old Age, ”
The Sun, Moon and Stars, 124
What is Habit, 128
The Chickadee, ”
A Long Chapter upon November, 129
Pierre Ramus, 131
The Musical Snuff-Box, 138
John Hancock, 139
The New London Exchange, 143
The Imperial Joss, 145
A Salt Water Scene, 147
The Shoulder of Mutton, ”
Stomach of the Horse, 154
Patriotism, 155
The Wooden Horse, 156
Hannibal Crossing the Alps, 157
The Home of our Childhood, 158
Blessing on a Child, ”
Varieties, 159
Our Correspondence, 160, 188
December, 161
Christmas, 168
Tasso’s Wish, 170
The Cat and the Mouse, 173
Fable of the Humming Bird and Butterfly, 177
Washington Irving’s Cottage, 179
The Close of the Year, 187
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by
S. G. GOODRICH, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court
of Massachusetts.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. VI. JULY, 1843. No. 1.
[Illustration]
A Midsummer Morning.
Who can tell the pleasures of a midsummer morning! In order fully to
enjoy these, you must be up before the sun: you must hear the robin,
when it timidly begins its song; and the sparrows, when, with a gentle
_peep, peep_, they say good morning to one another,――and hop from bush
to bush to see if all is well; and the boblink, when he clucks in the
grass, just before he enters upon his song of “Tom Denny, Tom Denny;”
and you must see the first red light which the sun throws upon the
clouds and hill tops; you must hear all the joyous sounds that rise
upward to heaven, as if in thanksgiving, from the birds, the insects,
the cattle upon a thousand hills, and the voices of glad human beings,
far and near; and you must have a heart to appreciate all this, as a
sweet anthem of praise to God.
And you must have an eye that takes in the beauty of flowers and
dew-drops around you, as well as of far-off landscapes, embracing hills
and vales, cloud, sky and sea; your soul must be a pure canvass for the
Almighty’s pencil; your ear a justly tuned instrument, for the touch of
a Divine musician. Who can go forth of a midsummer morning, and not
deeply feel the loveliness of nature, and the benignity of that Being,
who in goodness has made it all?
It is well to hold communion with nature in her gentler moods; and I
always esteem those persons happy who are brought up in the country,
among green fields and shady woods, especially if they have friends
around them, who can lift their thoughts, step by step, from nature
up to nature’s God. This world, without a God, without a Creator, a
Governor, a Preserver――would be indeed a mystery; but when we can
connect all the wonders we behold with a great and good Being, who is
at once our Father in heaven, and the Architect of the earth and the
skies――these things acquire a new and touching interest.
Look at the children in the picture. The dew hangs on the stems of
flowers and the leaves of shrubs, like myriads of trembling diamonds;
the sun-light is gushing through the trees――a glorious flood of silver;
the birds are pouring out their songs of merriment and affection. All
around is beautiful. Happy children――lovely midsummer morning!
Listening.
Much has been said of the art of speaking, and comparatively little
on the art of listening. Not to listen is an offence against the laws
of politeness. Conversation is a species of commerce, where every one
has a right to bring and to dispose of his commodities, and to supply
others with what he supposes they stand in need of: therefore it ought
to be an exchange――a barter.
If to listen is a duty towards others, it is also of the greatest
utility and importance to ourselves. Complaisance in listening marks a
wish to learn; he who does not like to listen, does not wish to learn
the truth. _He who speaks, sows; he who listens, reaps._
Nothing is more acceptable and pleasing than the art of listening. We
often see men of superior abilities prefer the society of those who are
inferior, because they listen with respect. This does not originate
in pride or vanity, but the mind is raised and inflamed by awakening
attention and curiosity.
No one, on the contrary, is so displeasing and offensive, as he who
refuses his attention, or who listens with a total want of respect and
politeness. Some persons, as soon as you open your mouth, pretend to
know what you would say, and appear impatient till you have done. Some
take the words out of your mouth and contradict you sharply. Others
will begin to talk to another person, call the servants, scold the
children, or perhaps turn their backs and leave you.
An eastern sage was once relating his misfortunes to a statue. “Fool,”
said a traveller, “do you suppose that cold marble hears you?” The sage
replied, “I know the marble hears me not; but, at least, it does not
interrupt me.”
There is a proper way of listening; not that of the stupid and
ignorant, who, at every trifling word, open their eyes and cry out, a
miracle; nor that of those who smile and applaud as soon as you begin
to speak. These resemble some persons who would applaud at a theatre as
soon as the candles are lighted. We must esteem those who listen to us,
in order to aspire to their praises, and to acquire in their company
the fire of eloquence, and the desire to please.
Listening properly is appearing to observe, to approve, and to be
pleased; a sensible remark, a delicate compliment, a few words
apparently suggested by those of others, a single word introduced
with propriety, and even an intelligent and animated look, a smile of
approbation; in short, that air of attention, of interest, of esteem,
when a person is talking to us, is the greatest compliment we can pay.
[Illustration]
Eugene Aram.
The life of this man is fraught with deep interest, and affords a
striking moral. Though born in humble circumstances, and therefore only
provided with the means of a narrow education, by the force of talent
and industry he improved his mind and made himself master of a wide
field of knowledge.
His station was now respectable in the eyes of the world, and he had
all the requisite means to ensure happiness. One thing, only, did he
lack; yet, that thing which is necessary to the preservation of every
earthly good――virtue. In an evil hour he was tempted to the commission
of a horrid crime. Though this was shielded by darkness; though years
rolled away without suspicion or detection; though a fair outside was
carefully preserved; though he left the scene of his depravity, and
doubtless believed he had forever buried his guilt in oblivion――still
the All-seeing Eye was upon him, and He who rules over events, as if to
show how vain is human ingenuity in attempting to shelter the murderer,
at last brought him to justice. On his trial he displayed wonderful
powers of reasoning, but even these, now, only served to heighten his
guilt in the eyes of mankind. How short-sighted is the man who attempts
to attain happiness by unlawful means; which, even if successful, must
make every cup of life bitter as gall; and, if unsuccessful, must bring
judgment, and agony, and shame.
During the confinement of this remarkable person on the charge of
murder, he wrote an account of his own life, from which we learn
that one of his ancestors had been high sheriff of Yorkshire, in the
reign of king Edward the third; but the family, having been gradually
reduced, his father occupied a humble station in life. The son,
however, was sent to a school near Ripon, where he perfected himself in
writing and arithmetic, and then went to London to officiate as clerk
to a merchant.
After a residence of two years in town, he was seized with the
small-pox, which left him in so weak a condition, that he went back to
Yorkshire for the recovery of his health. On his recovery, he found it
necessary to do something for immediate subsistence; and, accordingly
engaged himself as usher to a boarding-school; but, not having been
taught the learned languages in his youth, he was obliged to supply
by industry what he had failed to obtain from neglect. Thus, while
teaching writing and arithmetic, by employing all his leisure hours
in the most intense study, he at length became an excellent Greek and
Latin scholar. In the year 1734, he engaged to officiate as steward of
an estate belonging to Mr. Norton, of Knaresborough; and while in this
station he acquired a competent knowledge of the Hebrew. At this period
he married, but was far from being happy in his matrimonial connection.
We shall now relate the circumstances which led to the commission of
the crime which cost Aram his life. Daniel Clarke, a shoemaker at
Knaresborough, after being married a few days, circulated a report
that his wife was entitled to a considerable fortune, which he should
soon receive. Hereupon, Aram and Richard Houseman, conceiving hopes
of making advantage of this circumstance, persuaded Clarke to make an
ostentatious show of his own riches, to induce his wife’s relations to
give him that fortune of which he had boasted.
Clarke was easily induced to comply with a hint so agreeable to his own
desires; on which he borrowed and bought on credit, a large quantity
of silver plate, with jewels, watches, rings, &c. He told the persons
of whom he purchased, that a merchant in London had sent him an order
to buy such plate for exportation; and no doubt was entertained of
his credit till his sudden disappearance in February, 1745, when it
was imagined that he had gone abroad or to London, to dispose of his
ill-acquired property.
When Clarke was possessed of these goods, Aram and Houseman determined
to murder him, in order to share the booty; and on the night of the
8th of February, 1745, they persuaded Clarke to walk with them in the
fields, in order to consult with them on the proper method to dispose
of the effects.
On this plan they walked into a field, at a small distance from the
town, by the name of St. Robert’s Cave. When they came into this field,
Aram and Clarke went over a hedge towards the cave, and when they had
got within six or seven yards of it, Houseman (by the light of the
moon) saw Aram strike Clarke several times, and at length beheld him
fall, but never saw him afterwards. This was the state of the affair,
if Houseman’s testimony on the trial is to be credited.
The murderers, going home, shared Clarke’s ill-gotten treasure, the
half of which Houseman concealed in his garden for a twelvemonth,
and then took it to Scotland, where he sold it. In the mean time Aram
carried his share to London, where he sold it to a Jew, and then
engaged himself as an usher at an academy in Piccadilly; where, in the
intervals of his duty in attending to scholars, he made himself master
of the French language, and acquired some knowledge of Arabic and other
eastern tongues.
After this he was usher at other schools in different parts of the
kingdom; but as he did not correspond with his friends in Yorkshire, it
was presumed that he was dead. The sudden disappearance of Clarke had
long been forgotten; but, in the year 1758, as a man was digging for
limestone near St. Robert’s Cave, he found the bones of a human body,
and a conjecture hereupon arose that they were the remains of Clarke,
who, it was now presumed, might have been murdered.
Houseman, having been seen in company with Clarke a short time
before his disappearance, was apprehended on suspicion; and, on
his examination, giving but too evident signs of his guilt, he was
committed to York castle. The bones of the deceased being shown to him,
he denied that they were those of Clarke, but directed to the precise
spot where he said they were deposited, and where they were accordingly
found. The skull, being fractured, was preserved, to be produced in
evidence on the trial.
Soon after Houseman was committed to the castle of York, it was
discovered that Aram lived at Lynn, in Norfolk; on which, a warrant
was granted for taking him into custody; and, being apprehended while
instructing some young gentlemen at a school, he was conveyed to York,
and likewise committed to the castle. At the Lent assizes following,
the prosecutors were not ready with their evidence; on which he was
remanded till the summer assizes, when he was brought to trial.
When Houseman had given his evidence respecting this extraordinary
affair, and all such collateral testimony had been taken as could be
adduced on such an occasion, Aram was called on for his defence; but,
having foreseen that the perturbation of his spirits would incapacitate
him to make such a defence without previous preparation, he had written
the following, which, by permission, he read in court:――
“My Lord:――I know not whether it is of right, or through some
indulgence of your lordship, that I am allowed the liberty at this
bar to attempt a defence, incapable and uninstructed as I am, to
speak. Since, while I see so many eyes upon me, so numerous and awful
a concourse, fixed with attention, and filled with――I know not what
expectancy, I labor not with guilt, my lord, but with perplexity. For
having never seen a court but this――being wholly unacquainted with
law――the customs of the bar, and all judiciary proceedings, I fear I
shall be so little capable of speaking with propriety in this place,
that it exceeds my hope if I shall be able to speak at all.
“I have heard, my lord, the indictment read, wherein I find myself
charged with the highest crime――with an enormity which I am altogether
incapable of――to the commission of which, there goes far more
insensibility of heart, more profligacy of morals, than ever fell
to my lot. And nothing possibly could have admitted a presumption
of this nature, but a depravity not inferior to that imputed to me.
However, as I stand indicted at your lordship’s bar, and have heard
what is called evidence adduced in support of such a charge, I very
humbly solicit your lordship’s patience, and beg the hearing of this
respectable audience, while I, single and unskilful――destitute of
friends, and unassisted by counsel, say something perhaps like argument
in my defence. I shall consume but little of your lordship’s time. What
I have to say, will be short, and this brevity, probably, will be the
best part of it; however, it is offered with all possible regard, and
the greatest submission to your lordship’s consideration, and that of
this honorable court.
“First, my lord, the whole tenor of my conduct in life contradicts
every particular of this indictment. Yet, I had never said this, did
not my present circumstances extort it from me, and seem to make it
necessary. Permit me here, my lord, to call upon malignity itself,
so long and cruelly busied in this prosecution, to charge upon me
any immorality of which prejudice was not the author. No, my lord, I
concerted no scheme of fraud; projected no violence, injured no man’s
person or private property; my days were honestly laborious, my nights
intensely studious. And I humbly conceive my notice of this, especially
at this time, will not be thought impertinent or unseasonable, but at
least deserving some attention; because, my Lord, that any person,
after a temperate use of life, a series of thinking and acting
regularly, without one single deviation from sobriety, should plunge
into the very depth of profligacy, precipitately, and at once, is
altogether improbable and unprecedented, and absolutely inconsistent
with the course of things. Mankind is never corrupted at once; villany
is always progressive, and declines from right, step after step,
till every regard of probity is lost, and every sense of all moral
obligation totally perishes.
“Again, my lord, a suspicion of this kind, which nothing but
malevolence could entertain and ignorance propagate, is violently
opposed by my very situation at that time, with respect to health; for,
but a little space before, I was confined to my bed, and suffered
under a very long and severe disorder, and was not able, for half a
year together, so much as to walk. The distemper left me, indeed, yet
slowly and in part; but so macerated, so enfeebled, that I was reduced
to crutches; and so far from being well about the time I am charged
with the fact, that I never, to this day, have perfectly recovered.
Could then a person in this condition, take anything into his head so
extravagant? I, past the vigor of my age, feeble and valetudinary,
with no inducement to engage, with no ability to accomplish, no weapon
wherewith to perpetrate such a feat; without interest, without power,
without motive, without means.
“Besides, it must need occur to every one, that an action of this
atrocious nature is never heard of, but, when its springs are laid
open, it appears that it was to support some indolence, or supply some
luxury; to satisfy some avarice, or oblige some malice; to prevent
some real or some imaginary want: yet I lay not under the influence of
any of these. Surely, my lord, I may, consistently with both truth and
modesty, affirm this much; and none who have any veracity, and know me,
will ever question it.
“In the second place, the disappearance of Clarke is suggested as an
argument of his being dead; but the uncertainty of such an inference
from that, and the fallibility of all conclusions of such a sort, from
such a circumstance, are too obvious and too notorious, to require
instances; yet, superseding many, permit me to procure a very recent
one, and that afforded by this castle.
“In June, 1757, William Thompson, for all the vigilance of this
place, in open day-light, and double-ironed, made his escape; and,
notwithstanding an immediate inquiry set on foot, the strictest search
and all advertisement, was never seen or heard of since. If, then,
Thompson got off unseen through all these difficulties, how very easy
was it for Clarke, when none of them opposed him? But what would be
thought of a prosecution commenced against any one seen last with
Thompson?
“Permit me next, my lord, to observe a little upon the bones which have
been discovered. It is said, which perhaps is saying very far, that
these are the skeleton of a man. It is possible, indeed, they may;
but is there any certain criterion, which incontestably distinguishes
the sex in human bones? Let it be considered, my lord, whether the
ascertaining this point ought not to precede any attempt to identify
them.
“The place of their depositum, too, claims much more attention than is
commonly bestowed upon it; for of all places in the world none could
have mentioned any one, wherein there was greater certainty of finding
human bones than a hermitage, except he should point out a church-yard;
hermitages, in times past, being not only places of religious
retirement, but of burial too. And it has scarce or never been heard
of, but that every cell now known, contains or contained these relics
of humanity, some mutilated and some entire. I do not inform, but give
me leave to remind your lordship, that here sat solitary sanctity, and
here the hermit or the anchoress, who hoped for that repose to their
bones, when dead, which they here enjoyed when living.
“All the while, my lord, I am sensible this is known to your lordship
and many in this court, better than to me. But it seems necessary to
my case, that others who have not at all, perhaps, adverted to things
of this nature, and may take an interest in my trial, should be made
acquainted with it. Suffer me, then, my lord, to produce a few of
many evidences, that these cells were used as repositories of the
dead, and to enumerate a few in which human bones have been found, as
it happened in this question; lest to some that accident might seem
extraordinary, and, consequently, occasion prejudice.
“1st. The bones, as was supposed of the Saxon, St. Dubritius, were
discovered buried in his cell, at Guy’s Cliff, near Warwick, as appears
from the authority of Sir William Dugdale.
“2d. The bones, thought to be those of the anchoress Rosia, were but
lately discovered in a cell at Royston, entire, fair, and undecayed,
though they must have lain interred for several centuries, as is proved
by Dr. Stukeley.
“3d. But my own country, nay, almost this neighborhood, supplies
another instance, for, in January, 1747, were found, by Mr. Stovin,
accompanied by a reverend gentleman, the bones in part of some recluse,
in the cell at Lindholm, near Hatfield. They were supposed to be those
of William of Lindholm, a hermit, who had long made this cave his
habitation.
“4th. In February, 1744, part of Woburn abbey being pulled down, a
large portion of a corpse appeared, even with the flesh on, which
bore cutting with a knife; though it is certain this had lain above
two hundred years, and how much longer is doubtful; for the abbey was
founded in 1145, and dissolved in 1538 or 39.
“What would have been said, what believed, if this had been an accident
to the bones in question?
“Farther, my lord, it is not yet out of living memory, that a little
distance from Knaresborough, in a field, part of the manor of the
worthy and patriotic baronet who does that borough the honor to
represent it in parliament, were found, in digging for gravel, not one
human skeleton only, but five or six, deposited side by side, with each
an urn placed at its head, as your lordship knows was usual in ancient
interments.
“About the same time, and in another field, almost close to this
borough, was discovered also, in searching for gravel, another human
skeleton; but the piety of the same worthy gentleman ordered both pits
to be filled up again, commendably unwilling to disturb the dead.
“Is the invention of these bones forgotten, then, or industriously
concealed, that the discovery of those in question may appear the
more singular and extraordinary? whereas, in fact, there is nothing
extraordinary in it. My lord, almost every place conceals such remains.
In fields, in hills, in highway sides, in commons, lie frequent
and unsuspected bones. And our present allotments for rest for the
departed, are but of some centuries.
“Another particular seems not to claim a little of your lordship’s
notice, and that of the gentlemen of the jury; which is, that perhaps
no example occurs of more than one skeleton being found in one cell;
and in the cell in question was found but one; agreeable, in this, to
the peculiarity of every other known cell in Britain. Not the invention
of one skeleton, but of two, would have appeared suspicious and
uncommon.
“But it seems another skeleton has been discovered by some laborer,
which was full as confidently averred to be Clarke’s as this. My
lord, must some of the living, if it promotes some interest, be made
answerable for all the bones that earth has concealed, and chance
exposed? and might not a place where bones lay, be mentioned by a
person by chance, as well as found by a laborer by chance? or is it
more criminal accidentally to name where bones lie, than accidentally
to find where they lie?
“Here, too, is a human skull produced, which is fractured; but was
this the cause, or was it the consequence of death? was it owing to
violence, or was it the effect of natural decay? If it was violence,
was it before or after death? My lord, in May, 1732, the remains
of William, lord archbishop of this province, were taken up, by
permission, in this cathedral, and the bones of the skull were found
broken; yet certainly he died by no violence offered to him alive, that
could occasion that fracture there.
“Let it be considered, my lord, that upon the dissolution of religious
houses, and the commencement of the reformation, the ravages of those
times affected both the living and the dead. In search after imaginary
treasures, coffins were broken up, graves and vaults dug open,
monuments ransacked, and shrines demolished; and it ceased about the
beginning of the reign of queen Elizabeth. I entreat your lordship,
suffer not the violences, the depredations, and iniquities of those
times to be imputed to this.
“Moreover, what gentleman is ignorant that Knaresborough had a castle;
which, though now a ruin, was once considerable, both for its strength
and garrison? All know it was vigorously besieged by the arms of
parliament; at which siege, in sallies, conflicts, flights, pursuits,
many fell in the places round it, and where they fell, were buried; for
every place, my lord, is burial earth in war; and many, questionless,
of these, rest yet unknown, whose bones futurity shall yet discover.
“I hope, with all imaginable submission, that what has been said will
not be thought impertinent to this indictment; and that it will be far
from the wisdom, the learning, and the integrity of this place, to
impute to the living, what zeal in its fury may have done; what nature
may have done; what nature may have taken off, and piety interred; or
what war alone may have destroyed, alone deposited.
“As to the circumstances that have been raked together, I have nothing
to observe, but that all circumstances whatever, are precarious, and
have too frequently been found lamentably fallible; even the strongest
have failed. They may rise to the utmost degree of probability, yet
they are but probability still. Why need I name to your lordship
the two Harrisons, recorded by Dr. Howel, who both suffered upon
circumstances, because of the sudden disappearance of their lodger,
who was in credit, had contracted debts, borrowed money, and went off
unseen, and returned a great many years after their execution? Why
name the intricate affair of Jacques de Moulin, under king Charles
II., related by a gentleman who was counsel for the crown? and why the
unhappy Coleman, who suffered innocent, though convicted upon positive
evidence, and whose children perished for want, because the world
uncharitably believed the father guilty? Why mention the perjury of
Smith, incautiously admitted king’s evidence, who, to screen himself,
equally accused Faircloth and Loveday of the murder of Dunn; the first
of whom, in 1749, was executed at Winchester; and Loveday was about to
suffer at Reading, had not Smith been proved to be perjured, to the
satisfaction of the court, by the surgeon of the Gosport hospital?
“Now, my lord, having endeavored to show that the whole of this
process is altogether repugnant to every part of my life; that it is
inconsistent with my condition of health about that time; that no
rational inference can be drawn that a person is dead who suddenly
disappears; that hermitages were the constant repositories of the bones
of the recluse; that the revolutions in religion, or the fortunes of
war, have mangled or buried the dead; the conclusion remains, perhaps
no less reasonably than impatiently wished for. I, at last, after a
year’s confinement, equal to either fortune, put myself upon the
candor, the justice, and the humanity of your lordship, and upon yours,
my countrymen, gentlemen of the jury.”
Aram was tried by Judge Noel, who, having remarked that this defence
was one of the most ingenious pieces of reasoning that had ever fallen
under his notice, summed up the evidence to the jury, who gave a
verdict of guilty; in consequence of which he received sentence of
death.
After conviction, a clergyman was appointed to attend him, and to
exhort him to an ample confession. Aram appeared to pay proper
attention to what was said, but after the minister had retired, he
formed the resolution of destroying himself; and when the morning
appointed for his execution arrived, the keeper, on proceeding to take
him out of his cell, was surprised to find him almost expiring through
loss of blood, having cut his left arm, above the elbow and near the
wrist, with a razor. A surgeon being sent for, stopped the bleeding;
but when he was taken to the place of execution, he was so very weak as
to be unable to join in devotion with the clergyman who attended him.
On the table in his cell was found the following paper, containing his
reasons for attempting to commit suicide:――“What am I better than my
fathers? To die is natural and necessary. Perfectly sensible of this,
I fear no more to die than I did to be born. But the manner of it is
something which should, in my opinion, be decent and manly. I think I
have regarded both these points. Certainly nobody has a better right
to dispose of man’s life than himself; and he, not others, should
determine how. As for any indignities offered to my body, or silly
reflections on my faith and morals, they are, as they always were,
things indifferent to me. I think, though contrary to the common way of
thinking, I wrong no man by this, and hope it is not offensive to the
eternal Being that formed me and the world: and as by this, I injure
no man, no man can reasonably be offended. I solicitously recommend
myself to the eternal and almighty Being, the God of nature, if I have
done amiss. But perhaps I have not; and I hope this thing will never
be imputed to me. Though I am now stained by malevolence, and suffer
by prejudice, I hope to rise fair and unblemished. My life was not
polluted, my morals were irreproachable, and my opinions orthodox. I
slept sound till three o’clock, awaked, and wrote these lines:――
“Come, pleasing rest, eternal slumber, fall,
Seal mine, that once must seal the eyes of all;
Calm and composed my soul her journey takes,
No guilt that troubles, and no heart that aches;
Adieu! thou sun, all bright like her arise;
Adieu! fair friends, and all that’s good and wise.”
In some of the accounts published of Aram’s trial, a letter is quoted,
as written to one of his friends, confessing his guilt; but this
document is understood to have been forged for the purpose of pleasing
the illiterate jurymen who condemned him, and who were incapable of
appreciating the admirable reasoning contained in his defence. He was
executed near York, on the 6th of August, 1759, and afterwards hung in
chains in Knaresborough forest.
* * * * *
“A little word in kindness spoken,
A motion or a tear,
Has often healed the heart that’s broken,
And made a friend sincere.
A word, a look, has crushed to earth
Full many a budding flower,
Which, had a smile but owned its birth,
Would bless life’s darkest hour.
Then deem it not an idle thing,
A pleasant word to speak;
The face you wear, the thoughts you bring,
A heart may heal, or break.”
[Illustration]
Bald Eagle.
The White-headed or Bald Eagle is spread over nearly the whole northern
part of America, but abounds particularly near the falls of Niagara,
where it subsists on fish and on such animals as are accidentally
floated down the stream. It also feeds upon pigs, lambs, fawns, and
other small animals that it can overpower. It builds its nest on the
top of a tall tree, of sticks, weeds, and moss. The young are usually
three in number, and do not, like many other birds, leave the nest
till they are fully fledged. The parent birds are very fierce in their
defence, and feed them with the greatest assiduity.
This splendid bird is about three feet long, and seven feet from the
tip of one wing to the other. The head, neck and tail are pure white,
the rest of the plumage is nearly black. The representation of the Bald
Eagle forms the national emblem of the United States. The mode in which
this bird obtains his prey is thus graphically described by Audubon.
The scene is in Mississippi, and the eagle is perched on the top of the
tallest tree, on the margin of the stream.
“The wild, trumpet-like sound of a yet distant but approaching swan is
heard. The eagle shakes the whole of his body, and with a few touches
of his bill, he arranges his plumage in an instant. The snow-white
bird is now in sight; her long neck is stretched forward; her eye is
on the watch, vigilant as that of her enemy; her large wings seem
with difficulty to support the weight of her body, although they flap
incessantly. So irksome do her exertions seem, that her legs are spread
beneath her tail to aid her flight. She approaches, however. The eagle
has marked her for his prey. As the swan is passing, he starts from his
perch, in full preparation for the chase, with an awful scream, that,
to the swan’s ear, brings more terror than the report of the large
duck-gun.
“Now is the moment to witness the eagle’s powers. He glides through the
air like a falling star, and like a flash of lightning comes upon the
timorous quarry, which now, in agony and despair, seeks, by various
manœuvres, to elude the grasp of his cruel talons; it mounts, doubles,
and willingly would plunge into the stream, were it not prevented
by the eagle, which, long possessed of the knowledge that by such a
stratagem the swan might escape him, forces it to remain in the air by
attempting to strike it with its talons from beneath.
“The hope of escape is soon given up by the swan. It has already become
much weakened, and its strength fails at the sight of the courage and
strength of its antagonist. Its last gasp is about to escape, when the
ferocious eagle strikes with his talons the under side of its wing,
and, with unresisted power, forces the bird to fall in a slanting
direction upon the nearest shore. He presses down his powerful feet,
and drives his sharp claws deep into the heart of the dying swan. He
then, with his mate, gorges himself with the blood of the luckless
victim.”
Gallantry in a Dog.
The following anecdote, told by Mr. B. S. Johnson, is very curious, as
evincing another proof of the sagacity of the dog.
“When twelve years old, my dog had attained a greater size and strength
than ordinary, and, prior to this period, had shown many indications
of astonishing sagacity. He had become exceedingly attached to the
female part of my family, and particularly to the children. A little
daughter, a child about six years old, attended a school at the
distance of quarter of a mile, to which the dog uniformly accompanied
her every morning, as well as at noon; and as soon as he had conducted
his charge safely into the house, he returned home.
“Pursuing this system for a short time, he was soon not content
with guarding the child to school, but began to escort her home.
Twelve o’clock was the hour at which the children left the school,
for the purpose of returning home to dinner; a few minutes before
which, Frank,――for that was the name by which the animal was
distinguished,――trotted away, with elevated tail, and placing himself
in front of the school, waited patiently till the little throng came
out, when he eagerly selected his charge, and guarded her home with all
the pride imaginable.
“At five o’clock in the afternoon, a similar scene took place. It was
amusing, indeed it was highly interesting, to witness the performance
of these operations, by this sagacious and affectionate creature.
I have many times watched it with unspeakable pleasure. About ten
minutes before twelve and five o’clock, (how the creature contrived to
calculate the time so accurately, I am not able to say,) Frank left
my premises, and in a minute or two appeared before the door of the
school, where, squat on his haunches, he attentively waited the opening
of the door.
“On such occasions, the children are crowded together, and Frank might
now be observed among them busily employed in selecting his charge.
Dogs never appear fully satisfied of the identity of any one, till they
have exercised their olfactory organs, as well as their orbs of vision,
on the subject of their solicitude; and therefore Frank always took a
few grateful sniffs before he took his order of march, which was a few
yards in advance, with elevated tail, and evidently in all the pride of
satisfactory duty.
“On the appearance of any person or animal from which danger was to
be apprehended, the dog came close to the child, and forbade near
approach; he was particularly suspicious of the proximity of a beggar,
or any mean or ruffianly person.”
[Illustration]
Charon.
In a former number, we have given some account of the heathen deities:
we must now say a few words of old Charon, whom the ancients considered
one of the gods of Hell. He was supposed to be the son of Erebus or
Darkness, and Nox or Night,――and his duty was to conduct the souls of
the dead in a boat over the river Styx, to the infernal regions. He
was, therefore, a ferryman, and received a penny for each passenger.
Such souls, however, as had not been honored with a funeral, were not
permitted to enter Charon’s boat, without previously wandering on the
shore for one hundred years. Accordingly, the ancients thought it a
dreadful thing to have no burial.
If the soul of any person presented himself to cross the Stygian river,
he could not be admitted before he showed Charon a golden bough, which
he had received from the Sibyl. This law was so strict, that Charon was
once imprisoned for a year, because he ferried over Hercules, without
the passport. It did not matter that he was forced to do it by the hero.
Charon is represented in the ancient descriptions as an old robust
man, with a hideous countenance, long white beard, and piercing eyes.
His garment is ragged and filthy, and his forehead is covered with
wrinkles. As all the dead were obliged to pay a small piece of money
for their admission to the boat, it was always usual among the ancients
to place under the tongue of the deceased a piece of money for Charon.
This fable of Charon and his boat, which became a part of the religious
creed of the Greeks and Romans, was borrowed from the Egyptians, whose
dead were carried across a lake, where sentence was passed upon them,
and, according to their good or bad actions, they were honored with a
splendid burial, or left unnoticed in the open air.
[Illustration]
A Civilized Bear.
In New Hampshire, a species of bear is found, black in color, small in
size, and in general of a peaceable disposition. These animals live
on wild honey and fruits, and never attack man or the lesser animals,
except when pressed by hunger, in the very severe winters. On one
occasion, some years ago, a boy found a very young bear pup near Lake
Winnipeg, and carried it home with him. It was fed and brought up about
the house of the boy’s father, and became as tame as a dog.
Every day its youthful captor had to go to school at some distance,
and, by degrees, the bear became his daily companion. At first the
other scholars were shy of the creature’s acquaintance, but ere long
it became their regular playfellow, and they delighted in sharing with
it the little store of provisions, which they brought for their day’s
sustenance in small bags. After two years of civilization, however, the
bear wandered to the woods, and did not return. Search was made for
him, but in vain.
Four succeeding years passed away, and in the interval, changes had
occurred in the school alluded to. An old dame had succeeded to the
ancient master, and a new generation of pupils had taken the place of
the former ones. One very cold winter day, while the schoolmistress was
busy with her humble lessons, a boy chanced to leave the door half way
open on his entrance, and suddenly a large bear walked in.
The consternation of the old lady and her boys and girls, was
unspeakable. Both schoolmistress and pupils would fain have been
“abroad,” but the bear was in the path, and all that could be done was
to fly off as far as possible, behind the tables and benches. But the
bear troubled nobody. He walked quietly up to the fireplace, and warmed
himself, exhibiting much satisfaction in his countenance during the
process.
He remained thus about a quarter of an hour, and then walked up to the
wall where the provender bags and baskets of the pupils were suspended.
Standing on his hind feet, he then took hold of these successively,
put his paws into them, and made free with the bread, fruit, and other
eatables therein contained. He next tried the schoolmistress’s desk,
where some little provisions usually were; but finding it firmly shut,
he went up again to the fire, and after a few minutes’ stay before it,
he walked out by the way he came in.
As soon as the schoolmistress and her pupils had courage to move, the
alarm was given to the neighbors. Several young men immediately started
after the bear, and as its track was perfectly visible upon the snow,
they soon came up with it and killed it. Then it was that, by certain
marks upon its skin, some of its pursuers recognised in the poor bear
no enemy, but an old friend of their own recent school days. Great
regret was felt at the loss of the creature. It was like killing a
human friend, rather than a wild animal.
[Illustration]
The Palisadoes.
Some of the finest scenery in this country is found on the banks of
the Hudson river; but the _Palisadoes_, as they are called, are not
only beautiful, they are indeed one of the curiosities of nature. They
consist of steep rocks, formed like a vast wall, and constituting the
western bank of the river, from twelve to twenty miles above the city
of New York.
As you pass by in the steamboat, the Palisadoes cannot fail to excite
your wonder. Though the rocks are so high as to seem almost like
mountains, yet they are often so regular as to look like works of art.
You can hardly persuade yourself, indeed, that they are not cut by the
hand of man. If, however, you go upon these rocks, you will see that
they are too vast a work for any other than an Almighty hand.
A real Hero.
A great inundation having taken place in the north of Italy, owing to
an excessive fall of snow in the Alps, followed by a speedy thaw, the
river Adige carried off a bridge near Verona, except the middle part,
on which was the house of the toll-gatherer, or porter, I forget which,
and who, with his whole family, thus remained imprisoned by the waves,
and in momentary danger of destruction.
They were discovered, stretching forth their hands, screaming
and imploring succor, while fragments of the remaining arch were
continually falling into the water. In this extreme danger, a nobleman
who was present, held out a purse of one hundred sequins, as a reward
to any adventurer who would take a boat, and deliver this unhappy
family. But the risk was so great of being borne down by the rapidity
of the stream, or being dashed against the fragments of the bridge,
or of being crushed by the falling stones, that not one, in the vast
number of spectators, had courage enough to attempt such an exploit.
A peasant passing along was informed of the proposed reward.
Immediately jumping into a boat, he, by strength of oars, gained the
middle of the river, brought his boat under the pile, and the whole
family safely descended by means of a rope. “Courage,” cried he; “now
you are safe.” By a still more strenuous effort, and great strength of
arm, he brought the family and boat to shore.
“Brave fellow!” exclaimed the count, handing the purse to him; “here
is the promised recompense.” “I shall never expose my life for money,”
said the peasant. “My labor is a sufficient livelihood for myself, my
wife and my children. Give the purse to this poor family, who have lost
all!”
A Revolutionary Story.
CHAPTER I.
A little to the west of the point where Connecticut river pours itself
into Long Island Sound, lies a small, circular piece of land, called
Duck Island. It is some two miles in circuit, and perhaps two miles
from the shore, which here consists of the fine old town of Saybrook.
It is now about seventy years since this place was the seat of a
hospital for the small-pox. At that period the kinepox, since employed
to check the most fearful and formidable disease that ever afflicted
mankind, was unknown. The only mitigation of small-pox was obtained by
inoculation, which produced the disease in a milder form. Those who
caught it by infection, or had it the natural way, to use the common
phrase of that period, were always supposed to be in imminent danger of
losing their lives.
The hospital of Duck island was therefore resorted to by persons who
wished to be inoculated for the small-pox. The reason for selecting
such a situation was, that no danger of the infection could arise when
there were no inhabitants near.
The island itself was originally a barren, sandy knoll, without
trees; but the proprietor, Dr. Joinly, had taken pains to cultivate
and embellish it, and, at the time of which we speak, it possessed a
fertile and inviting aspect. Two large and handsome buildings, with
a variety of out-houses, were erected upon the island, and furnished
accommodations for the patients of the hospital. The establishment had
acquired great reputation, arising from the high professional standing
of the proprietor, and the admirable manner in which it was conducted.
Nearly a hundred patients were constantly in the hospital, which, with
the necessary attendants, made the little island seem like a small city
in the midst of the sea.
It might seem that an institution so benignant in its operation should
find shelter even from the ravages of war; but it was not so. The
revolutionary struggle commenced in 1775, and soon pervaded the whole
country. The British fleet, under Lord Howe, fled from Boston in the
spring of 1776, and in the course of the summer, after severe fighting,
New York fell into the hands of the enemy. Long Island Sound was soon
occupied by British ships of war. The hospital on Duck Island was
respected for a time,――as much, perhaps, from a fear of infection, as
from sentiments of humanity. But this at last fell a victim to the
ruthless spirit which animated the foe.
A British ship of war was one day passing near the island. In mere
wantonness she opened her battery, and the deadly cannon shot came
ploughing up the soil and rending the out-buildings of the hospital.
All within the establishment was instantly converted into confusion and
uproar. The sick patients leaped from their beds and fled screaming
through the passages; while shot after shot now struck the houses,
and, piercing them through and through, rendered the whole a scene of
indescribable terror and misery. Two or three children were killed, and
their blood was spattered upon the walls of the rooms where patients
lay, too sick to move from their beds. Some expired from fright, while
others, almost naked, and wasted to a shadow, leaped up in frenzy and
went raving forth into the open air.
We need not dwell upon this fearful scene, which is only one of the
common fruits of the great game of war――a game which has made Alexander
and Cæsar and Napoleon so glorious. Dr. Joinly did everything in his
power to calm his agitated patients, but in vain. The time of trial
was, however, short; the commander of the ship of war only desired to
clear out his guns, which had been loaded for some time, and when he
had done this, and had some fine sport, he and his iron battery passed
on. What was sport to him, however, was agony and death to others. The
hospital of Duck Island was destroyed; the buildings were torn to rags
by the cannon shot; several persons were killed outright, and others
died of agitation and exposure. It was in vain to think of continuing
the establishment, when it was exposed to occurrences like this; the
patients were removed to the main land, the island was deserted, and
the buildings were left to moulder into dust.
It was scenes like this, proceeding from the wanton cruelty of the
British forces, that roused the American people to resistance, and
united them, heart to heart, for liberty or death. The feelings which
the British officers brought to this country, were composed of hatred
and contempt; they hated us as rebels, and despised us as Yankees,
which, in their ignorant prejudice, meant everything mean and cowardly.
They made war upon us, as the sportsman pursues noxious game, which it
is a pleasure not only to kill, but to worry, irritate and torment. The
attack upon the hospital of Duck Island no doubt passed for a good joke
among the British officers; but if so, it was a joke somewhat dearly
bought, as we shall see.
The indignation of the people of Saybrook, and indeed of the people
generally along the Connecticut shore, on account of the destruction of
the hospital, knew no bounds. A movement was immediately made to raise
a body of troops, and despatch them against the enemy, now quartered
upon Long Island. A regiment was soon assembled, and Dr. Joinly was
chosen as colonel. Their proceedings we shall relate in another chapter.
Having a Good Time.
On the opposite page is seen an engraving from one of the pictures of
the celebrated Scotch painter, David Wilkie. This artist was a faithful
painter of scenes in rustic life; he represented things, honestly, as
they are――and he has here given us a picture of what may be called
_Having a good time_; a very common and familiar incident, in many
countries. And what is this _having a good time_?
[Illustration]
Look at that man in the picture――by the side of the horse-trough――beastly
drunk. Reader, man is an immortal being; he has a soul, destined to
live forever; and yet such a being has found the art of making himself,
soul and body, that disgusting thing which you see in the picture. And
this is called _having a good time_!
Alas, how fearfully has society strayed in the path of error, to have
reached this point! That drunkenness should be thought happiness; and
that scenes of this kind should have become so familiar and so little
disgusting, as to be selected by the painter with a view to pleasure
the world――is a fearful evidence of the strength and pervading nature
of those bonds under which a dreadful vice has laid society.
The truth, however, is beginning to manifest itself. That intoxicating
liquors are poisonous; that drunkenness is an abomination; that
temperance is the path to health and wealth, to happiness here and
hereafter, are truths now beginning to be felt by every member of
society. Who is there, among us, so dead to truth, so indifferent to
human happiness, as not to join heart and hand in the glorious cause of
temperance; that great cause which aims at the banishment of the most
fruitful sources of human misery; and which aims at the elevation of
man to that dignity, peace and happiness for which his Creator, when he
formed him after his own image, designed him!
Reader, there is an old-fashioned mode, adopted by the pilgrim fathers
of New England, to determine what is right and what is wrong. Anything,
said they, is wrong, for the success of which we cannot pray to God.
Let us apply this in the present case. Can any one pray for the
success of the grog-shop? Can any one pray for the success of the
bar-room――the tippling room? Can any one pray for the success of the
distillery? Can any one pray for the success of the wine cellar――the
brandy trade――the rum voyage? What does the success of these things
mean? Their success means the degradation of mankind; the destruction
of soul and body; the gradual preparing of human beings to commit
crimes――theft, burglary, robbery and murder; the preparation of human
beings to become insane――to be the victims of disease――to be outcasts
and paupers. The success of the rum trade――the wine trade――the cider
trade――in all their forms, retail and wholesale, means all this. Who,
then, can pray to God for the success of these trades? and who will
venture to promote or follow a system which they know excites the frown
of Heaven, and must finally bring the curse of mankind?
* * * * *
EXAMINATION AT BOW STREET.――A prisoner being brought up to London,
the following dialogue passed between him and the sitting magistrate:
“How do you live?”――“Pretty well, sir; generally a joint and pudding
at dinner!”――“I mean, sir, how do you get your bread?”――“I beg your
worship’s pardon; sometimes at the baker’s, and sometimes at the
chandler’s shop.”――“You may be as witty as you please, sir; but I mean
simply to ask you, how you do?” “Tolerably well, I thank your worship;
I hope your worship is well.”
* * * * *
HONEST TAR.――John Barth, the Dunkirk fisherman, rose by his courage
and naval skill to the rank of commodore of a squadron in the navy
of France. When he was ennobled by Louis XIV., the king said to him,
“John Barth, I have made you a commodore.” John replied, “You have done
right!”
[Illustration]
July.
Now comes July, and with his fervid noon
Unsinews labor. The swinkt mower sleeps;
The maid walks feebly; the warm swain
Pitches his load reluctant: the faint steer,
Lashing his sides, draws sulkily along
The slow encumbered wain in mid-day heat.
Such is the picture of this month, drawn by an old English poet.
With us the heat is still greater than in England; yet the farmers
keep busily at work in the fields; and, to say truth, it is about as
comfortable to be at work as to be idle. You see in the picture that
our fat friend, who is only looking on, wipes his face and seems as hot
as those who are in the field at work, hoeing the corn.
Leigh Hunt, an elegant English writer, says: “The heat is greatest
during this month, on account of its duration. There is a sense of heat
and quiet all over nature. The birds are silent. The little brooks
are dried up. The earth is parched. The shadows of the trees are
particularly grateful, heavy and still. The oaks, which are freshest
because latest in leaf, form noble, clumpy canopies, looking, as you
lie under them, of a strong, emulous green, against the blue sky.
The traveller delights to cut across the country, through the fields
and the leafy lanes, where, nevertheless, the flints sparkle with
heat. The cattle get into the shade or stand in the water. The active
and air-cutting swallows now beginning to assemble for migration,
seek their prey among the shady places, where the insects, though of
differently compounded natures, ‘fleshless and bloodless,’ seem to
get for coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The sound of
insects is likewise the only audible sound now, increasing rather than
lessening the sense of quiet, by its gentle contrast. The bee now and
then sweeps across the ear with his gravest tone.”
On the 24th of this month commence the dog-days, which are a number
of days preceding and following the rise of Sirius, or the dog-star,
in the morning. There were formerly many superstitions concerning the
dog-star. Some old authors say, that “On the first day that this star
rises in the morning, the sea boils, wine turns sour, dogs begin to
grow mad, all animals feel languid, and the diseases it occasions in
men are fevers, frenzies and hysterics.” The Romans used to sacrifice a
brown dog, every year, to the dog-star, on his first rising, to appease
his rage. The heat of the weather during the dog-days is very great;
the sun darts his rays almost perpendicularly upon the earth, and some
diseases are consequently at that time more to be dreaded. But the
exaggerated effects of the rising of Sirius are quite groundless.
Jumping Rabbit’s Story.
CHAPTER I.
_The beginning.――My earliest recollections.――My home.――My
parents.――A fearful scene._
Kind reader, as you and I are about to take a ramble together, I beg
leave to settle one or two points at the outset. In the first place,
then, I shall tell you my story in a very simple, plain way; for
the circumstances of my life have qualified me to speak in no other
fashion. In the next place, I shall endeavor to make my story the means
of giving you some useful information. I have been a wanderer over the
Far West; have seen the rivers, the mountains, the valleys, the wild
animals, the tribes of Indians that are there; I have crossed the Rocky
Mountains, and stood upon the shore of the broad Pacific; and I have
thus picked up a good deal of information. While, therefore, I shall
give you an account of my adventures, I shall endeavor to make you
acquainted with some matters relating to the geography, the natural
history, and the manners and customs of the great West. Thus, while
I shall try to amuse you, I will try also to give you some little
knowledge. I hope this arrangement will suit you; for if I give you
_cake_, to which I compare tales of adventure, you should be content
to take, now and then, a slice of solid _bread and butter_, to which I
compare such useful matters as geography and natural history.
And now to begin. At the period of my earliest recollection, I must
have been about six years old. My father was then living on the White
river, about one hundred miles west of the Mississippi, and in what is
now the state of Arkansas. His house, which was only a log cabin, was
four or five miles from any other white man’s dwelling. There was no
town or village in that quarter; excepting a few scattered settlers
here and there, the country was still uninhabited, except by native
wild animals, or roving tribes of Indians.
The latter were at peace with the whites for a long period, and
therefore we had no fear of them. We frequently saw parties of Indian
hunters, and occasionally considerable numbers came into the region
where we dwelt. They often visited our cabin, but never gave us any
annoyance. But the time arrived when a change took place. We heard
fearful stories of Indian massacres, and more than one family, in the
region where we lived, were entirely cut off.
I remember that one night my father came home and told my mother that a
party of Kickapoos had been in the neighborhood and killed every member
of the family which lived nearest to us. He, of course, expected they
would be upon us before morning. What was now to be done? The number of
the savages was over a dozen, and it seemed quite hopeless to attempt
either resistance or escape. If we were to fortify the house, we might
make a brief defence, and kill a few of the enemy, but we must yield
at last, and fall into the hands of our exasperated foe. If we were to
fly, the savages, keen as bloodhounds in following their prey, would
soon track us out, and we should become their easy victims.
People who are brought up in quiet and secure towns, free from the
dangers of the wilderness, and who only hear of adventures with the
Indians, can hardly appreciate the feelings of those who are inured to
every species of danger and trial. I remember the looks of my father
and mother upon that fearful night, when they expected the savages to
be upon their dwelling in a few hours, and to see themselves and their
children become the victims of their bloody vengeance. They were brave
people, and, though their countenances looked troubled, there was more
of courage than fear in their faces.
There were four of us children: my brother Dick, about fourteen years
old; my sister Jane, two years younger, and little Harry, a year
younger than myself. The decision of our parents being to fortify the
house and make the best defence in their power, we were all, except
Harry, employed in the preparations. The latter was the only one who
did not comprehend what was going on. While the rest of us were busy
in bringing in the axes, hoes, spades, and other implements capable of
being used for a deadly encounter, Harry was running about, seeming to
enjoy the flurry and rejoice in the spirit of activity that animated
the scene.
Everything that could be done was at last accomplished. The windows
were strongly barred; the door was barricadoed; the wide-mouthed
chimney, down which an Indian might easily have slid, was defended by
large sticks crossed and jammed into the crevices of the stone work
of the fire-place. Near the door sat our dog, Tiger; he was stretched
upon his belly at full length on the floor, with his chin between his
extended fore legs. He was not asleep, for it was evident that he
understood that something fearful was in the wind. An erect forecorner
of his ear showed that he was listening intently; and his eye, steadily
bent toward the door, betokened the expectation of danger in that
direction.
My father loaded the old gun, now our chief hope, with care; he picked
the flint, examined the priming, looked at his stock of powder and
ball; and now, as if everything was prepared, sat down. I remember
how he looked, when he now turned round and viewed my mother and us
children. I remember how she looked too. My father’s lips trembled,
and his eyes seemed to grow dim, for he lifted his hand and brushed
it across his brow; but in a moment he looked again at his priming,
glanced at old Tiger, and fixed his eye on the door and sat still. His
face now became as stern as marble. My mother sat on a bench in one
corner, and we children behind her upon the floor. By her side was
an axe. She was very pale, and her eye turned often, first on father
and then up to Heaven. Once in a while, she looked round on us, and
especially upon little Harry, with a long gaze, as if it might be her
last, and then a kind of shudder came over her. I think my mother was
a very beautiful woman, for never in any dream has anything so like
an angel visited my fancy, as my faint remembrances of my mother in
that fearful hour. Her eyes were blue, her hair light, and her whole
appearance soft and gentle. Never did she seem so gentle as when she
looked around on us; yet, as she gazed on the axe at her side, and
stole a glance around upon the defences of our little fort, her look
changed, and she had the aspect of a hero.
We sat for more than an hour in breathless silence. Every ear was
stretched to catch the slightest sound, until the effort became
painful. At last, Tiger lifted his head and uttered a low growl. In
an instant after, he sprang to his feet, his eye glittering like fire,
every muscle of his body being stretched for action. My father looked
through a crevice he had left for observation. It was a clear moonlight
night, and soon he saw four dusky figures gliding through the edge of
the adjacent forest. He turned to mother, and said, in a firm tone,
“They are coming!” She reached for the axe; I saw her fingers tremble
as she grasped it. Dick, with a stout club, moved forward and stood by
my father. He was a noble fellow; black-eyed, black-haired, and daring
as a wild-cat. His look gave tone and courage to us all. He was stout
for his years, and as he turned round to look at the group in the
corner, there was something in his manner which seemed to say,――“You
shall have a brave defence!”
There was silence for some time, when suddenly the most fearful yell
burst upon our ears! It seemed to come from a hundred voices, and
filled the forest with its terrific echoes. The scream of the panther
is not so terrible as the war-cry of the savage, especially when heard
at night, and by those who are exposed to his fury. Nearer and nearer
came the yell, and at last we heard the enemy around our dwelling. My
father, who kept his eye steady at the crevice, now slowly thrust the
muzzle of his gun through the hole, and taking a deliberate aim, he
fired. There was one wild yell, a heavy fall, a brisk scampering, and
then a death-like silence. This continued for some time, when again
the war-whoop burst from the forest, and at least a dozen savages
immediately surrounded our dwelling. They encompassed it with dry
leaves and branches, and set them on fire. In a few minutes the smoke
began to issue into the room, and shortly the outside of our little
cabin was wrapped in a sheet of flame.
Up to this time, my remembrance of the scene is very distinct; but
what immediately followed, I cannot clearly recall. I have a faint
recollection, or fancy, of my father, rushing out through the blaze,
and struggling with a tall Indian in the flames, till they both fell
exhausted and involved in the conflagration. I have a dim remembrance
of my mother, bursting out through the falling timbers, carrying little
Harry on her back, and leading Jane and myself through the flames.
But I was suffocated with smoke and overwhelmed with the terrors of
the scene. From this point my memory of that dreadful night is a
blank――save one incident alone. Old Tiger and Dick went before my
mother, as if they were her peculiar guard. The poor dog was dreadfully
singed, for he had already had one or two deadly tussles with the
Indians in the flames. The long silken hair of his ears and tail
was burnt off, and the latter stuck out straight and stiff, looking
actually as if it had been cooked. In that fearful hour, I remember to
have thought that it had quite a ludicrous appearance.
The poor dog, however, had his senses about him, and kept with my
mother and Dick, till we had proceeded a considerable distance. We were
concealed from the view of the Indians by a dense cloud of smoke, that
rolled between us and them. We had not gone far, however, before we
were discovered, and two savages immediately pursued us. Coming up with
us, they fell upon Dick, who defended himself for a time, but receiving
a blow upon the head, he was laid prostrate on the earth. Tiger, half
dead as he was, sprang upon his body, and stood erect for his defence.
One of the savages struck him over the head, and, with a sad moan,
the poor creature lay dead by the side of his master. A sickness now
came over me. I tottered, and fell unconscious to the ground.――(_To be
continued._)
Passage of Mountains in India.
Armies sometimes find it necessary to pass over the mountainous
districts of India. In such cases their cannon, tents, and baggage are
transported by means of elephants. It is always a difficult, and not
unfrequently a dangerous business; the elephants being so clumsy, and
withal so heavy, that a single misstep might prove fatal not only to
them, but to all who accompany them. The following is an account of
the manner in which the guns belonging to a regiment were conveyed, by
means of elephants, over a high hill, or ghaut as it is called.
Having cut a good deal of the most prominent part of the hill away,
and laid trees on the ascent as a footing for the elephants, these
animals were made to approach it, which the first did with some
reluctance and fear. He looked up, shook his head, and, when forced by
his driver, roared piteously. There can be no question, in my opinion,
that this sagacious animal was competent instinctively to judge of the
practicability of the artificial flight of steps thus constructed; for
the moment some little alteration had been made, he seemed willing to
approach.
He then commenced his examination and scrutiny, by pressing with his
trunk the trees that had been thrown across; and after this he put
his fore leg upon them with great caution, raising the fore part of
his body, so as to throw its weight on them. This done, he seemed
satisfied as to their stability. The next step for him to ascend by was
a projecting rock, which we could not remove. Here the same sagacious
examination took place, the elephant keeping his side close to the side
of the bank, and leaning against it. The next step was upon a tree; but
this, on the first pressure of his trunk, he did not like. Here his
driver made use of the most tender epithets, such as, “Wonderful, my
life!”――“Well done, my dear!”――“My dove!”――“My son!”――“My wife!” But
all these endearing appellations, of which elephants are so fond, would
not induce him to try again. Force was at length resorted to, and the
elephant roared terrifically, but would not move. Something was then
removed; he seemed satisfied, as before; and thus in time ascended that
stupendous ghaut. On his reaching the top, his delight was visible in a
most eminent degree; he caressed his keepers, and threw the dirt about
in a very playful manner.
Another elephant, a much younger animal, was now to follow. He had
watched the ascent of the other with the most intense interest, making
motions all the while, as though he was assisting him by shouldering
him up the acclivity; such gestures as I have seen some men make, when
spectators of gymnastic exercises. When he saw his comrade up, he
evinced his pleasure by giving a salute something like the sound of a
trumpet. When called upon to take his turn, he seemed much alarmed,
and would not act at all without force. When he was two steps up,
he slipped, but recovered himself by digging his toes in the earth.
With the exception of this little accident, he ascended exceedingly
well. When this elephant was near the top, the other, who had already
performed his task, extended his trunk to the assistance of his brother
in distress, round which the young animal entwined his, and thus
reached the summit of the ghaut in safety.
Having both accomplished their task, their greeting was as cordial as
if they had been long separated from each other, and had just escaped
from some perilous achievement. They mutually embraced each other,
and stood face to face for a considerable time, as if whispering
congratulations. Their driver then made them salam or bow to the
general, who ordered them five rupees each for sweetmeats. On this
reward of their merit being ordered, they immediately returned thanks
by another salam.
WHISTLING TOM;
A FORECASTLE BALLAD.
MUSIC AND WORDS COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
[Illustration: Music]
1
Did you never hear of poor whistling Tom,
A sailor who loved the sea?
As brave as a lion was whistling Tom,
And blithe as a lark was he!
2
A gale was a frolic to poor old Tom,――
He called it a cracking breeze,――
And gaily he whistled whenever the blast
Drove the maddened ship o’er the seas.
3
His trill was soft as a nightingale’s song,
Yet you heard it above the roar:
Though the vessel dashed and the billow flashed,
Tom only whistled the more.
4
If reefing a topsail that shivered aloft,――
While the yards dipped deep in the spray,――
Like a careless bird in his stormy swing,
He whistled and worked away.
5
But the bravest must die, and poor old Tom
One night made the wave his pillow――
He sleeps there yet, though he whistles oft,
When the tempest lashes the billow.
6
I have heard his note in the midst of the blast――
It wailed like a spirit’s tone――
He seemed aloft on the staggering mast,
And whistled――“poor Tom’s alone!”
7
As the tempest rises the strain grows wild,
And shrieks in the ocean’s roar――
When the storm is past it dies away,
And poor Tom is heard no more.
LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.
[Illustration]
The Giraffe, or Camelopard.
Here is a picture of the tallest animal that is known. He measures
almost six yards from the ground to the top of his ears. He is as tall
as a small house.
The giraffe lives in the wilds of Africa; he is never tamed and put to
work like the horse. His skin is fawn-colored, with black spots. He is
a timid creature, and runs away as fast as he can scamper whenever a
man comes near.
Sometimes the lion attacks the giraffe; his only defence in such a case
is to turn round and kick the lion as hard as he can. Sometimes he
succeeds in defending himself in this way, but often he falls a victim
to the fierce king of beasts.
The giraffe is occasionally caught and carried to Paris and London and
this country. There have been several in the United States; but they
are tender creatures, and are very apt to die if taken away from their
native country.
[Illustration]
The Arbor.
Here are two girls and a boy in the arbor; one of the girls is reading,
and the others are listening. It is a pleasant thing to be beneath a
roof of green leaves, and to be surrounded by sweet-scented flowers. It
is a very pleasant thing to sit down in such a place with an agreeable
book. Do you not envy the children in the picture?
And what book do you imagine they are reading? Perhaps it is one of the
numbers of Parley’s Cabinet Library, which Messrs. Bradbury & Soden
have just published. No doubt you have read them; but I will tell you
about one of the volumes that is to be published in a few days.
It is entitled Curiosities of Human Nature, and it gives an account of
a great many wonderful people. It tells about Zerah Colburn, who was a
natural arithmetician. One day, his father heard him, while he was a
little child playing among the chips, saying the multiplication table
to himself. His father then began to examine him, and he found that he
could answer almost any question in arithmetic, although he was only
six years old, and could not read, and had never been taught anything.
His father took Zerah to Boston and New York, and other places, and the
child astonished everybody, by his wonderful answers to arithmetical
questions. He could tell how many minutes there were in two thousand
years; how many steps, three feet long, it would take to go round the
earth; he could find the square root and the cube root of any number.
His performances were indeed amazing.
Mr. Colburn, finally, set off with his son for England; here the child
was visited by thousands of people. They then went to France, and he
excited such an interest there, that Bonaparte had him put into one of
the colleges of Paris.
I cannot tell you the whole story of Zerah, but you will find it, and
many other curious and wonderful lives, in the number of Parley’s
Cabinet Library of which I speak. You will find the story of a
miser, who shut himself in a vault with his money, and where, though
surrounded with silver and gold, he perished miserably for the want of
bread and water. You will find the story of the great Sir Isaac Newton,
who, when a child, made a little mill, and put a kitten in it, whom he
called the miller; you will find the story of Elijah Thayer, who went,
a few months since, to see Victoria, queen of England, and tell her
that she would very soon be obliged to wash her own dishes.
Among other things in Parley’s book, you will find the story of a very
wonderful man named Joseph Clark. This person could twist his face
about so that his most intimate friends would not know him. He could
also distort his body in the most strange manner. Here is a picture of
him.
[Illustration]
Clark was a pleasant, funny fellow, and he often amused himself and
others with his queer tricks. One day he went to a tailor to have a
coat made. When the tailor measured him he had a huge hump on his right
shoulder. When he went to try on the coat, the hump was on the left
shoulder. The tailor was greatly astonished――begged pardon for his
blunder, and straightway undertook to alter the coat. When Clark went
again to try it on, behold the villanous hump was in the middle of his
back!
Fire-works at Rome.
All my little readers have heard of the great city of Rome, in Italy.
It was begun about 2500 years ago, and a great many wonderful events
have taken place there.
Rome is not so large and splendid as it once was, but it is still a
great city. The pope, who is the head of the Catholic church, lives
there, and the ceremonies of that church are very grand and imposing in
Rome. I could tell you a great deal about these ceremonies, but I have
not time now.
I will, however, say a word of what is called the _Carnival_. This is
a time in which the Catholics have feasts, dances and frolics. Some
of them dress up in strange attire, and go about, making a great deal
of sport. The carnival in Rome is really a great time. Thousands of
people, from all the countries round about, flock to the city, where
they amuse themselves in various ways.
One of the most wonderful things that takes place, is the fire-works.
Perhaps you have seen fire-works on Boston common, but those of Rome
are far more splendid. St. Peter’s Church is suddenly illuminated, and
the great castle of St. Angelo sends up a vast flood of rockets,――red,
blue, purple and yellow. The air seems filled with golden lights; the
skies appear to be showering down stars of every hue; and while all
this is going on, the glad voices of thousands of people are applauding
the scene.
[Illustration: _Fire-works at Rome._]
[Illustration]
Careless Nancy.
Carelessness is a sad thing. How many troubles flow from it! Look at
the picture――and see what has happened!
Nancy left her best bonnet in the chair, and the dog, Flirt, has got
it. Here’s a pretty kettle of fish! See how the puppy munches the
straw-braid, and how he mumbles the boquets of ribbons!
Now, who is to blame for all this? Is Flirt to blame?――why, he is only
a puppy――a young creature so full of fun and frolic that he hardly
knows what to do with himself. But Nancy is a rational creature; she
has been told to be careful; she knows that Flirt is a playful rogue,
and is very likely to seize upon anything left in his way.
Oh, Nancy, Nancy! you scold Flirt, and you box his ears, and lay the
ruin of your nice new bonnet to him; but, my dear child, it is you who
are in fault.
[Illustration]
Charity.
Charity is a beautiful word, and means many beautiful things. Here, in
the picture, is a poor old man; he is lame, and cannot hardly walk. He
sits by the way-side and holds out his hat to those who are passing by;
and you see that the boy is dropping a piece of money into his hat.
Thus the poor old man gets a living.
This giving to the poor is called _charity_, or _alms-giving_. It is
our duty to give a part of what we have to those who are poor and
needy. But there are other kinds of charity, which it is our duty to
practise.
We should not only give money to the poor, but we should give to all,
kind thoughts, kind wishes, kind words. This is a noble species of
charity, and while it tends to make others happy, it cultivates sweet
peace in our own bosoms. Let all my young friends practise this species
of charity.
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER VI.
_Jack visits the bee-hives.――Swarming.――Hiving._
One day Jack was going along by a row of bee-hives, which belonged to
his father, when he observed an unusual confusion among the bees of
one of them. A great many bees were going in and out at the holes of
the hive, buzzing with their wings, and seeming to be in the greatest
flurry. Besides this, the bees had collected on the outside of the hive
in a great mass, at least an inch deep in one place.
Jack had seen the bee-hives so often that he had not thought much about
them; but now his attention was fixed. He stopped and began to look
at what was going on, particularly among the bees of the hive we have
mentioned. “I guess it’s Sunday,” said Jack to himself, “among these
creatures, or perhaps it’s election day, and they are going to choose
a governor or president. Oh――I recollect――aunt Piper told me once that
the bees were governed by a queen; and perhaps they are now going to
choose one.”
Saying this, Jack sat down upon the grass, and, hitching pretty
close to the hive, quietly contemplated the scene. The buzzing of
the bees made a roar all around the hive, and though those which had
settled into a heap were quiet, there were many who reminded one of
the marshals on the 17th of June, in managing the procession to
Bunker Hill: they were flying hither and thither――back and forth――up
and down――round and round――in and out――appearing to be brim full of
something very important, but really doing nothing, after all. With
them it was buzz, buzz, buzz!
Jack had looked quietly on for about half an hour, when he saw an
unusual agitation in the bees that had congregated upon the outside
of the hive; they began to flutter their little wings, and run this
way and that. All at once a portion of them took to flight, and rising
about forty feet in the air, whirled round and round for a few minutes,
and then streamed away upon the wind. They were followed by others, so
that a continued line of bees was distinctly visible in the air.
Jack, greatly excited, followed the runaway bees, thinking to
himself――“if you are about to desert in this fashion, I guess I’ll
find where you are going to!”――so he followed the stream, and, at the
distance of about fifty rods, he found that they began to light upon an
apple-tree. Here they collected very fast, and pretty soon he could see
them gathered in a large dark mass upon one of the limbs. He now ran
home and told his father what was going on.
Jack’s father set out with another man for the scene of action,
having provided a new hive and a brass kettle. When they came to the
apple-tree, they began to beat the kettle, under the idea that such
kind of music is apt to induce bees, when swarming, to settle down the
more readily. Pretty soon the whole company had arrived and alighted
upon the limb. They were collected one upon the other, and the whole
mass looked about as large round as a man’s arm.
The new hive was now placed upon a bench beneath the tree, and some
honey was put near the holes. At evening, the limb upon which the
bees were clinging was carefully cut down, and placed near the hive.
In the morning the bees began to leave their place upon the bough, and
to enter the hive. In a short space they had all taken up their abode
in it, and immediately they began to build cells, in which to store
their honey. That evening the hive was removed and placed upon the same
platform as the other hives. Its inhabitants seemed all pleased with
their new home, and very soon they had stored it with honey.
These events made a strong impression upon Jack’s mind, and turned his
attention to the study of bees. He learned a great many curious things
about them, but still he was obliged to ask his aunt Piper a multitude
of questions, in order to gratify his curiosity. I may as well tell the
substance of what he learned about bees, in another chapter.
The 4th of July.
What a great day is the 4th of July! In the morning the bells are set
a-ringing and guns are fired. During the day, the people get together,
and some one makes a great speech to them.
This is called independent day. Do my readers know why the 4th of July
is thus noticed? Perhaps not――so I will tell them.
A great many years ago, our country was ruled by the king of England.
The people did not like this; they wished to be free; to govern
themselves in their own way, and live as they pleased.
Accordingly, a great dispute arose between the people of our country
and the king of England. The people said they would not obey the king,
and the king said they should obey him. He sent his armies over here to
compel the people to submit.
All this made a great ferment in the country. A great battle took place
at Bunker Hill, near Boston, on the 17th of June, 1775, and hundreds
were killed on both sides. It is on account of this battle that the
monument is erected there, the completion of which was so beautifully
celebrated on the 17th of last June. A great many of my readers, no
doubt, saw the splendid procession, on that occasion, consisting of the
president of the United States, and the governor of Massachusetts, and
many other distinguished men; several thousand soldiers; the members of
a great many societies; together with a great many other persons. It
was indeed a splendid sight.
Although the king of England sent his soldiers to fight our
forefathers, they were not frightened. They mustered armies, and sent
them to fight the British armies. They also sent some of their wisest
men to Philadelphia to consider the state of things and determine what
was best to be done.
On the 4th July, 1776, these wise men determined that it was best for
the country to be free. They therefore sent forth a famous paper,
called the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. This sets forth the wrongs
which the country has suffered at the hands of the king of England, and
declares the solemn purpose of the American people thenceforward to
become a free, sovereign and independent nation.
The people received this declaration with joy. They celebrated it with
bonfires, and music, and processions, and rejoicings. Ever since that
day, the 4th of July, being the day in which this declaration was
passed by the congress at Philadelphia, has been noticed as a day of
rejoicing. It is considered the birth-day of our national independence,
and as such, it is regarded as our great national anniversary.
To Correspondents.
We have several letters from our correspondents, for which we offer
thanks. To C. H. H., of Andover, who wishes to hear more about Bill
Keeler, we can only say that as soon as convenient, we will attend to
his request. Several of our friends have sent us correct answers to
the puzzle in the June number of the Museum. The following deserves
insertion. Our Providence friends will see that a piece of music is
given, as promised. We hope it will please them, as well as our other
readers.
_North Bridgewater, June 14, 1843._
Mr. Robert Merry,――I have taken your Museum for two years
past, and I like it very much. I think that the story of
the Siberian Sable Hunter is very interesting, and I think
that the June number is very interesting; and so I thought
I must answer the puzzle that is in it. I have always
studied them out, and have thought I should like to answer
them, but I never have until now; I shall give the answer
in the form of an acrostic, and if you think it deserves a
place in your Museum, you can put it in.
_Bass_ is the name of a fish much admired,
_East_ is the point of compass the wise men desired,
_Lathe_ is an article used under mortar,
The _Table_ is furnished with food and with water,
_Easter_ is a day that is kept by the church of Rome,
_Sahara_ is a desert a great way from home,
_Hatred_ is a passion much to be deplored in the mind,
_Arts_ have done much to enlighten mankind,
_Zebra_ is a pretty animal, but not very stout,
_Z_ was the letter which I had to guess out,
_Abel_, the antediluvian, was killed by Cain,
_Rat_ is a troublesome animal to man;
The whole is the name that king Nebuchadnezzar
Gave to Daniel the prophet, and called Belteshazzar.
From a blue-eyed friend,
B. W. P.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. VI. AUGUST, 1843. No. 2.
[Illustration]
Hindostan.
Hindostan is a vast country in Asia, containing almost one half as much
territory as the whole of Europe, and one hundred and forty millions of
inhabitants.
Yet Hindostan is governed by Great Britain, which is almost ten
thousand miles distant――which has but twenty-four millions of people,
and a territory not more than one tenth part as large as that of
Hindostan.
How is Great Britain able to govern such a vast country――so superior
in extent and in population, and at the same time so distant? It is
done by the superior knowledge, energy and skill of the English people.
The people of Hindostan are ignorant and indolent; they are content to
dwell in houses made of bamboo-cane, covered with palm leaves: they
love to sit for hours in indolent repose, careless of the past and the
future: they are satisfied with a little rice for food, and a tea-cup
full will suffice for a day. Such a people become an easy prey to such
busy, grasping people as the English. A few thousand British soldiers
keep one hundred and forty millions of Hindoos in subjection. It is
indeed a wonderful thing, and it shows what a mighty difference there
is between an educated and industrious people and an ignorant and lazy
people.
Peter Somebody and the Woodpecker’s Nest.
The following story is sent to us by one who affirms that
he knew Peter in his boyhood――and he assures us that this
story is true, every word of it.
Peter Somebody was the companion of my youth, and at an early period
of his boyhood commenced that series of observations in the field of
nature which has enabled him in maturer years to tell so many stories
about the objects of nature.
Almost from his infancy, he delighted in being out of doors. He loved
to wander through the fields――in the forests――through the wild and
uncultivated glen――to climb the mountain’s top and walk along the giddy
precipice.
Nor were these idle rambles. In the course of them he made himself
acquainted with birds and insects and creeping things――whatever was
rare and singular engaged his attention, but most of all was he pleased
with those plans which led to adventure. In his excursions he was often
attended by several other boys, belonging to the neighborhood, of whom
he was always the leader――the first to move forward and the last to get
tired out. It may well be said of him, what was said of another choice
spirit:
“If e’er a pleasant mischief sprung to view,
At once o’er hedge and ditch away he flew,
Nor left the game till he had run it down.”
Bird-hunting and egg-gathering were among the favorite sports of our
boyhood. Often we collected quite a quantity of eggs, thus robbing
the poor birds of their rightful property, and a proper place for
which it had cost them much labor to provide. I do not mention this
because I now approve of the practice, but for the purpose, among other
things, of expressing my regret for the example which I then set. It
is considered, ofte-times, great sport by unthinking boys, but what
is sport to them is the source of sorrow and mourning to the harmless
beings, whose labors and hopes they thus destroy.
But to my story. We were wont, as I said, to make frequent excursions
after eggs. Those of the red-headed woodpecker were sought for with
peculiar zeal, not only on account of their singular beauty, but from
the great number which the nest of that bird often contains.
This nest is generally a hollow place in the trunk or limb of a tree,
formed by the natural process of decay, or dug out by the perseverance
of the bird itself. The manner in which it digs its hole is quite
worthy of notice. First, it digs horizontally into the body of the tree
for five or six inches, and then downwards in a sloping direction, for
about a foot.
One day, I well recollect that Peter and myself, with another
companion, were abroad in chase of adventure, when suddenly a
woodpecker was seen flying round a tree, apparently in great distress.
Its hole was some distance up the tree. The cause of its distress was
unsuspected――but Peter, ever ready for investigation, threw down his
coat and prepared to ascertain the cause. Access to the hole was quite
difficult, and his companion, with myself, seriously remonstrated
against the undertaking.
“Not so easily discouraged as all that,” said Peter. “What would
you chicken-hearts do on the mast in a gale of wind?――come, give
us a boost, and I’ll soon see what is the cause of the red-headed
gentleman’s distress.” “May be,” said Seth, (our companion, who never
went by any other name, and who was as fond of a joke as Peter ever
was,)――“may be, his wife is sick.”
“Well,” replied Peter, “here the doctor comes”――and with this he began
his upward progress; Seth and myself tugging as hard to raise him as
sailors would to raise a fast anchor. I would not intimate, however,
that Peter’s climbing powers were by any means small. Once started,
whatever difficulties lay in the way, it was all railroad to him.
He was therefore soon up the tree, as the saying is, and was busily
occupied in making the desired search.
The hole of the woodpecker is often quite small. This, Peter well
knew from his former experience. He had therefore stripped up his
shirt-sleeve and inserted his bare arm. Seth and myself were at the
bottom, eyeing the operation most intently, as in such cases is most
common. All at once, Peter uttered a wild sort of exclamation, and for
a moment we thought he would come tumbling down.
“Hold on, hold on!” we both at the same time exclaimed, “hold on!”
“I’ve got you,” said Peter; his countenance indicating the grasp with
which he had clenched something――at the same time mingled with some
discomposure of spirit.
“What is it?” inquired I――“what have you got?”
“Is the old lady sick?” said Seth, in his dry and caustic manner.
All this time, Peter was trying to extract his hand with his clenched
booty, and severe was the rake which he gave it, before he succeeded.
But at length, with a sort of desperation, it came, and with it a
hideous black snake! Fortunately he had seized it in the precise part
which he could have wished――a little below the throat. Such had been
his grasp that the mouth of the snake was wide open, and he looked as
wildly and in as much of an agony as Sam Patch did in his leap from the
Genesee falls.
Peter hurled the snake to the ground, where he soon followed. I imagine
that he looked for once somewhat pale, but his usual flush again
returned, and he was soon ready for fresh adventure.
* * * * *
GEORGE WASHINGTON.――When George Washington, afterwards the president
of America, was about six years of age, some one made him a present of
a hatchet, of which being, like most children, immoderately fond, he
went about chopping everything that came in his way; and going into the
garden, he unluckily tried its edge on an English cherry tree, which he
barked so terribly, as to leave little hope of its recovery.
The next morning, his father saw the tree, which was a great favorite,
in that condition, and inquired who had done this mischief, declaring
he would not have taken five guineas for the tree; but nobody could
inform him. Presently after, George came, with the hatchet in his hand,
into the place where his father was, who immediately suspected him to
be the culprit.
“George,” said the old gentleman, “do you know who killed that
beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden?” The child hesitated
for a moment, and then nobly replied, “I can’t tell a lie, pa; you know
I can’t tell a lie; I did cut it with my hatchet.” “Run to my arms, my
boy,” exclaimed his father, “run to my arms; glad am I, George, that
you killed my tree, for you have paid me for it, a thousand fold. Such
an act of heroism is, my son, of more worth than a thousand cherry
trees, if blossomed with silver, or bearing fruits of gold!”
London, Past and Present.
London, the capital of the British Empire, and by far the most splendid
city on the globe, is about two thousand years old. It has long been
the principal city in England, but its increase has been much greater
of late years than formerly.
Notwithstanding the antiquity of its origin, almost everything now
existing in London is of recent construction. The Tower, Westminster
Abbey, and a few other edifices, are of some antiquity, but by far the
larger portion of this vast metropolis is less than a century old.
We give a view of a portion of London, as it was almost two hundred
years ago. Not a single edifice which appears in that picture, is now
standing; and the hills which are visible in the distance, are now
entirely spread over with a dense mass of buildings.
The increase of London, within the last twenty years, is amazing.
Hundreds of acres are now covered with buildings, which twenty years
since were open fields; multitudes of streets and squares, displaying
the utmost magnificence, are now seen, which a dozen years ago were not
thought of. London now contains nearly two millions of people; they pay
two millions of dollars a week for labor; use forty millions of gallons
of water a day; devour two millions of sheep, ten millions of gallons
of milk, four millions of herrings, four millions of mackerel, and
two millions of lobsters, every year! What will London get to be, if
it goes on a century more, increasing as it has done for the last few
years?
[Illustration: _London two hundred years ago._]
Whale Stories.
NO. I.――DESTRUCTION OF A VESSEL BY A WHALE.
A remarkable story is related of the ship Essex, which belonged to
Nantucket, an island lying off the coast of Massachusetts, long
celebrated for the enterprise of its inhabitants, in the whale fishery.
This vessel, commanded by Capt. Pollard, sailed from Nantucket in 1820,
for the Pacific Ocean. On her arrival at the place of her destination,
the crew began to fish for whales, and for a time went on prosperously.
One day, the seamen harpooned a young whale. In this species of fish,
the affection of the mother for her young is very strong; and, on this
occasion, that affection was exhibited in a striking manner.
Having discovered that her child――if we may so denominate it――was
killed, she withdrew to some distance from the ship, and then, rushing
through the water with great violence, drove furiously against the
stern of the vessel. Such was the force of the shock, that several of
the timbers were loosened, and the vessel pitched and reeled, as if
struck by a whirlwind.
Not satisfied with this exhibition of her displeasure, she retired
again, to the distance perhaps of a mile, and then, shooting through
the waves with incredible swiftness, came like a thunderbolt upon the
bow of the vessel. The timbers were instantly beaten in, and the ship
began to fill with water. Scarcely had the crew sufficient warning to
throw themselves into the boat, before she went down.
This transition, to the seamen, was as distressing as unexpected. Just
before, they were all animation; but in a moment, as it were, a dark
prospect spread before them. A wide, heaving and perilous ocean lay all
around them. An open boat was their only hope, and hundreds of miles
separated them from land.
In such a situation, what could they do? For some time, they momently
expected the return of their exasperated foe; and in such an event, the
“dark unfathomed caves of ocean,” they were sure, would be their grave.
But a merciful providence protected them from the anticipated danger.
They saw no more of the wrathful monster. But, nevertheless, they
suffered much, for many days, from boisterous weather, but more from
the want of both food and water.
At length, one day, their weary eyes caught the sight of a distant
ship. They instantly made sail towards her, and, fortunately, were
descried by her crew. They were taken on board, where they were kindly
treated; and after other vicissitudes, which we have no time to
relate, reached their respective homes in safety. Surely they that go
upon the wide ocean see great wonders, and often experience wonderful
preservation!
NO. II.――DEATH OF A HARPOONER BY A WHALE-LINE.
In the year 1822, two boats, belonging to the ship Baffin, went in
pursuit of a whale.
Of one of these boats, a seaman by the name of John Carr was harpooner
and commander.
As they pursued the whale, it continued to flee, until, at length, it
mingled with a vast shoal of other whales, which they estimated at not
fewer than a hundred. Fearful of alarming them, without being able to
strike one, they remained for a time motionless.
At last, one rose not far distant from Carr’s boat, upon which he
ordered a pull for it. At this time, the fish was approaching them, and
on passing, the whizzing harpoon was imbedded deep within its body.
In an instant following, the whale shot nearly with the rapidity of
lightning by the boat, and in so doing jerked the line out of its place
over the stern, and threw it upon the gunwale. This caused the boat to
dip, and nearly to fill with water.
It was a moment of great peril. Carr, who was a brave and active
seaman, seized the line, and endeavored to relieve the boat by
restoring it to its place; but, by some circumstance, which was never
accounted for, a turn or coil of the line flew over his arm, dragged
him overboard in an instant, and drew him under the water, never more
to rise.
So sudden was the accident, that only one man, who was watching
him, saw what had happened; so that when the boat righted, which it
immediately did, though half full of water, the whole crew, on looking
round, inquired what had become of Carr.
This was a sudden and awful exit from the world. He had not time even
for a single exclamation. The man, who saw his removal, observed, that
it was so quick, that, though his eye was upon him at the moment, he
could scarcely distinguish his figure, as he disappeared. How painful
to hear of such a sudden and unexpected summons of a fellow-being from
time into eternity! How important to be prepared for death, since, when
we least expect it, we may be called to our final account!
It may be added, that when the crew had in a measure recovered from
their consternation, they applied themselves to restore things to
order. In the mean time, the wounded whale rose to the surface, upon
which a harpoon from the other boat was thrown, and several lances
were applied; but it was all in vain.
The awful catastrophe, just witnessed, so wrought upon the minds of the
seamen, that they had no spirit to follow up the advantage which they
had gained. The whale was suffered to remain some minutes unmolested,
till, having recovered a degree of energy, it burst away by means of
desperate efforts, and effected its escape.
NO. III.――PERILOUS SITUATION OF A BOAT-STEERER.
During a voyage of the ship Resolution, in 1806, in pursuit of whales,
in a very high latitude, one was discovered at some distance, upon
which a boat put off for the purpose of capturing it.
Before coming up with it, it dived; but soon again making its
appearance, the crew succeeded in plunging a harpoon into its body.
The wound being less severe than was intended, the whale in its rage
struck the boat at the stern with its tail, and knocked the steersman
overboard.
As the line in a moment dragged the boat beyond his reach, the crew
flung several of their oars towards him, for his support, one of which
he fortunately seized. The ship and boats being at a considerable
distance from him, the harpooner cut the line, with the view of
rescuing him from his dangerous situation.
But no sooner was this done, than they discovered that they had but a
single oar remaining in the boat. The wind was high, and with only one
oar it was impossible to reach their comrade. Signals were made to the
other boats, but it was a long time, owing to their distance, before
they could render any assistance, although the crew strained every
nerve.
At length a boat reached the now exhausted steersman. He was stretched
out upon the oar, but was past exertion, and almost devoid of sensation.
Having taken him in, they pulled for the ship. On their arrival the
poor man was found to be in a truly pitiable condition. His clothes
were frozen like mail, and his hair looked like a helmet of ice. He was
immediately conveyed to the cabin, his clothes taken off, his limbs
and body dried and well rubbed, and a cordial administered. These
attentions being paid to him, he was put to bed. After a few hours’
sleep he awoke, and appeared considerably restored. But the shock
which his constitution received proved to be greater than had been
anticipated. In a short time, he again appeared among his fellows, and
engaged in his ordinary pursuits; but many months elapsed before he was
perfectly restored.
NO. IV.――A BOAT UPSET.
In the year 1810, a vessel, called the Aimwell, while cruising in the
Greenland seas, discovered several whales, one of which was harpooned.
It is usual for a whale, on receiving a wound, to sink; but this one
dived only for a moment, and came up directly under the boat, which it
struck with its fins and tail, upset it, and immediately disappeared.
The crew, consisting of seven, were of course tumbled into the sea;
but they contrived to get upon the bottom of the boat. The waves being
high, and the lines rolling about, caused the boat itself to roll so
much as repeatedly to dislodge the poor seamen, and plunge them into
the water. Four of them, after each immersion, recovered themselves,
and clung to the boat; but the other three, one of whom was the only
person who could swim, were drowned, before assistance could arrive.
At length, the four men on the boat being rescued from their perilous
situation, the attack on the whale was renewed, and two more harpoons
struck. But having been greatly irritated, and not materially injured,
the exasperated creature put forth a surprising exhibition of power.
Its lashing of the deep was terrible. On every side, the sea was in a
foam. In rage and agony, it burst away, and clearing itself from the
flukes of the harpoons, it made its escape.
A similar story is related of a boat’s crew belonging to the Henrietta,
during a voyage in 1812. A fish which was struck very near the ship,
by a blow of its tail stove a small hole in the boat’s bow. Every
individual shrinking from the side on which the blow was given, aided
the rocking of the boat, and both together caused it to upset.
With great effort, however, the crew got upon the bottom of the boat,
and could immediate assistance have been rendered, they might all have
been saved. But the line, which was still attached to the harpoon in
the whale, became entangled in some part of the boat, and it was drawn
under. A part of the poor fellows went down with it, and were seen no
more. Two only arose; and, although greatly terrified, and soon nearly
exhausted, they succeeded in buoying themselves up, till a boat from
the ship reached them and took them in.
NO. V.――WHALING AMONG ICE.
The whale fishery is sometimes carried on in the vicinity of large
fields of ice; and when the weather is fine, and the ships lie in a
secure place, it proves an agreeable and profitable business.
In these extended sheets or fields of ice, air holes abound, at which
the whales make their appearance, and blow or breathe. When one is
observed in this act, the men hasten across the intervening ice, and
attack it with lances, with the intention of driving it out into the
open sea.
In the year 1813, the ship Esk lay by the edge of a large sheet of
ice, in which there were several thin places, and some holes. In one
of these a whale was seen sporting in fine style. Immediately, a party
repaired to the spot, and harpooned it. At once, it dashed away, and
continued to run till it had dragged out ten lines, or two thousand and
four hundred yards.
At length, being unable to continue longer under water without
breathing, and yet not finding a convenient hole in the ice, it broke
through, and reared up its head where the ice was not less than a foot
thick. Having taken breath, the monster pushed forward, ploughing up
the ice, and rolling it up in mighty furrows on either side, until at
last it reached a kind of basin in the field, where it floated on the
surface without any incumbrance.
The harpoon was still in its back; but it was momently expected that it
would become disengaged. What should be done? The creature was highly
exasperated, and not materially injured. It was dangerous to approach
to it; and yet the prize was too valuable to be lost.
Added to this, the party had no other harpoon at hand. The only
alternative left them was to abandon the pursuit, or to cut the harpoon
from its back, and imbed it still deeper.
This being made known to the party by the officers, a young man
stepped forward and offered to hazard the attempt. It was a daring
experiment――a hundred chances to one, he might fail, and be carried by
the maddened monster under the ice. Several remonstrated, and attempted
to dissuade him from the perilous enterprise.
But he would hear to no remonstrance; and having pulled from his pocket
a large jack-knife, opened it, and passing round to the edge where the
whale lay, leaped upon its back, and in a few seconds liberated the
harpoon.
A fellow-seaman now ran to his assistance, and likewise leaped upon its
back, held up the line, while the other, raising the harpoon, drove it
deep into its flesh.
Before they had finished, the monster was under way. But, straining
every nerve, they leaped, and dashing through the water, seized hold of
the ice, and once more obtained a firm footing.
Smarting under his new wound, the whale plunged against the ice, which
it continued to break for some distance, when, exhausted, it gave up
the contest, and sunk to the bottom of the water. It was subsequently
hauled up, and proved to be a whale of the largest class.
The Life of Columbus.
CHAPTER I.
_Introduction――Early life――Commences a sea-faring
life――Columbus goes to Lisbon――His views about undiscovered
land in the west――He pursues measures to go on a voyage of
discovery――He applies to the court of Spain._
Who has not heard the name of Christopher Columbus――the bold
navigator, or sailor, who first discovered America? Yet few children
in the United States, perhaps, have read the story of his life. It
is full of interest. Columbus was a remarkable man――remarkable for
his courage――for his enterprise――for carrying through whatever he
attempted. Few ever made greater exertion――few ever passed through
severer trials and dangers――few, by one single act of their lives, were
ever more useful to the world.
By the children of the United States, the name of Columbus should be
had in honor. But for his enterprise, America would probably have
remained unknown for many years longer. Before the voyage of Columbus,
no one had crossed the Atlantic Ocean. At the present day, such a
voyage is little more thought of than a journey to Quebec or Niagara.
But at that time no one had ventured upon the undertaking. No such
continent as America was known to exist, and the uncertainty of finding
land, cast so much gloom upon a western voyage that few were willing
even to think of it.
But with Columbus the case was different. He was a brave man. He was
fitted for the boldest adventures. Although the existence of land to
the west was uncertain, Columbus had so much faith that he determined
to make the experiment. He therefore, boldly launching forth, stretched
westward upon the swelling waters of the Atlantic. What was the
result?――the discovery of a new continent――of a western world――of a
land in which are now situated, among other countries, the United
States. In some one of these states, little reader, you was born――here
you live――here you enjoy a thousand blessings with other children――all
to be traced back, under a kind providence, to the single voyage of
Columbus about which I am going to tell you.
But before I tell you of that voyage, I will tell you some particulars
of the early life of Columbus; and when you have read what I shall
write, you will, I think, wonder that he should have ever undertaken it.
Columbus was born about the year 1435. His birth-place was Genoa, a
city of Italy. His father was a poor but respectable man. He followed
the business of wool-combing. Columbus was the eldest of four children.
He had two brothers and one sister.
When young, he was considered a bright boy. He enjoyed few
opportunities for study, but he diligently improved those he had. He
excelled in a knowledge of geography, of which he was fond. In after
life his attainments in this study were of signal use to him.
Having devoted as much time to study as his father’s means would
allow, he returned home, and for a time worked at wool-combing. But of
this he was never fond. His genius was better fitted for more active
employment, and as soon as permitted he sought occupation abroad.
The bent of his inclination was to follow the sea. He was yet young,
being at this time but fourteen years of age, to embark upon so
dangerous a course of life. But he had courage and resolution, and
now eagerly embraced the opportunity of entering the service of a sea
captain by the name of Colombo, a distant relative of his father.
Colombo himself was a bold, hardy, rough seaman. In the service of such
a man, the native courage and enterprise of Columbus were not likely
to droop. The voyages of his master were confined to the Mediterranean
sea. Sailing in this sea, at all times dangerous by reason of the
storms which sweep across it, was at that time doubly dangerous, since,
in addition to storms, it was thronged with pirates.
With Colombo our young sailor made several voyages, but of the
particulars of these, little is known. Some time after, Columbus
enlisted into the service of a nephew of his old captain――a corsair, or
pirate, and a most bloody man.
Soon after his enlistment, his new master received the news that four
vessels, with rich cargoes, were about sailing from a certain port.
Their great value was quite a temptation to run some hazard in the
attempt to take them. With this object in view, the vessels of the
corsair proceeded to sea. In a short time the merchant vessels were
discovered, and a descent was made upon them.
The vessel on board of which Columbus was, coming up with one, began
the attack. This was boldly met. On both sides the contest was spirited
and bloody, and lasted from morning till night. During the engagement,
these two vessels, coming in contact, were fastened together by means
of chains and what are called grappling irons. The parties now fought
not only with guns, but with sabres, and with every kind of weapon
found on board. The butchery on both sides was appalling. At length one
of the vessels took fire, and both were soon wrapped in flames.
To those who survived there was now but one way of escape――to plunge
themselves into the sea, and to reach the shore if possible by
swimming. What became of the rest, I know not, but of Columbus we
are told that as he rose from the water into which he had leaped, he
discovered an oar, upon which stretching himself, he succeeded in
reaching land, after swimming a distance of six miles.
The next that we hear of Columbus is at Lisbon, in Portugal, where he
arrived about the year 1470. The fight of which I have given an account
took place at no great distance from Lisbon, and hence it is supposed
that on getting ashore Columbus was induced to visit Lisbon, on account
of the spirit of enterprise which more than in most other places
abounded there.
Not long after reaching Lisbon, he became attached to a lady of rank,
whom he married. She was the daughter of a distinguished sea captain,
now dead. Columbus and his wife, for a time, lived with her mother.
This lady had in her possession many charts and journals, belonging
to her late husband. These she presented to Columbus, and from them
he gained many new and important ideas in relation to discoveries
which had been made, and of land which it was thought might exist at a
distance in the oceans.
Columbus now continued to follow the seas, making several voyages to
the coast of Guinea, in Africa. But at length he removed to the island
of Porto Santo, in the vicinity of the island of Madeira. Porto Santo
had then recently been discovered. This island lies about 700 miles
south-west from Lisbon.
For some years before Columbus removed to Porto Santo, much had been
said about lands to the west. No such lands were known to exist; but
many thought it probable that they did.
Columbus heard what was said, read what was written, and his thoughts
were fixed upon the subject. After his removal, he still dwelt upon
it. At this time, the most western lands known were a group of islands
called the Azores. These islands lie in the Atlantic Ocean, about half
way between the eastern and western continents. They were discovered
about the year 1450.
It was a question, and one of great interest, what lay beyond the
Azores, to the west. Was it water only, or was there land? And by
taking a westerly course could not a passage be found to India?
Columbus, as I said, dwelt long upon the subject, and at length became
convinced that there must be land. In this opinion he was strengthened
by certain discoveries which had been made by vessels which had sailed
some distance westward into the Atlantic Ocean. These discoveries
consisted in one case of a piece of carved wood, and in another of
trunks of pine trees, unlike any which grew upon the Azores――but more
than all, of two dead men’s bodies, cast upon Flores, one of the Azore
islands, after a westerly wind, which differed in their appearance from
any race of people then known. These, and several other circumstances,
about which I have not time to be more particular, satisfied Columbus
that there were lands to the west of the Azores. Thus, having formed
his opinion, his next object was to contrive some plan to ascertain the
truth of his conjectures.
As he was now near to the king of Portugal, he first made application
to him. He had strong reasons to hope for success, chiefly on account
of the spirit of enterprise which prevailed at that time in Portugal,
on the subject of discoveries. King John listened to the views of
Columbus with interest. He was himself nearly ready to patronize the
project, but some of his chief advisers thought the plan a wild one.
King John, however, was not satisfied. His council, therefore, advised
him to get Columbus to reveal his views and his plans, and to keep him
in doubt, while a vessel was dispatched for the purpose of discovering
the land which Columbus was so sure existed to the west.
All this was designed to rob Columbus of the honor which he would have,
should he actually make such a discovery. This was mean, ungenerous and
wicked. Columbus, however, knew not the design. He frankly gave his
views――disclosed the route which he designed to take. Like an honest
man, bent on effecting a good purpose, and trusting to the honesty of
others, he told all he knew――all he designed.
The crafty Portuguese had now obtained possession of his secret,――all
they wanted. Columbus was therefore put off for a time.
In the mean while a vessel was hastily and secretly fitted out and
dispatched, with the hope of making the discovery, and of robbing
Columbus of the glory of the enterprise.
The vessel in question sailed, as I said, but shortly after returned,
her crew being too timid to encounter the dangers of an untried ocean.
Columbus at length heard of the infamous manner in which he had been
treated. He felt insulted――was grieved, but his spirit remained
unbroken. He determined to quit a kingdom in which he had been so much
abused. No ties bound him to it. His wife was now dead. With his only
son, whom she had left to him, and whom he named Diego, he departed for
Genoa.
Genoa, however, was not in a favorable situation to patronize the
undertaking.
From Genoa he proceeded to Spain; but in what manner, or by what route,
is now unknown.
The most that we know is, that one day a stranger, humbly clad, and on
foot, leading a little boy, called at the convent of La Rabida, not far
from a seaport in Andalusia, and requested food for the lad. It was
Columbus and Diego.
They were noticed by the chief man of the convent, who entered into
conversation with Columbus, who told him the story of his adventures.
This greatly interested the friar or chief of the convent, who
persuaded him to tarry some time with him, and who entered with deeper
and deeper interest into the plans of Columbus, the more they were
disclosed to him.
In the spring of 1486, Columbus, having made arrangements to have Diego
educated at the convent of La Rabida, took leave of the worthy father,
and proceeded to the court of Spain to solicit assistance in carrying
his plans into execution.
Ferdinand and Isabella were at this time the sovereigns of Spain. We
shall not detain our readers with an account of the many troubles and
vexations which Columbus experienced before his request was granted.
Several years passed in a fruitless urgency of his petition. Spain was
at war, and her sovereigns pretended that they could not attend to him.
Not a few distinguished Spaniards were jealous of him, and envious of
his expected honor. They, therefore, endeavored to dissuade the king
and queen from lending their patronage to him.
But at length the time arrived when, the war being over, the king and
queen appointed persons to arrange a plan with Columbus. These persons,
however, pretended that he was too extravagant in his demands, and the
negotiation was broken off. Grieved and mortified, Columbus hastily
left the court, and proceeding towards Cordova, intended thence to sail
to France.
A friend to Columbus, finding he had departed, hastily repaired to
the queen, and entreated her that he might be recalled, and that an
enterprise which promised so much honor to Spain might be accomplished.
The king would not listen to the proposal. His funds had been exhausted
by the war, and he felt himself unable to meet the expense. Isabella
hesitated. But at length her generous spirit was victorious over all
objections. She offered to fit out the expedition at her own expense,
and directed that Columbus should be recalled.
While this was passing, he, disappointed, and no doubt dejected, was
pursuing his journey towards Cordova. A messenger was dispatched to
convey to him the happy turn in his fortune. The messenger overtook
him――handed him the recall――and shortly after Columbus was again at
Santa Fe, where the king and queen then resided.
He was received with kindness both by Ferdinand and Isabella,
especially the latter. An arrangement was soon formed between Columbus
and the queen. By this, the former was appointed governor-general of
all lands which he might discover. He was to be entitled to one tenth
of the gold and silver, pearls and precious stones, which he might
find. The queen promised to fit out two vessels, and allowed him to
furnish one.
These arrangements being made much to the satisfaction of Columbus, he
set about preparing for the voyage.
It was determined that he should sail from a small sea-port by the name
of Palos. This lies exactly east from Jamestown, in Virginia. Little
did Columbus imagine that in a little more than one hundred years from
that time, a settlement should be begun at a spot exactly west from
where he then was, on a continent which he should discover, and which
should be the beginning of a noble republic, such as we see at this day
in the United States.
Little did he think of it. Yet he proceeded with as much zeal in
preparing for his voyage, as if he had foreseen all the consequences of
his enterprise.
He now made a visit to the convent of La Rabida, where he was welcomed
by the kind father, who expressed his joy at the success of his friend.
Here he took up his quarters, it being at no great distance from Palos,
while the vessels were fitting at the latter place for the voyage.
I said the queen agreed to furnish two vessels, and Columbus was
permitted to furnish one. He was unable himself to advance the
necessary funds, but a friend kindly offered to do it for him.
The vessels provided for the voyage, were such as no seaman at the
present day would think safe out of sight of land. Only one of them had
any deck. This one, which was the largest, was called the Santa Maria.
It was commanded by Columbus himself. The second was called the Pinta.
Her captain was Martin Alonzo Pinzon. Nina was the name of the third,
and was commanded by Vincente Yanez Pinzon. All the souls on board the
three amounted to one hundred and twenty.
* * * * *
LUCIUS VALERIUS PUDENS.――Lucius Valerius was born at Hisconium, in
the reign of Trajan. At thirteen years of age, he became a competitor
for the prize of poetry. This prize was a beautiful gold medal and
an ivory lyre, which was every five years adjudged to the author who
produced the best poem. Valerius, though opposed by a number of poets
double his age, was victorious. Among other honors paid to him, it
was determined to erect a bronze statue, which should be placed in
the most conspicuous part of the city. The day of the presentation of
this statue to the public view, presented a trait in the character of
Valerius, still more lovely than his talents.
At the moment when the chief magistrate was placing a crown of laurel
on the head of the statue, Valerius perceived a young man who had
contested the prize with him,――and who was, in the opinion of many,
little inferior to him,――looking upon this scene with a sorrowful
and dejected countenance. Valerius instantly discovered the cause
of his chagrin, and determined to remove it, which he did in the
following manner. He seized the laurel crown, and, pressing towards
his disappointed rival, placed it on his head, saying, “You are
more deserving of it than I am; I obtained it more on account of my
youth than my merit, and rather as an encouragement than a reward.”
This generous conduct called forth enthusiastic admiration from the
spectators; and the astonished youth, who thus unexpectedly received
the crown of victory from the hands of the victor, was overcome with
gratitude and joy. To preserve the remembrance of an action, which
evinced at once so much modesty and such kind feelings, the people
conferred on Valerius the surname of _Pudens_, which signifies
modest,――an honor greater even than that which he derived from his
poetry.
Ancient Castles.
In ancient times, when war was common, kings and chiefs used to live
in strong places, called castles. These consisted of high stone walls,
built so as to enclose a square piece of ground in the centre, called
the court. They were, in fact, quadrangular buildings, with a great
many rooms in them. They were contrived so that the king or chief to
whom they belonged, might shut himself in, with all his soldiers, and
thus defend himself from armies without.
The castle had always a well for water; stables for horses, and room
for their food; it had places for soldiers; dungeons for prisoners; and
apartments for many hundreds of people. In time of war, all the people
round about would flock to the castle, and there they would live,
sometimes for months.
Castles were usually built upon lofty pieces of ground, the access
to which was very difficult. These were generally surrounded by deep
ditches, filled with water, across which an enemy could not easily
pass. Over this was a bridge for the use of the people of the castle,
which was taken away whenever any fear of an enemy was entertained.
Castles had towers, generally at the four corners, and sometimes each
side of the gate. These were of a circular form, and had loopholes,
like narrow windows, out of which the soldiers within, shot their
arrows.
Sometimes a castle would be besieged for months, by armies encompassing
it. The army without would try every means to get into the castle, or
kill the people. They would shoot their arrows with cross-bows, and
endeavor to knock down the walls with battering-rams.
In travelling over Europe, the ruins of many castles are still to be
seen. Few are met with which are in good repair, as over all Europe
the people are now governed by laws, which afford protection, without
resorting to castles. These are, therefore, but little used at the
present day; and even in cases where they are still occupied, it is
only as dwellings, and not as strong-holds for safety against enemies.
[Illustration: _Manner of attacking a castle in the middle ages._]
Æronautics,
OR ART OF NAVIGATING THE AIR WITH BALLOONS.
Although this subject has little _practical_ importance, yet, in view
of its interest, especially to the young reader, we shall devote a few
pages to a notice of some of the most splendid ærial voyages which we
find on record.
The fundamental principles of this art have long been known; but the
application of them to practice is a modern discovery. About the
year 1765, Mr. Henry Cavendish made his celebrated discovery of the
existence of inflammable air, or, as it is called, hydrogen gas. Common
air is eight hundred times lighter than water; hydrogen gas seven
times lighter than common air. This is the material now used for the
purpose of filling balloons. It is obtained in several ways; but the
best methods are by applying acids to certain metals. Iron, zinc and
sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol) are most commonly used. The acid must
be diluted with five or six parts of water. Iron may be expected to
yield in the common way about seventeen hundred times its own bulk of
gas, or four and a half ounces of iron, the like weight of sulphuric
acid, and twenty-two and a half ounces of water, will produce one cubic
foot of hydrogen gas; six ounces of zinc, an equal weight of acid, and
thirty ounces of water, are necessary for producing the same quantity.
In the year 1782, Mr. Cavallo made the first experiments with hydrogen
gas to raise bodies in the air. He first tried bladders; but not
succeeding, he used China paper, in which also failing, he was under
the necessity of being satisfied with soap-bubbles, which were the
first kind of inflammable air-balloons that were ever made.
For balloons formed on a large scale, and of rarefied air, we must
direct our attention to France, where the two brothers, Stephen and
Joseph Montgolfier, paper manufacturers at Annonay, about thirty-six
miles from Lyons, distinguished themselves by exhibiting the first of
those ærostatic machines which have since excited so much attention and
astonishment. The first idea of such a machine was suggested to them by
the natural ascent of the smoke and clouds of the atmosphere, and the
first experiment was made at Avignon, by Stephen, towards the middle of
November, 1782. Having prepared a bag of fine silk in the shape of a
parallelpiped and in the capacity of about forty cubic feet, he applied
to its aperture burning paper, which rarefied the air, and caused it to
ascend rapidly.
Other experiments, with still greater success, soon followed, and at
length inflammable air, or hydrogen gas, was used, to the complete
satisfaction of the experimenters. From this time, numerous balloons
were sent up; but the first person who made an ascension was M. Pilatre
de Rosier, from a garden in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, Paris.
Though several experiments on the ascensive power of balloons had been
made in England, during the course of the year after their discovery,
the first ærial voyage, which was undertaken by Vincent Lunardi, an
Italian, did not take place till September, 1784. His balloon was
thirty-three feet in diameter, and shaped like a pear. It was made of
oiled silk, with alternate stripes of blue and red, having the car
suspended from a hoop below the balloon, by forty-five cords.
In January, 1785, an ærial voyage across the English channel, the most
adventurous that had hitherto been projected, was made by Mr. Blanchard
and Dr. Jeffries. They left Dover castle on the 7th of that month,
at one o’clock. The balloon for some time rising majestically in the
air, they passed over several ships, and enjoyed a grand prospect of
the numerous objects below them. They soon, however, found themselves
beginning to descend, and were under the necessity of throwing out
half of their ballast, when they were about one third of the way from
Dover. When half way across the channel, the balloon again descended;
upon which they threw out all their ballast, and also some books, which
they had carried along with them. At half an hour after two they were
obliged to throw away every part of the apparatus that could possibly
be spared: but still the balloon was descending, in spite of all their
efforts. The anchors and cords were then thrown out; and, as the last
expedient in their power, the æronauts stripped themselves of their
own clothes. This, to their infinite satisfaction, changed the sinking
tendency of the balloon; and reaching the French coast, they passed
over the highlands between cape Blanc and Calais, and landed in the
forest of Guiennes.
Encouraged by the successful issue of this enterprise, M. Pilatre
de Rosier and M. Romaine ascended from Boulogne, in July, with the
intention of crossing the English channel. To insure the power
of ascent and descent at pleasure, they availed themselves of the
combined effect of two balloons; one filled with inflammable air,
about thirty-seven feet in diameter, and another with rarefied air,
whose ascensive power was about sixty pounds. The latter was suspended
below the other, at such a distance as precluded all apprehension of
danger from the fire which was under it. They had not, however, been
long in the air, before the spectators perceived the balloon swelling
very quickly; and when they had attained the height of nearly three
quarters of a mile, the whole apparatus was observed to be in flames.
This disaster was attended with fatal consequences to the unfortunate
adventurers. They were precipitated from their car and dashed to pieces
upon the ground.
The fatal accidents to which the æronaut might sometimes be exposed,
induced philosophers to devise expedients for diminishing the danger.
So early as the year 1783, M. le Normand made the experiment of leaping
from the height of a first story with a parachute, thirty inches in
diameter, in his hand; and so much did it break the force of the fall,
that he was hardly sensible of any shock upon reaching the ground.
He thence calculated that a parachute, fourteen feet in diameter,
attached to a man, might protect him against all possible injury,
though falling from the regions of the clouds. During M. Blanchard’s
ascent from Strasburg, 26th August, 1787, he dropped a dog, connected
with a parachute, from the height of six thousand feet. A whirlwind,
however, interrupted its descent, and bore it above the clouds. M.
Blanchard afterwards met the parachute, when the dog, recognising his
master, began to bark; and just as M. Blanchard was going to seize it,
another whirlwind suddenly carried it beyond his reach. Having passed
vertically over Zell, he terminated his voyage; the parachute, still
waving in the air, came down twelve minutes afterwards. He also sent
up several small balloons, containing parachutes to which dogs were
attached, and constructed them in such a manner as to burst on arriving
to any great height. When the balloons were burst, the parachutes
were necessarily set at liberty, and conveyed the animals in perfect
security to the ground. In a daring experiment, however, which he
had the courage to make on himself, he was less successful; for on
hazarding a descent by a parachute at Basle, he unfortunately broke his
leg.
On the 7th April, 1806, M. Mosment, an experienced æronaut, undertook
an ærial voyage from Lisle. He ascended at noon, waving a flag
decorated with the imperial eagle of France, amidst the shouts of the
assembled spectators. The commencement of his career was so rapid, as
to bear him in a very short time beyond the vision of the crowd. During
his ascent he dropped an animal attached to a parachute, which came
safely to the ground. About one o’clock something was observed slowly
descending through the atmosphere, which proved on its fall to be the
flag which M. Mosment had carried along with him. Very soon afterwards,
a murmur circulated through the crowd, and the body of the unfortunate
æronaut was discovered in one of the fosses of the city, lifeless, and
covered with blood. The balloon reached the ground on the same day,
at the distance of twenty-five leagues from Lisle; the car containing
nothing except an unloaded pistol, a little bread, and a piece of
flesh. M. Garnerin ascribes this melancholy disaster to the extreme
shallowness of the car, and the too great distance between the cords
which attached it to the balloon; and is of opinion that M. Mosment,
when leaning over the car to drop the animal, had lost his balance,
and was precipitated to the earth.
Of all the voyages which the history of æronautics presents to our
notice, the _nocturnal_ ærial excursions of M. Garnerin must be ranked
among the most enterprising and adventurous. At eleven o’clock in the
evening of the 4th August, 1807, he ascended from Tivoli, at Paris,
under the Russian flag, as a token of the peace that subsisted between
France and Russia. His balloon was illuminated by twenty lamps; and to
obviate all danger of communication between these and the hydrogen gas,
which it might be necessary to discharge in the course of the voyage,
the nearest of the lamps was fourteen feet distant from the balloon,
and conductors were provided to carry the gas away in an opposite
direction. After his ascent, rockets, which had been let off at Tivoli,
seemed to him scarcely to rise above the earth, and Paris, with all its
lamps, appeared a plain studded with luminous spots. In forty minutes
he found himself at an elevation of thirteen thousand two hundred feet,
when, in consequence of the dilation of the balloon, he was under the
necessity of discharging part of the inflammable air. About twelve
o’clock, when three thousand six hundred feet from the earth, he heard
the barking of dogs; about two, he saw several meteors flying around
him, but none of them so near as to create apprehension. At half past
three he beheld the sun emerging in brilliant majesty above an ocean
of clouds, and the air being therefore expanded, the balloon soon
rose fifteen thousand feet above the earth, where he felt the cold
exceedingly intense. In seven hours and a half from his departure, M.
Garnerin descended near Loges, forty-five leagues distant from Paris.
The same intrepid æronaut undertook a second nocturnal voyage, on the
21st of September, 1807, in the course of which he was exposed to
the most imminent danger. M. Garnerin, prognosticating an approaching
storm, from the state of the atmosphere, refused to be accompanied by
M. de Chassenton, who earnestly requested it. He ascended therefore
alone from Tivoli, at ten o’clock, and was carried up with unexampled
rapidity to an immense height above the clouds.
The balloon was then dilated to an alarming degree, and M. Garnerin,
having been prevented by the turbulence of the mob, before his
ascent, from regulating those parts of his apparatus which were meant
to conduct the gas away from the lamps on its escape, was totally
incapable of managing his balloon. He had no alternative left,
therefore, but with one hand to make an opening two feet in diameter,
through which the inflammable air was discharged in great quantities;
and, with the other, to extinguish as many of the lamps as he could
possibly reach. The æronaut was now without a regulating valve, and the
balloon, subject to every caprice of the whirlwind, was tossed about
from current to current. When the storm impelled him downwards, he was
forced to throw out his ballast, to restore the ascending tendency;
and at last, every resource being exhausted, no expedient was left him
to provide against future exigencies. In this forlorn condition, the
balloon rose through thick clouds, and afterwards sunk; and the car,
having struck against the ground, with a violent impulse rebounded from
it to a considerable altitude. The fury of the storm dashed him against
the mountains, and, after many rude agitations and severe shocks, he
was reduced to a state of temporary insensibility. On recovering from
his perilous situation he reached Mont Tonnerre, in a storm of thunder.
A very short time after his anchor hooked in a tree; and, in seven
hours and a half, after a voyage which had nearly proved fatal to him,
he landed at the distance of three hundred miles from Paris.
The advantages hitherto derived from ærial navigation have by no
means proved adequate to the expectations excited by the novelty and
promising aspect of the science. This failure, in their utility, may in
a great degree be ascribed to the art of steering balloons being yet
undiscovered. And we may here add, that no probability exists that the
art will ever be attained.
The French, indeed, once instituted an academy for the purpose of
improving the state of æronautics, and a corps of fifty young men were
selected, and for a time trained to the service. A balloon thirty-two
feet in diameter was provided, and in favorable weather was often sent
up to the distance of from one hundred and sixty to two hundred and
forty yards, with some of the young æronauts in it. The institution,
however, is now abandoned.
Balloons are uniformly constructed of silk lustring. From the price of
this article, the expense of only a moderate sized balloon is great.
A balloon of only twelve feet in diameter will require fifty square
yards; a balloon thirty feet in diameter requires three hundred and
fourteen yards of cloth, and when filled its ascensive power will be
five hundred and eighty-one pounds.
A parachute, which is much like an umbrella, is sometimes employed to
descend from a balloon in case of accident. The parachute by which
M. Garnerin descended from Paris, in 1797, was twenty-five feet in
diameter, and was made of cloth; and that by which he descended in
London, in 1802, is said to have been a large umbrella, consisting
of thirty-two gores of canvass, twenty-three feet in diameter, and
without ribs and handle. At the top there was a round piece of wood,
ten inches in diameter, having a hole in the centre, which was fastened
to the canvass by thirty-two short pieces of tape. About four feet and
a half from the top of the canvass, a wooden hoop, eight feet wide,
was put on and tied by a string from each seam. Several ropes, about
thirty feet long, proceeding from the edge of the parachute, terminated
in a common joining. From this point there issued shorter ropes, to
whose extremities was fastened a circular basket, in which M. Garnerin
himself was stationed. The parachute and basket were immediately
disunited from the balloon, by the cutting of a cord which communicated
with the net-work, and in falling downwards, the parachute naturally
expanded, by the resistance of the air.
Eccentric Characters.
We propose to give to our readers a few chapters upon eccentric
characters. We cannot better begin than with the
[Illustration: CHEVALIER DESSESSAU.]
Among the singular personages who have occasionally attracted public
notice in London, the individual just mentioned is not the least
remarkable. He was a native of Prussia, and bore a military commission
in the service of that country; but a quarrel with a brother officer
resulted in a duel, in which he wounded his antagonist. Uncertain of
the result, he sought refuge in England, and conceiving a partiality
for the country, he resolved to pass the remainder of his days there.
The singularity of his dress and character soon drew the attention of
the curious. He affected literature, and wrote poetry, which he used
to recite to his friends. Of this, we have only been able to discover
the following couplet, which evinces no small stock of that comfortable
commodity, self-complacency.
“In all the world but heroes two I know,
Prussia’s famed king, and Chevalier Dessessau.”
He was well acquainted with Burke, Johnson, Murphy, Goldsmith, and most
of their contemporaries, eminent for genius and talent in the walks of
literature and the drama. These persons seemed to find great amusement
in the quaint humors and amiable eccentricity of this singular
personage. The preceding sketch gives an idea of the dress in which he
appeared abroad. His clothes were black, and their fashion had all the
stiff formality of those of an ancient buck. In his hand, he carried a
gold-headed cane, a roll of his poetry, and a sword.
Toward the latter part of his life, the count was reduced by
misfortunes to a residence within the walls of the Fleet prison. Yet
such was the confidence placed in his honor, that he was permitted to
go where he pleased. He died in 1775, aged seventy, having bequeathed
a “curious sword, a gold medal, and a curious picture, to a great
personage”――probably the king of Prussia.
[Illustration: JOHN BIGG, THE DINTON HERMIT.]
This strange man lived in England, about one hundred and twenty years
ago. He was a person of some wealth and learning, and was clerk to
Simon Mayne, one of the judges who passed sentence of death on Charles
I. After Charles II. was restored, he grew melancholy, perhaps on
account of the turn public affairs had taken, and retiring to a cave in
Dinton, he spent the remainder of his life there, as a hermit.
He was often visited, and lived upon charity. It is curious that he
never asked for anything but leather. When a piece was given to him, he
would nail it to his clothes. Thus he became, at length, thatched over
with pieces of leather. He kept three bottles hung to his girdle――one
for strong beer, one for small beer, and one for milk.
He was regarded as a great curiosity in his time. His shoes were
preserved so late as 1712; they were enormous, consisting of near a
thousand small bits of leather, each. After his death, the cave was
dug over, in the expectation of finding money, or some relics of the
hermit, but without success. He died in 1696.
A lost Elephant found.
A female elephant belonging to a gentleman at Calcutta, being ordered
from the upper country to Chotygore, broke loose from the keeper,
and was lost in the woods. The excuses which the keeper made were
not admitted. It was supposed that he had sold the elephant; his
wife and family, therefore, were sold for slaves, and he was himself
condemned to work upon the roads. About twelve years after, this man
was ordered into the country to assist in catching wild elephants.
The keeper fancied he saw his long-lost elephant, in a group that was
before him. He was determined to go up to it; nor could the strongest
representations of the danger dissuade him from his purpose. When he
approached the creature, she knew him, and giving him three salutes, by
waving her trunk in the air, knelt down and received him on her back.
She afterwards assisted in securing the other elephants, and likewise
brought with her three young ones, which she had produced during her
absence. The keeper recovered his character; and, as a recompense for
his sufferings and intrepidity, had an annuity settled on him for life.
This elephant was afterwards in the possession of Governor Hastings.
* * * * *
ANNA MARIA SCHURMAN.――Anna Maria Schurman was born in the year 1607.
Her extraordinary genius discovered itself at six years of age, when
she cut all sorts of figures in paper with her scissors, without a
pattern. At eight, she learned to draw flowers in a few days, in a very
agreeable manner. At ten, she took but three hours to learn embroidery.
She was afterwards taught music, vocal and instrumental, painting,
sculpture and engraving, in all of which she succeeded admirably.
She excelled in miniature painting, and in cutting portraits upon glass
with a diamond. Hebrew, Greek and Latin were so familiar to her that
the most learned men were astonished at it. She spoke French, Italian
and English, fluently. Her hand-writing in almost all languages was so
beautiful, that the curious preserved specimens of it in their cabinets.
* * * * *
AN INDIAN YOUTH.――A native gentleman of India, in relating his history
to one of the missionaries, said:
“My father was an officiating priest of a heathen temple, and was
considered in those days a superior English scholar; and by teaching
the English language to wealthy natives, realized a very large fortune.
At a very early period, when a mere boy, I was employed by my father
to light the lamps in the pagoda, and attend to the various things
connected with the idols. I hardly remember the time when my mind was
not exercised on the folly of idolatry. These things, I thought, were
made by the hand of man, can move only by man, and whether treated well
or ill, are unconscious of either. Why all this cleaning, anointing,
illuminating, &c.?
“One evening, these considerations so powerfully wrought on my youthful
mind, that, instead of placing the idols according to custom, I threw
them from their pedestals, and left them with their faces in the dust.
My father, seeing what I had done, chastised me so severely, as to
leave me almost dead.
“When I recovered, I reasoned with him, that, if they could not get
up out of the dust, they were not able to do what I could; and that,
instead of being worshipped as gods, they deserved to be down in the
dust, where I had thrown them. My father was implacable, and said he
would disinherit me, and, as the first step to it, sent me away from
his house. He relented, however, on his death-bed, and left me all his
wealth.”
Jumping Rabbit’s Story.
CHAPTER II.
_I am carried to an Indian village.――The scene described.――Am
insulted by the young Indians.――They get well punished.――
Painful thoughts._
I do not know how long it was after the scene I have described, when I
so far recovered my senses as to notice the objects around me. When my
consciousness returned, I was lying on the ground, and no one appeared
to be near me. I attempted to rise, and nearly got upon my feet, when I
became giddy, and was obliged to sit down. I was distressed with a pain
in the head and a burning thirst.
I now saw at a little distance a group of Indians, and about the same
time one of them noticed me. He spoke and pointed to me, upon which
an Indian woman and two children ran towards me. I held out my hands
and begged them to have pity on me. The woman spoke to me, but I could
not understand her. The children, who were Indians, and fierce-looking
creatures, stood at a little distance for a time, as if afraid of me.
Pretty soon they came nearer, and, in order to discover what kind of
a creature I might be, one of them took a stick and gave me a pretty
sharp poke in my back.
I writhed and groaned, for it hurt me; but this only made the young
Indians laugh. The woman scolded them, however, and as the youngsters
gave me another poke, she flew toward them, and aimed a blow with her
hand at the head of the aggressor. It missed, however, and the two imps
ran laughing to a distance. There, in safety, they stood gibbering and
jeering, like two monkeys, till the woman, in a rage, set out after
them; but diving into a thicket, the young rogues easily escaped and
disappeared.
The woman now helped me upon my legs, and took me to a tent, around
which were several Indians, mostly women and children. I noticed, also,
several other tents, and knew that I was in an Indian village, or
encampment. How I had been brought hither, I did not know, nor did I
ever afterwards ascertain. It is probable, however, that it was by the
care of the Indian woman, in whose charge I now was. She took me into a
tent, and procured me some water. This refreshed me greatly, and I was
soon able to take notice of the things around me.
The tent was made of dried deerskins, and was supported by poles about
twelve feet long. The whole tent was about fourteen feet across. There
were in it, a few skins of bears and buffaloes, a bow and some arrows,
two or three gourd-shells, a small brass kettle, a buffalo’s pate with
the horns attached, a bunch of long, crooked bear’s claws, and a bundle
of human scalps. These were all the articles I noticed.
After a while I felt very sleepy, and lying down, I had a long nap.
When I awoke, I felt nearly well, and went to look out of the tent.
There were, at least, fifty tents around, occupying a space of several
acres, upon the edge of a small prairie, bordered by forests. The scene
was quite lively; for two or three hundred Indians were before me,
nearly all, however, being women, children, and old men. I was afraid
to go forth, and was about to creep back into the tent, when the woman
before mentioned came, and taking me by the arm, led me out.
I was very soon surrounded by a host of people, and such a chattering I
never heard before. A ring was formed around me, and every one seemed
to have something to say. If I had been a new monster under the sun,
there could not have been more wonder expressed. I imagine that they
treated me very much as a parcel of Boston boys would treat a young
alligator, should they happen to catch one. I looked in the faces of
many of these persons, but I saw not one look of kindness. At last a
boy about my own age, who had a small bow in his hand, shot an arrow at
me, which, being pointed with a bit of sharp iron, entered the flesh of
my arm. A moment after, two or three of the little savages set upon me,
and began to tear off my clothes. They pulled me hither and thither,
and in a short space I was entirely naked.
For a time, I made no resistance, for I had an idea that natural pity
would teach even these creatures to spare one so helpless as myself.
But finding that they had no pity, my anger began to rise; and when the
boy who had shot his arrow into my arm, came up and began to pinch me,
I struck him by the side of his head, and he went reeling and tumbling,
like a smitten nine-pin, upon the ground. This caused a loud laugh,
and I saw that a feeling of interest and respect was instantly created
in my behalf by my resistance. This taught me a lesson, and instead of
waiting for Indian pity and sympathy, I determined to obtain the regard
of my captors by my spirit. When, therefore, the little imps set upon
me again, as they soon did, they paid dearly for it. I was very strong
and active for my age, and when, at last, an Indian lad, much larger
than myself, came softly behind me, and gave my hair a twitch, I turned
to punish him. The fellow fled and I pursued. The ring opened to give
him space, and he struck into the little plain encircled by the tents.
I hung close at his heels. It was a tight race, and such yells broke
from the congregation of Indians as I had never imagined. The fellow
went nearly across the plain, and, dodging this way and that, sought to
throw me off. At length he passed round one of the tents, and returned
toward the point from which we started. I followed, and finally, just
as he reached the ring, I seized his hair, and gave it a jerk which
made him yell like a catamount. This completely sealed my triumph. The
looks of contempt around, were exchanged for those of admiration, and I
was borne back to my tent with shouts of praise and exultation.
It was but a few weeks before I was at home among the Indians. I was
adopted as the son of the woman who had taken care of me, in the place
of one she had lost. By degrees I became accustomed to Indian sports
and pastimes, and gradually learned their language. I was generally
well treated after the fashion of savage life. There is little family
government among these people; everything between the children is
settled by strength; those principles of kindness, justice, pity
and tenderness for the weak, which are so strongly inculcated among
civilized people, being unknown to them. Matters are regulated very
much as between animals――a herd of bisons for instance, or a pack of
wolves. I had, therefore, to fight my way, and being very strong, I not
only fared pretty well, but I obtained no little applause. At first,
I was taunted and sneered at for being _white_, but I always punished
such impudence, and at last these gibes ceased.
I often thought of my father and mother, my sister and brother, and
longed to know their fate――for I was uncertain whether they had
escaped or had perished on that fearful night in which our house
had been reduced to ashes. Of these things, however, I could obtain
no information. I knew too little of the Indian tongue to ask these
questions, which often arose in my own mind. Sometimes, and especially
at night, the thoughts of home and my kindred stole over me, and
the tears would come into my eyes; but in the morning these painful
thoughts would subside, and perhaps be forgotten in the pursuit of
present objects.
[To be continued.]
* * * * *
SHENSTONE AND THE ROBBER.――Shenstone, a well-known English poet, was
one day walking through a wooded retreat with a lady, when a man rushed
out of a thicket, and, presenting a pistol at his breast, demanded his
money. Shenstone was surprised, and the lady fainted. “Money,” said the
robber, “is not worth struggling for; you cannot be poorer than I am.”
“Unhappy man,” exclaimed Shenstone, throwing his purse to him, “take
it, and fly as quickly as possible.” The man did so――threw his pistol
in the water, and instantly disappeared. Shenstone ordered his servant
to follow the robber and observe where he went.
In two hours, the man returned, and informed his master that he
followed the robber to the house where he lived; that he went to the
door, and peeping through the key-hole, saw the man throw the purse
on the ground, and say to his wife, “Take the dear-bought price of
my honesty;” then taking two of his children, one on each knee, he
said to them, “I have ruined my soul to keep you from starving,”
and immediately burst into a flood of tears. Shenstone, on hearing
this, lost no time in inquiring the man’s character, and found that
he was a laborer, oppressed by want and a numerous family, but had
the reputation of being honest and industrious. Shenstone went to his
house,――the poor man fell at his feet and implored mercy. The poet took
him home with him and provided him with employment.
* * * * *
GEORGE IV. AND LORD RODEN.――When George IV. was in Ireland, he told
Lord Roden that on a particular morning, he was coming to breakfast
with him. He accordingly set out, and taking two or three of the
nobility with him, he happened to arrive just as his lordship and
family had assembled for family worship. Lord Roden, being told that
his guest had arrived, went to the door, met him with every expression
of respect, and seated him and the gentlemen that accompanied him in
the parlor. He then turned to the king and said, “Your Majesty will not
doubt that I feel highly honored by this visit, but there is a duty,
that I have not discharged this morning, which I owe to the King of
kings――that of performing domestic worship, and your majesty will be
kind enough to excuse me, while I retire with my household and attend
to it.” “Certainly,” replied the king; “but I am going with you,” and
immediately rose and followed him into the hall where his family were
assembled, and taking his station in an old arm-chair, remained during
the family devotions.
This anecdote reflects honor both upon his lordship and his majesty;
while it exhibits in the one the dignity of unyielding Christian
principles, it displays in the other the courtesy of a gentleman, and
the regard felt for a consistent religious character.
LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.
[Illustration]
The Old Oaken Bucket.
What Yankee, brought up in the country, does not remember the old oaken
bucket? It is the fashion now, in New England, to draw the water from
the well by means of a windlass; but twenty or thirty years ago, it was
the custom to draw it up with a long pole, set across an upright beam.
To one end of this pole, swung a rope or long stick, and the bucket was
attached to this.
There is a beautiful song, about the old oaken bucket, written by Mr.
Samuel Woodworth, a native of Scituate, in Massachusetts. It is very
well known, and many of my readers have no doubt seen it, but I wish
them all to learn it by heart.
Such pretty songs as this, not only give a great deal of innocent
pleasure, but they are useful, in a high degree. They make us more
fond of that place which we call home; they serve to attach us to our
country; they serve to make us content with the simplicity of early
times and of country life. If we think how many thousand times this
song has been sung; what an immense amount of enjoyment it has given,
and how much real good it has done, we shall see that there is great
reason why we should all remember Samuel Woodworth with pleasure and
respect.
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket which hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure,
For often at noon, when return’d from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell,
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips;
Not a full blushing goblet would tempt me to leave it,
Though fill’d with the nectar which Jupiter sips.
And now far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in his well.
[Illustration]
France.
There is a country in Europe, called France. It lies east of the United
States, and you must cross the Atlantic Ocean to get there. There
are almost forty millions of people in France, and they have many
splendid towns and cities. Paris is the capital of the country, and a
charming city it is. It has as many inhabitants as the whole state of
Massachusetts, and they have a thousand ways of amusing themselves.
The people who live in the country and labor on the lands, called
peasants, are generally poor, and work very hard. If you ever travel in
France, you will often see old women at work in the fields, carrying
burthens of sticks, grass or hay. You will see them hoeing, digging,
ploughing and harvesting.
A peasant woman in France gets but about three or four cents a day for
her labor, and with this she can buy but few things to live upon. She
usually goes barefoot, or wears heavy wooden shoes. She seldom eats
meat, and often has no other breakfast than a glass of water and a few
cherries, or grapes, or perhaps an apple. This is indeed poor fare.
In travelling in France, you will often see women in the fields taking
care of the cows, and I have seen a woman spend the whole day in
attending a single cow, which was grazing along the road-side. But
while the woman watched the cow, she spun a little twine out of flax,
by means of a stick, which she kept twirling between her fingers.
There are few countries in which the people, at large, are so happy as
in our own country. The rich people fare very well in all countries,
but the poor people are not happy in England, or France, or Germany,
or any other country than ours. Should we not be thankful that a good
Providence has cast our lot in America?
[Illustration]
The Moose.
Here is a picture of a moose, a huge animal of the deer kind, which is
found in the state of Maine, and in Canada. It is sometimes six and
even seven feet high, to the top of his shoulders; and the points of
his immense horns, when he holds up his head, are ten feet from the
ground.
There is something very queer about the appearance of the moose. His
body is short, his legs are long, his neck is thick, his countenance
is dull, his mouth is large, his nostrils wide. His whole aspect is
stupid――and yet he wears upon his head a pair of spreading horns or
antlers, of the most fantastic shape. They are branched like some kinds
of seaweed, or like coral, that grows in the bottom of the sea.
It really seems, at first sight, as if nature intended a joke, when
she contrived the moose――for he reminds us of a very stupid-looking
person, bedizzened with an enormous head-dress. But we must not go too
much by looks――for the moose, however he may appear as we see him in
the picture, is a very fleet animal, and if you see him in his native
woods, with the Indians or the hounds at his heels, he will show you
that he is a pretty smart fellow, after all.
The moose sheds his horns every year, and it is not uncommon to find
them in the woods of Maine. Sometimes the creature gets his horns so
entangled in the branches of the trees, that he cannot get away, and he
then dies, or is caught by the hunters.
The Indians of Maine hunt the moose in winter: when the snow is deep,
he cannot travel very fast, for his feet sink in the snow, and he is
soon run down. The flesh of the moose is often brought to the Boston
market.
There is an animal in the north of Europe, called the Elk, which is
very like the moose, but it is believed, by learned men, not to be
exactly the same kind of creature.
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER VII.
_About the Bees._
In the preceding chapter we have told how Jack became interested about
the bees: in this, we have promised to relate some of those curious
things which his aunt Piper told him,――respecting the manners and
customs of these ingenious and wonderful insects.
The bees, being domesticated by mankind, have been carefully studied by
many learned and curious persons; but M. Huber, a Swiss gentleman, has
done more than any other man to make us acquainted with them. And yet
Huber was blind! His wife assisted him in his observations; and thus,
by making use of her eyes, he was able to pursue his studies with great
success. Is it not interesting to think of this blind philosopher, who,
while all was darkness and night to him, was yet able to amuse himself,
and prepare a book which should continue long to please and enlighten
mankind?
There are three different kinds of bees in every hive. First, the
laboring bees, which make up the far greatest number, and are thought
to be neither male nor female, but merely born for the purposes of
labor and continuing the breed by supplying the young with provision
while yet in their helpless state.
The second sort are the drones; they are of a darker color, longer, and
more thick by one third than the former; they are supposed to be the
males; and there are not above a hundred of them in a hive of seven or
eight thousand bees. The third sort is much larger than either of the
former, and there is never but one permitted to live in a swarm. These
are called queen bees, and lay all the eggs from which the whole swarm
is hatched in a season.
In examining the structure of the common working bee, the first thing
that attracts our attention is the trunk which serves to extract the
honey from flowers. It is not formed like that of other flies, in the
form of a tube by which the honey is to be sucked up; but like a broom
to sweep, or a tongue to lick it away. The animal is furnished also
with teeth, which serve it in making wax. This substance is gathered
from flowers, like honey; it consists of that dust or farina, which
contributes to the fruitfulness of plants, and is moulded into wax by
the little animal at leisure.
Every bee, when it leaves the hive to collect its precious store,
enters into the cups of the flower, particularly such as seem charged
with the greatest quantities of this yellow farina. As the animal’s
body is covered with hair, it rolls itself within the flower, and soon
becomes quite covered with the dust, which it soon after brushes off
with its two hind legs, and kneads into two little balls.
In the thighs of the hind legs there are two cavities, edged with
hair, and into these, as into a basket, the animal sticks the rolls
or pellets which it has collected. Thus employed, the bee flies from
flower to flower, increasing its store and adding to its stock of wax,
until the ball upon the thigh becomes as big as a grain of pepper; by
this time, having got a sufficient load, it returns, making the best of
its way to the hive.
The lower part of the body or belly of the bee is divided into six
rings, which sometimes shorten the body by slipping one over the other.
It contains within it, besides the intestines, the honey-bag, the
venom-bag, and the sting. The honey-bag is as transparent as crystal,
containing the honey that the bee has brushed from the flowers; of
which the greater part is carried to the hive, and poured into the
cells of the honey-comb, while the remainder serves for the bee’s own
nourishment; for, during the summer, it never touches what has been
laid up for winter.
The sting, which serves to defend this little animal from its enemies,
is composed of three parts; the sheath, and two darts which are
extremely small and penetrating. Both the darts have several small
points or barbs, like those of a fish-hook, which render the sting more
painful, and make the darts rankle in the wound. Still, however, this
instrument would be a very slight defence, did not the bee poison the
wound. The sheath, which has a sharp point, makes the first impression,
which is followed by that of the darts, and then the venomous liquor is
poured in.
The sheath, with the barbs, sometimes sticks so fast in the wound, that
the animal is obliged to leave it behind; in consequence of which, the
bee soon after dies, and the wound is considerably inflamed. It might
at first appear well for mankind, if the bee were without its sting;
but upon recollection it will be found that the little animal would
then have too many rivals in sharing its labors. A hundred other lazy
animals, fond of honey, and hating labor, would intrude upon the sweets
of the hive; and the treasure would be carried off for want of armed
guardians to protect it. As the bee lays up a most delicious store, it
was obviously necessary that it should have some extraordinary defence,
and so the sting was provided. Is it not easy to see wisdom in this
provision of nature?
The most interesting point of view in which we can regard bees, is
not as separate individuals, but as societies or communities. In this
light, they indeed astonish us. It being necessary that their hives
should be tight, the first thing is to stop up all the crevices, which
they do with a kind of resinous gum, which resists the weather.
They then proceed to form their cells, which we call honey-comb. These
are built in hexagons, or six-sided figures; and mathematicians tell
us that this form is the very best, as it unites the greatest strength
with the greatest capacity. The philosophers found out this fact by
deep study――but who told the little bees of it? They never went to
college to learn mathematics. How then should they always build their
cells in hexagons?
This was one of the questions put by Jack to his aunt Piper, and she
answered it as follows. Bees are provided with wonderful knowledge,
which we call instinct. It is born with them, and as soon as they go
to work, they proceed according to this instinct. This is a part of
their nature, and it is given to them by God who made them. He knows
everything――he knows that a hexagon is the best form for the bees to
build their cells in, and so he furnished them with an instinct, which
leads them to follow this method of building. Is it not interesting to
see the Almighty God thus displaying his knowledge and skill, for the
benefit of even the little bees?
I have more to tell you on this subject, but I must defer it for
another chapter.
[Illustration]
The Race.
Here are two boys running a race. They seem to be striving to see which
can run the swiftest; which can outstrip the other.
It is pleasant to run a race, if one is young and has a good pair
of legs. I should make a bad business of it,――old and decrepit as I
am,――and having a timber toe beside. Still, I can well recollect how I
used to delight in trying my speed with my youthful companions, when I
was a boy.
I remember very well, that, when I was young, there was a boy at school
by the name of Rufus, and it chanced that he and myself were rivals in
almost everything. We were always striving to see which should run the
swiftest; which should hop the farthest; which should excel in writing,
arithmetic, &c.
Now all this was very well, except one thing. Our rivalry at last went
so far, that we desired victory more than anything else. We did not
wish so much to do things well, as to triumph over our competitors. Nor
was this all: we began at length to dislike each other, and a very bad
feeling was therefore begotten by our strife, in our bosoms.
This was certainly wrong, and young people as well as old people should
be careful never to indulge in any strife which leads to hatred. We
should love all around us, for love is the chief source of happiness.
Anything which interferes with this is wrong.
[Illustration]
The Swing.
Here are children indulging themselves in swinging. ’Tis a very
pleasant amusement, and is as near to flying as anything we can do.
What a thrill passes through the heart, half pleasant and half painful,
when we go up, up, up――and then down, down, down!
In the western country, the children do not have to make swings of
ropes, for they are provided by nature. The grape vines climb up the
trees, often to the height of twenty feet, and then afford good swings
for the children. If you ever visit Kentucky, or Ohio, or Missouri, or
any of those great states in the west, you will probably see children
amusing themselves in grape vine swings.
A Strange Bird.
Not long since, a man in Connecticut shot an eagle of the largest
kind. The creature fell to the ground, and being only wounded, the man
carried him home, alive.
He now gave him to another man, who took good care of the wounded bird,
and pretty soon he got quite well. The eagle became attached to the
place where he was thus taken care of, and though he was permitted to
go at large, and often flew away to a considerable distance, he would
always come back again.
He used to take his station in the door-yard, in front of the house: if
any well-dressed person came through this yard, to the house, the eagle
would sit still and make no objections; but if a ragged person came
into the yard, he would fly at him, seize his clothes with one claw,
and hold on to the grass with the other, and thus make him a prisoner.
Often was the proprietor of the house called upon to release persons
that had been thus seized by the eagle. It is a curious fact that the
bird never attacked ragged people going to the house the back way: it
was only when they attempted to enter through the front door, that he
assailed them. What renders this story very curious is, that the bird
had never been trained to act in this manner.
This eagle had some other curious habits. He did not go out every day
to get a breakfast, dinner and supper: his custom was, about once a
week, to make a hearty meal, and that was sufficient for six days. His
most common food was the king-bird, of which he would sometimes catch
ten in the course of a few hours――and these would suffice for his
weekly repast.
This bird at last made such havoc with the poultry of the neighbors,
that the proprietor was obliged to kill him.
It seems that the aversion of this eagle to ragged people, was not
altogether singular; for a person who writes to the editor of the
New York American, says that he once knew a Baltimore Oriole, that
would always manifest the greatest anger if a shabby person came
into the room. This bird also disliked colored people, and if he
could get at them, he would fly in their faces, and peck at them very
spitefully――while he did no such thing to white people.
* * * * *
The following letter has been some time in hand. Will our little
friend, the writer, forgive us for not inserting it sooner? Our
correspondents must remember that we have many things to attend to, and
if some of their favors seem to be overlooked, we hope they will not
scold.
MY DEAR MR. MERRY:
I have been long wanting to write to you, so many of your
subscribers have been writing to you. I could not write to
you sooner, because I did not know my letter would go by
the mail.
Many of the stories in the Museum are quite interesting.
I have often tried to read your history of your own life,
through. I should have begun when your Museum first came
out, but it happened that I did not. “Philip Brusque” I
began too, but, as my brother was going up the river in a
steamboat, he wanted to take the number, so that I had to
leave off reading it.
In your number before the last I liked the “Two Friends.”
Many of the children like “The Siberian Sable-hunter,” but
I do not fancy it much, as there are so many hard names in
it.
I am one of your little black-eyed subscribers: my brother
Benjamin is one of your blue-eyed subscribers. He does not
read as many of your Museums as I do, for he is away from
home a great part of the time, and when he gets home he
hardly ever thinks of reading them. I am always glad when I
hear that your Museum is come, and yet, the last time, they
kept it from me for a day and a night. Was not that very
hard?
My little sister, Lydia, is yet too young to read, and does
not even know her A, B, C; but I know them well enough. I
like your plain, simple stories best. I believe my brother
likes the ones that are not simple. In your number, a great
while ago, is a song by the name of “Jack Frost,” which
I like very much, and many other pieces of your poetry.
“Discontented Betty” I like too. I have been hurrying off
with my lessons, so that I could write to you; but, pray,
do not think that I write this myself, for I do not even
know how to make a letter. My sister writes for me.
I am in constant fear that we shall have to give up your
Museum, but I hope we shall not. I thought that I would
have to send my letter by the man that brought the Museum,
but my father told me that I need not, but that I should
send it by the mail. I hope your Museum will not end very
soon, but will keep on a long while. I have found out three
of your names, Parley, Merry and Goodrich. I want to see
you very much. My sister Mary is collecting autographs, and
has got one of yours, which I think to be quite a decent
hand for such an old man. I hope this letter will reach you
safely. I wonder if the one my brother William wrote to
you, a long time ago, ever reached you.
I have read some of your other books, as we have got some
others. I consider myself a very poor reader, if others
do not. I had a beautiful book given to me on New Year’s
day, by the name of “Flower People.” But I cannot think of
anything more to say, and so, Mr. Merry, good-bye.
E. O. B.
P.S. I have thought of one other thing to say, Mr. Merry,
and it is that I wish you would answer this letter.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. VI. SEPTEMBER, 1843. No. 3.
[Illustration]
September.
We have now reached the ninth month in the year――the first month of
autumn――SEPTEMBER――the pleasantest month of all the twelve. It is true
the leaves of the trees are beginning to turn yellow; many of the
birds are departing for more southern climes; the evenings are getting
chilly; the summer flowers are gone; and all around there is an air of
soberness, almost of sadness. Yet there is something in all this, that
makes the heart content, tranquil and happy.
The earth is now abounding with fruit. The peaches, the plums, the
pears, the apples, the grapes, are ripe, and seem to invite us to taste
them. How pleasant it is to be in the country now! Say, my little
friends, is not September the finest of all the months?
Jumping Rabbit’s Story.
CHAPTER III.
_The return of our party.――Sports and festivities._
After I had been about a month in the village, a swift Indian,
despatched by the warriors who had been absent on an expedition against
some distant tribes, came in, and announced that the whole party were
near at hand, and would enter the village the following morning.
Preparations were therefore made to receive them.
All was bustle and activity, though this seemed to consist more in
running about, and chattering like a set of magpies, than anything
else. The children leaped, frolicked, shouted, and fought mimic
battles as well as real ones, in which they bit, scratched, kicked and
pulled hair, in honor of the coming celebration. The women went about
from tent to tent, talking with great animation and keeping up the hum,
which might be heard at the farther extremity of the village.
Evening at last came, but there was no cessation of the excitement. The
greater part of the night was spent in talking, squabbling, dancing,
jumping, leaping and yelling. At length the morning came, and just
as the sun was rising, an Indian, painted blue and red, carrying on
his head the skin taken from the pate of a grizzly bear, was seen
creeping along in the edge of the adjacent wood. He was soon followed
by another, painted in a similar manner, with the horns and pate of
a buffalo upon his head. Others succeeded, all of them painted and
dressed in the most wild and fantastic manner, until about a hundred
warriors had gathered in the thickets of the forest, close to the
village.
A pause of at least half an hour ensued. All within the wood was
silent, and not a trace of the savages that lurked in its bosom, could
be discovered. The women, children and old men of the village had
gathered in the open space encircled by the tents, where they awaited
the coming spectacle in breathless expectation.
At last, a wild yell, as if a thousand demons filled the air, broke
from the forest. In an instant after, the warriors started from
their cover and ran toward the village with the greatest swiftness.
Approaching the group of women and children, they formed themselves
in a circle and began to dance in a most violent manner. They leaped,
jumped, ran, brandished their weapons, screamed, chattered, and
appeared more like infernal spirits than human creatures. They were
all on foot except about a dozen, who were on horseback, and attired
in the most fantastic manner. These rode round the circle with great
swiftness, flourishing their long spears, and performing a sort of wild
mimic battle.
Nothing could be more fierce and frightful than the whole scene, yet
the women and children were greatly delighted, and evinced their
ecstasy by uproarious acclamations. The warriors were excited by this
applause to greater feats, and for about an hour they kept up their
savage revel. They seemed to be as proud of their greasy paint and
their savage foppery, as a well-dressed company of militia marching on
a muster-day through one of our villages. A bear’s or buffalo’s pate
was fully equal to a cocked hat; a raccoon’s or oppossum’s hide was
equivalent to a pair of epaulettes; the bow and arrow were an offset to
the sword.
But the Indian warriors had one advantage over our training-day
soldiers. They had been in actual service, and carried with them
evidences of their victory. Several of them bore in their hands large
bundles of bloody scalps, which they had taken from their enemies,
and these they flourished in the faces of the admiring spectators. It
is obvious that the same vanity and foppery which are found in the
fair-weather soldiers of towns and cities, belong to the savage warrior
of the wilderness.
At length, the ceremony was over, and the savages dispersed themselves
to their several wigwams. The next day, however, they had a great
exhibition, which was a kind of war-dance, in which the warriors
attempted to exhibit their several battles and exploits. It was in fact
a sort of pantomime, in which several of the Indians displayed great
powers of mimicry. Though I was not much accustomed to these things, I
understood a good deal of what the Indians meant by their performances.
One of these fellows amused me very much. He seemed to be fond of fun,
and, like the clown in a circus, appeared to think more of making a
laugh than anything else. It seemed from his representation, that,
on one occasion, he was sent to spy out the situation of a party of
Indians, whom they intended to attack. It was night, and as he was
proceeding along a deer path in the forest, he chanced to see a skunk
immediately before him. The creature stood still, and positively
refused to stir a step.
The Indian hesitated for some time what to do, but at last he put an
arrow to the bowstring, and shot the impertinent animal to the heart.
The air was, however, immediately filled with the creature’s effluvia,
and the Indians, whom the spy was seeking, being ever on the watch,
were startled by the circumstance, and the spy himself was obliged to
retreat for safety. This whole story was easily comprehended from the
admirable mimicry of the actor. Nothing could exceed his drollery,
except the applause of the spectators. He seemed to have the reputation
of an established wag, and, like Andrews at the late Tremont Theatre,
he could hardly turn his eye, or crook his finger, but the action was
followed with bursts of applause.
There was one thing that characterized all the warriors, and that was a
love of boasting and self-glorification. Every one represented himself
as a hero and as performing the most wonderful feats of strength and
valor. Boasting, I suspect, is a thing that naturally belongs to those
who have little refinement, and modesty is doubtless the fruit of those
finer sentiments which belong to civilization.
For several days there were sports and festivities, and every one
seemed to give himself up to amusement. The warriors had brought home
with them a young Indian prisoner, who was about eighteen years old.
He was a fine, proud-looking fellow, and when he was brought out and
encircled by all the Indians, he seemed to survey them with a kind of
scorn. He was tied to a stake, and the young Indians, stationed at a
certain distance, were allowed to shoot their arrows at him. Several
of them hit him, and the blood trickled freely down his body. He stood
unmoved, however, and seemed not to notice the wounds. The women then
surrounded him, and jeered at him, making mouths, and pinching his
flesh, and punching him with sharp sticks.
At last, it was determined by the warriors, to let him loose upon the
prairie and give him a chance of escape. The warriors were to pursue
him. If he was retaken, he was to die; if he outran his pursuers, he
was to have his liberty.
The prisoner was unbound and placed at the distance of about six rods
in advance of those who were to pursue him; the signal was given, and
he departed. He seemed fleet as the mountain deer, and life was the
wager for which he ran. He was, however, pursued by more than a dozen
Indians, scarcely less lightfooted than himself. He struck across the
prairie, which lay stretched out for several miles, almost as level as
the sea, and in the distance, was skirted by the forest.
He kept in advance of his pursuers, who strained every nerve to
overtake him. On he flew, casting an occasional glance backward. The
yells broke often from his pursuers, but he was silent. It was for life
that he fled, and he would not waste a breath. On he sped, and as he
and his followers seemed to grow less and less in the distance, my eyes
grew weary of the scene. But such was the interest that I felt for the
poor fugitive that I kept my gaze bent upon the chase for almost an
hour.
The Indians seemed at last in the remote distance to be dwindled to the
size of insects; they still strained every limb, though they seemed
scarcely to move; they still yelled with all their might, but only an
occasional faint echo reached our ears. At last, the fugitive plunged
into the forest; his pursuers followed, and they were lost to the view.
After the lapse of several hours, the pursuing party returned, without
their prisoner. He was at liberty in the unbounded forest.
The Smuggler.
Who would imagine that a dog had been made serviceable as a clerk, and
thus made for his master upwards of a hundred thousand crowns? And
yet an incident like this happened upwards of forty years since. One
of those industrious beings who know how to live by skinning flints,
determined, in extreme poverty, to engage in trade. He preferred
that species of merchandise which occupied the least space, and was
calculated to yield the greatest profit. He borrowed a small sum of
money from a friend, and repairing to Flanders, he there bought pieces
of lace, which he smuggled into France in the following manner.
He trained an active spaniel to his purpose. He caused him to be
shaved, and procured for him the skin of another dog, of the same hair
and the same shape. He then rolled his lace round the body of his dog,
and put over it the garment of the stranger so adroitly, that it was
impossible to discover the trick. The lace being thus arranged, he
would say to his docile messenger, “Forward, my friend.” At the words,
the dog would start, and pass boldly through the gates of Malines
or Valenciennes, in the face of the vigilant officer placed there to
prevent smuggling. Having thus passed the bounds, he would wait his
master at a little distance in the open country. There they mutually
caressed and feasted, and the merchant placed his rich packages in a
place of security, renewing his occupation as occasion required. Such
was the success of this smuggler that in less than five or six years he
amassed a handsome fortune and kept his coach.
Envy pursues the prosperous. A mischievous neighbor at length betrayed
the lace merchant; notwithstanding all his efforts to disguise the dog,
he was suspected, watched, and discovered.
But the cunning of the dog was equal to the emergency. Did the spies of
the custom-house expect him at one gate,――he saw them at a distance,
and instantly ran to another. Were all the gates shut against him,――he
overcame every obstacle; sometimes he leaped over the wall; at others,
passing secretly behind a carriage or running between the legs of
travellers, he would thus accomplish his aim. One day, however, while
swimming a stream near Malines, he was shot, and died in the water.
There was then about him five thousand crowns’ worth of lace――the loss
of which did not afflict his master, but he was inconsolable for the
loss of his faithful dog.
The Poet’s Dog.
The manner in which Pope, the great English poet, was preserved by the
sagacity of his dog, is truly remarkable. This animal, who was called
Marquis, could never agree with a favorite servant of his master’s;
he constantly growled when near him, and would even show his teeth
whenever this servant approached. Although the poet was singularly
attached to this dog,――who was a spaniel of the largest species,――yet,
on account of his extreme neatness, which he pushed almost to excess,
he would never allow him to remain in his chamber. Nevertheless, in
spite of positive orders, the spaniel would frequently sneak, towards
evening, into the apartment of his master, and would not be driven from
it without the greatest difficulty.
One evening, having slipped very softly in without being perceived,
the animal placed himself under the bed of his master, and remained
there. Towards morning, the servant rushed hastily into the chamber
of Pope. At this moment, the dog suddenly left his post and leaped on
the villain, who was armed with a pistol. The poet started from his
sleep; he threw open the window to call for assistance, and beheld
three highwaymen, who had been introduced by his servant into the
garden of his villa, for the purpose of robbing him. Disconcerted by
this unforeseen accident, the robbers hesitated a moment, and then took
flight. The servant, thus betrayed by the watchful dog, was sentenced
to forfeit his life.
The same dog, shortly after this singular event, exhibited another
proof of his remarkable instinct. Pope, reposing one afternoon in a
little wood about twelve miles distant from his house, lost a watch of
great value. On returning home, the poet wished to know the hour, and
found his watch was not in his fob. Two or three hours had elapsed, and
a violent storm was just commencing.
The poet called his dog, and making a sign, which Marquis very well
understood, he said, “I have lost my watch――go look for it.” At these
words Marquis departed, and repaired, no doubt, to every spot at which
his master stopped. It happened that the poor animal was so long
occupied in the search as to create great anxiety, for midnight had
arrived, and he had not returned. What was the astonishment of Pope,
when, on rising in the morning, he opened his chamber door, and there
beheld his faithful messenger lying quietly and holding in his mouth
the splendid jewel, with which he had returned perfectly uninjured, and
which was the more highly valued by the poet, as it had been presented
to him by the queen of England.
A Shark Story.
Some years ago, while sitting on the quarter-deck of a West Indiaman,
borne rapidly along before the trade wind, the captain and passengers
were amusing themselves by telling stories and cracking jokes to
beguile the sameness of the voyage. It came at last to the turn of
a gentleman remarkable for his love of cigars and taciturnity; one
who enjoyed a good anecdote, but abhorred the trouble of relating it
himself. He was, however, so strongly importuned on this occasion, that
with much reluctance he related the following, by fits and starts,
filling up each pause by vigorous whiffs of his favorite weed:――
In the year 1820, the good ship Rambler sailed from Greenock, with
goods and passengers, towards Jamaica. She had crossed the tropic.
One day, when nearly becalmed, the steward, who had the care of the
captain’s plate, had occasion, after dinner, to wash some spoons and
other articles in a bucket, and thinking he had taken all out of the
water, he chucked it over the gangway, when, to his vexation, he found
he had thrown out with it a valuable silver table spoon. He saw it
shining through the clear blue ocean, and wavering from side to side
as it sank from his view. Several sharks had been observed near the
ship, and it is known they generally dart upon anything white, a piece
of rag often serving for a bait. He did not, however, observe any of
them near the spot at the time; and the captain being a testy man,
he kept the secret of the loss to himself, and the matter was soon
forgotten.
The ship in due time reached Jamaica, and when the circumstance became
known, the value of the spoon was deducted from the wages of the
steward. The vessel lay some time at Kingston, received on board a
cargo of sugar, and proceeded on her homeward voyage. When crossing
nearly the same spot on the aqueous world where the spoon was lost,
a number of sharks again showed their tail fins above the water as
they cut along the ship’s side, or in her wake; and a shark hook being
baited with a piece of salt pork, was lowered over the stern. Presently
one of the largest of these devouring monsters, or, as the sailors call
them, “_Sea Lawyers_,” half turning on its side, took the huge bait
into his pig-like but tremendous jaws, and was securely hooked.
The fish was with difficulty hauled alongside and hoisted on deck,
where it flapped about and showed prodigious strength and tenacity
of life. When its struggles were ended by a blow on the head with a
mallet, one of the men proceeded to open it. His jack-knife soon came
in contact with something in its belly, and――said the narrator, with
earnestness, “what do you think was really found?” “Why, the spoon,
of course!” exclaimed the listeners simultaneously. “The spoon!” he
rejoined, with a smile, “No! no!” “What then?” they hastily inquired.
“Why, nothing but the entrails, to be sure!”
The taciturnity of the waggish messmate was not again disturbed for
another story during the voyage.
* * * * *
JOYFUL MEETING.――A few days since, at Buffalo, a boat load of Germans
landed from the canal, evidently direct from Germany. Among them was
an old lady and some three or four children, quite grown up. Several
tavern-keepers were around the boat, as is customary, to solicit
patronage from the emigrants, and one of these approached the old lady,
who, immediately upon seeing him, threw herself upon his neck and wept.
The children also embraced him, and tears and smiles alternately bore
their sway.
The explanation of the scene given was, that the old lady was on her
way to Detroit in search of her husband, who had emigrated some years
previous, and she had thus unexpectedly fallen upon him at this place.
What a meeting!
* * * * *
MIRAGE.――Brig. Wm. Ash, 6th July, 1843, 8-1/4 P. M.――Being at anchor
off the Pilgrims, river St. Lawrence, to wait the tide――fine weather
and light wind, I was called to by our pilot, Wm. Russell, saying
there was a ship sailing in the air. When, looking in the air, in the
direction pointed out, I distinctly saw the appearance of a full-rigged
ship, under full sail, passing very swiftly over the land, in a S. S.
W. direction. I watched it with the spyglass, until, to my view, it
vanished into smoke. It was witnessed also by the pilot’s apprentice,
Dennis Glen. WM. MORRISH, Master.
* * * * *
“Our Father”――said a bishop, who was benevolently teaching the Lord’s
prayer to a poor beggar boy, to whom he had just given a hard crust of
bread. “What,――not _our_ Father,” said the boy. “Yes,” said the bishop,
“_our_ Father.” “Then we are _brothers_; _and an’t you ashamed to offer
your brother such a crust as this?_”
Eccentric Characters
[Illustration: OLD BOOTS, OF RIPON]
Among the infinite variety of human countenances, none was ever better
calculated to excite laughter, than that of the person whose portrait
we have given above. He was servant of an inn at Ripon, in Yorkshire,
England, where it was part of his duty to wait upon travellers and take
charge of boots and shoes. Hence, he went under the title of Old Boots.
It was his custom to introduce himself into the room, with a pair of
slippers in one hand and a boot-jack in the other. His features at once
amazed and diverted every visitor; for nature had given him such length
of nose and chin, and brought them so near together, that he could
hold a piece of money between them, like a thumb and finger, or a pair
of nippers. This feat he was always ready to perform, and he became, in
fact, the great curiosity of the place.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN SNARLY.]
There is nothing more easy than to find fault, particularly after
a little practice; for the thing grows upon us as we get used to
it. Of all countries, there is none that furnishes such inveterate
fault-finders, as England. Many of them are very much addicted to
grumbling, even in their own country; but when out of it, everything
goes wrong. The other day I saw a boy with a snapping turtle, which he
had just taken out of a muddy pond. The creature was very savage――and
if you pointed your finger at him, he would snap at you in the most
spiteful manner. Nothing could move around him, but he would snap at
it. I must confess that when I looked at the creature, he put me in
mind of Captain Hall, Mrs. Trollope, Major Hamilton, and other English
travellers, who have visited our country, and gone home and reviled
everything they saw.
But we must now turn to the subject of the present article, Joseph
Cappur, whose portrait is placed at the head of this article, and
whom we call Captain Snarly. He lived at a place near London, called
Kensington, and though he was rich, his habits were exceedingly stingy.
He was chiefly famous for his love of finding fault; and he loved
nothing so well as a snarling companion. One day, as he was walking
about the place, he came to a small tavern. He entered, and asked the
landlord if he could furnish him lodgings. “No!” said the landlord,
fiercely――and then ordered him out of the house. This pleased old
Snarly so much, that he immediately took up his abode at the place, and
there he lived for twenty-five years. His greatest sport was to poke
fun at the landlord and make him mad with fury.
Old Snarly was a great politician and a champion of the king. He would
let nobody speak ill of either. He hated the French, and one of his
chief occupations was to kill flies, which he called Frenchmen. He died
at the age of seventy-two, and left one hundred and fifty thousand
dollars to his relatives, whom he would not see while he was living.
[Illustration]
JOHN BAKER.
This man was wonderful for the power he had over the muscles of his
face. Though he had not a long nose, yet he could move it in such a
manner as to take a piece of money up from a table between his nose and
chin, and hold it there firmly. Nay more, he could draw his nose down
in such a manner as to take it into his mouth, and then his under lip
appeared even with his eyes and forehead! He could also put the stem of
a tobacco pipe through his nose, and then take up a wine glass and hold
it between his nose and chin, as shown in the portrait.
The performances of this man astonished all who saw him, and several
eminent medical men expressed great wonder at his feats. He was both
a sailor and a soldier, in the British service, and served in the
revolutionary war, in America. He was twice married, and had a family
of thirteen children. His life was one of great vicissitude, and when
an old man, he was famous at Wapping, for his stories about what he had
seen and done. He had a good opinion of himself, and used generally to
wind off his long tales with the declaration that his equal was not to
be found in the whole world!
[Illustration]
Punch and Judy.
There are some wise old people, who, when they hear the music of the
showmen in the streets, are very much annoyed, and wish to have the
vagrants sent off to the work-house. Gently――gently――Mr. Snarl. This
very exhibition of Punch and Judy, has given more innocent pleasure
than almost any other that was ever invented.
The story of Punch and his wife Judy, had its origin in Italy. As it
is a pleasant story, I will tell it. In the district of Acezza, near
Naples, the people are very much addicted to the making of wine from
grapes; and it is curious that from antiquity they have been famous for
their love of droll wit and comic fun.
Well, many years ago, in the season of the vintage, which is a time
when everybody seems to be full of joke and frolic, some comic players
came along, through Acezza. They began to poke fun at the vintagers,
and in the war of wit, the players got the worst of it.
Now there was, among the vintagers, a fellow with an enormous red nose,
long and crooked like a powder horn; and he was the very drollest and
wittiest of the whole company. The players were so tickled with his
witty sayings, all set off by his odd face and very queer air and
manner, that they almost cracked their sides with laughter.
After they went away, they began to think that this droll fellow would
be a great accession to their company: so they went back and made
offers to him. These he accepted; and such was the success of his
efforts that the company acquired great fame and a great deal of money.
Everybody went to see this witty buffoon, and all were delighted.
This example led to the establishment of a droll or buffoon in all
companies of comedians; and he was always called after the original
one, whose name was Pucco d’Aniello. This was, in the course of time,
softened into Polecenello; the French made it Polichenel, and the
English, Punchinello. After a time, the English, for the sake of
brevity, left off the latter part of the word, and called it plain
Punch.
How Judy originated, history does not tell us; but it is easy to smell
out her story. Such a merry fellow as Punch has as good a right to a
wife as anybody, if he can get one. Why not? You may think that his
beet-like nose would stand in the way of his finding a woman willing to
marry him; but his wit is a fair offset to this. Women are fond of wit,
and Punch would play his part ill, if he could not make it cover his
nose.
Well, we now suppose Punch to have a wife, and also suppose her name to
be Judy. What, then, is more natural than for this amiable couple, now
and then, to have a bit of a breeze? They live a wandering life, and
do, like other people in their station, take a little liquor to raise
their spirits. After the effect is over, feeling a little peevish,
they fall to calling each other hard names, and hard blows follow, as
natural as life. So here is the whole history, fairly made out.
Gentle reader! if you are young, you will not quarrel with the showmen,
nay, you will stand by, clap your hands and pay your pence. If you
are old, consider that you were once young, and tolerate the innocent
exhibition, in behalf of those who are now what you were some half
century ago.
* * * * *
PETRARCH.――Petrarch, the celebrated Italian poet, recommended himself
to the confidence and affection of Cardinal Coloma, in whose family
he resided, by his candor and strict regard to truth. A violent
quarrel occurred in the household of this nobleman, which was carried
so far that recourse was had to arms. The cardinal wished to know
the foundation of this affair; and, that he might be able to decide
with justice, he assembled all his people, and obliged them to bind
themselves by a most solemn oath to declare the whole truth. Every one
submitted to the examination; even the cardinal’s own brother was not
excused. Petrarch, in his turn, presented himself to take the oath; the
cardinal said, “As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient!”
[Illustration]
Attakullakulla.
On the river Tennessee, in former times, there was situated a fort,
called _Fort Loudon_. This fort was far back in the woods, 500 miles
from Charleston, and at a distance from any white settlement. It was
built in 1756, for the purpose of preventing the encroachments of the
French, who used to steal down from Canada, and annoy the white English
inhabitants, who were forming settlements in that part of the country.
At the same time, it was a safeguard against the Indians, numerous
tribes of whom lived round about. These Indians, at all times savage
and cruel, were particularly hostile to the whites; and more so, as
they perceived them forming settlements in their neighborhood.
In the above fort, at the time my story commences, there were but few
soldiers. This fact the Indians, by some means, discovered, and they
determined to make an attack upon it; and, if possible, to massacre the
soldiers.
The plan was conducted, as usual, with much secrecy and cunning; and,
before the soldiers were aware, the fort was surrounded by a large
number of savages, thirsting only for their blood. The fort was strong,
however; the gates were shut, and the Indians found it impossible to
enter. But they could watch it. They might perhaps in time force the
soldiers to surrender, because their provisions could not last always.
A guard was, therefore, constantly kept round about; and so vigilant
were they, that not a single white man durst venture abroad, nor could
any come to their assistance.
For a time, the provisions in the fort held out well; but, at length,
the soldiers were obliged to resort to the flesh of their horses and
dogs, which, by reason of scanty food, had dwindled away nearly to
skeletons. For two long months, however, the soldiers bore up under the
pressure of confinement, and stinted fare. The enemy that surrounded
them, they well knew, were at all times savage and cruel; but _now_
they would be doubly so, having become exasperated by watching for so
long a period.
The soldiers had stout hearts and good courage; but, at length, they
told their officers, that they could hold out no longer. Upon this, the
officers came together, and, after due consultation, it was agreed to
surrender, and to obtain the best treatment from the Indians they were
able.
There was one man among them, whom the Indians esteemed. His name
was _Captain Stewart_. He was accordingly selected to inform the
Indians that they had held out sufficiently long, and were willing to
surrender, provided they were treated kindly.
In reply, the Indians told Captain Stewart that they might march out
with their guns, and a little powder and shot; but that they must leave
the fort that very day. The Indians added, that they would accompany
them to Fort George, where their white brethren lived.
As these were better terms than were expected, the English officers did
not hesitate to accept them. They marched out accordingly, and that
very day set out upon their journey for Fort George. It was noon when
they left the fort, and night before they paused.
Wearied with their toilsome march, they soon laid themselves down to
rest. Just as they were doing this, they perceived that the whole body
of Indians were leaving them. The object of this movement they were
unable to explain; but, well knowing how cunning and treacherous the
Indians were, they could sleep no more. A few, perhaps, more weary
than the others, were occasionally lost for a few minutes; but the
painful state of anxiety in which they were, made their sleep short and
unrefreshing. Several hours passed in this state of suspense; but as
no Indians came near them, they began to indulge the hope, that the
enemy had left them, to return no more. They, therefore, generally laid
themselves down, and one after another became lost in sound sleep.
About the dawn of day, one of the men, who had been placed as a guard,
came running, in great haste, to inform them that a large body of
Indians were secretly approaching.
The alarm was instantly given, and the men ordered to stand to
their arms. The summons, however, was so sudden, and the terror so
universal, that not a single soldier had his gun loaded when the
tremendous war-whoop broke upon them. The onset of the savages, upon
this comparatively feeble and unprepared band, was so furious, that
resistance was in vain. Some were killed, and the rest taken prisoners.
Captain Stewart had his hands tied behind him, and at the head of the
others, was led back to the fort.
On their arrival, an Indian chief, taking Captain Stewart by the hand,
conducted him to his own hut, unbound his arms, and fed him from his
own bowl. This was _Attakullakulla_. A few days following, the Indians
held a great council about the disposal of the prisoners. The chiefs
were all present, and, though some differed for a time from others, in
conclusion, they sent for Captain Stewart, and informed him that they
were about proceeding to the attack of Fort George. “You and your men,”
said they, “will accompany us. You will fight with us. This is the
result of our talk!”
“You must do more,” added they. “Write to the captain of Fort
George――tell him of our coming――tell him that if he surrenders the
fort peaceably, it is well――if not, we will strip his friend Captain
Stewart, and burn him before his eyes.”
This was indeed cruel. Captain Stewart seated himself; and, in the
presence of the savages, wrote the letter required; but he thought
within himself, that before he would fight his brethren, he would
undergo the pains, even of savage torture. On returning home, said he
to Attakullakulla, “You are my friend. You have shown your friendship,
in the hour of danger and of trial. Now, can you show it again?――I
cannot fight my brethren――I must escape, or I must die.”
Attakullakulla replied, “I have been your friend once; I will be so
again. You must not fight your brethren. The red men must not kill you.
Come with me, and I will take you far from the reach of the bloody
tomahawk.”
Before the next morning, Attakullakulla and Captain Stewart were far on
their journey, in the depths of the wilderness. By day, they travelled
with great expedition, and at night slept upon the open ground. The sun
and moon served as guides to the sagacious Indian chief; and, as they
kept on over hills and mountains, valleys and rivers, Captain Stewart
wondered where their journey would end. On the _fourteenth_ day, they
saw fires at a distance, and they knew that men were near. As they
came nearer, they met a party of soldiers, who told them that they
were in _Virginia_, and that this was the camp of _Colonel Bird_. They
told them to go on further, where they would see Colonel Bird himself.
When they came up to this officer, Captain Stewart introduced himself
and his Indian friend to the colonel. He was delighted to hear of his
escape, and was much pleased with the friendship which the Indian had
shown to the white man. “This,” said he, “is _true friendship_, which
shows itself in action, not in words.”
When Attakullakulla said he must depart that night, the two officers
begged him to remain with them for a few days. But the old man said,
“No.” When they found that he could not be persuaded, they loaded him
with presents of all kinds, and bidding him “Farewell,” they saw him
depart for his home. On his return to his tribe, he met some soldiers,
who told him they had been sent from _Fort George_, the place which the
Indians were going to attack. They said that the captain of Fort George
had received their letter, and had heard that they were coming to fight
him. But he desired Attakullakulla to inform his brethren, that they
must not come to Fort George; for that there was much powder and ball
buried in holes around the fort to blow up any enemies, who might come;
and that if they dared to come, they would certainly be blown in pieces.
The chief promised the soldiers that he would tell the Indians of this,
and again proceeded on his way. On reaching Fort Loudon, he called the
Indians together, and told them of the word that the white men had sent
them. They were much frightened, when they heard of the powder and
shot, and blessed the Good Spirit that he had not permitted them to
attack the fort, as they must all have been killed.
But to return to Capt. Stewart. Now that he had himself escaped, he
began to think of the poor soldiers whom he had left in captivity. For
a time he could hear nothing of their fate; and was in doubt, whether
his escape might not have led to the massacre of them all. But, at
length, he had the pleasure to know, by means of one who had escaped
like himself, that they were alive, though still in captivity.
Upon this intelligence, he collected such articles, as he thought
would be acceptable to the Indians――beads, buttons, red belts, &c., and
sent them to his old friend, Attakullakulla, and begged him to divide
them among the chiefs, and to ask them that their white prisoners
might be sent to him in return. The presents proved acceptable to
the Indians; and, in the fulness of their joy, they said they must
send something in return to their friend Captain Stewart; but for an
appropriate present they were quite at a loss. Attakullakulla told them
he could help them out of their difficulty, and now informed them of
the request of Captain Stewart. To this, they unanimously assented, and
forthwith communicated to their prisoners that they were at liberty.
The joy of the prisoners need not be told. Under the guidance of the
man whom Capt. Stewart had sent with the presents, they were conducted
in safety to Fort George, where they had the pleasure to meet once
more their friend and benefactor, Captain Stewart, and to thank him in
person for his kind remembrance of them in the land of their captivity.
From the above story it may be useful to remark, that although Indians
have many bad traits of character, yet they are not destitute of good
ones. This good chief, Attakullakulla, saved, by his faithfulness,
the life of his friend, and was the means through him, of saving all
the other prisoners. It is an excellent thing to be faithful to our
friends. “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”――So Captain Stewart
found it.
A Droll Mimic.
A clergyman of some distinction once had a tame baboon which became
so fond of him, that wherever he went it was always desirous of
accompanying him. Whenever, therefore, he had to perform the service of
his church, he was under the necessity of shutting it up in his room.
Once, however, the animal escaped, and followed his master to the
church; where, silently mounting the sounding-board above the pulpit,
he lay perfectly still till the sermon commenced. He then crept to
the edge, and overlooking the preacher, imitated his gestures in so
grotesque a manner that the whole congregation were unavoidably made to
laugh.
The minister, surprised and confounded at this levity, severely rebuked
his audience for their conduct. The reproof failed of its intended
effect; the congregation still laughed, and the preacher, in the warmth
of his zeal, redoubled his vociferation and action; this last the ape
imitated so exactly that the congregation could no longer restrain
themselves, but burst out into one long and continued roar of laughter.
A friend of the preacher at length stepped up to him and pointed out
the cause of this apparently improper conduct; and such was the arch
demeanor of the animal, that it was with the utmost difficulty that
the parson himself could maintain his gravity, while he ordered the
servants of the church to take the creature away.
[Illustration]
Whale Stories.
CONTEST ABOUT A WHALE.
It is a custom among whalemen, that whenever a whale gets loose, even
although it may have once been taken by a crew, it is considered a free
prize to any one who can seize it.
Several years since, two ships, which were in search of whales,
happened at the same time to approach one, which was dead, and which
was lying in some broken ice, not far distant from a large field of ice.
No sooner had the respective crews discovered the whale, than each made
all possible sail to reach it before the other. On each bow of the two
ships was stationed a harpooner with his appropriate instrument, in
readiness to discharge it the first moment they should be sufficiently
near. But it so happened that the ships came in contact with each
other, when within a few yards of the fish, and being under full sail,
the shock was so severe, as to do considerable damage to both.
The harpooners, however, intent on their prey, both discharged their
harpoons at the same instant; and both fell short of their mark.
Observing this, a hardy seaman belonging to one of the ships leaped
overboard, and urging his way through the water, reached the fish, and
seizing one of its fins, proclaimed it a lawful prize.
But the fish being greatly swollen, and withal quite slippery, the
sailor was unable to climb upon it but was obliged to remain in the
water, until assistance could be sent. This was no pleasant sport,
for the water was intensely cold, and the poor fellow was seen quite
benumbed.
Elated with this good luck, his captain forgot to send a boat, as he
should have done, to relieve him; but gave orders to moor the vessel to
an adjoining piece of ice.
In the mean time, the other vessel tacked, and the master stepping into
a boat pushed off and rowed towards the dead fish. On reaching it,
and observing the poor fellow still holding on to the fish, but quite
benumbed, he observed, “Well, my lad, you have a fine fish here.”
“Why, yes,” replied the seaman, “something of a fish, to be sure.”
“But an’t you cold here in the water?”
“That I am,” said the shivering sailor――his teeth chattering so that
he could scarcely utter the words. “Will you let me come on board your
boat until ours arrives?”
This was readily acceded to, and the poor fellow was assisted over the
boat’s side. But no sooner was he fairly on, than the captain seized a
harpoon, and darting it into the fish, raised a flag and claimed it as
his lawful prize.
Though it was a hard case, by the rules of whale-fisheries this was
considered altogether right. The disappointed captain, having no
redress, withdrew his vessel, leaving to his competitor a valuable
prize, which he had lost through a very foolish neglect.
DISTRESSING ADVENTURE OF FOURTEEN WHALEMEN.
In the year 1813, the ship Volunteer, meeting with a severe gale,
near a large piece of ice, in a high latitude, the captain deemed it
expedient to set an anchor in the ice, to prevent his ship from being
driven out to sea.
For this purpose a boat was manned with fourteen men, who proceeded
to the ice with the anchor. At the same time, the ship was brought as
near as possible; but no sooner was the anchor fastened to the ice,
than a wave, dashing against the vessel, pulled the anchor from its
fastenings, and she went adrift.
Before the sails could be properly set, she had reached a considerable
distance. In attempting to near and return, the ship fell to leeward,
and was driven out to sea.
This, to the poor seamen left behind, was a terrible disaster. The
air was intensely cold. They were fourteen in number――with only a
small open boat, insufficient to support them in such a gale as was
prevailing――without shelter――without food――and on a detached piece of
ice, which was liable every hour to float out to sea.
In this distressing situation, what should they do? Some advised to
remain on the ice; but this might be broken by the increasing swell.
Others were anxious to attempt to join the ship, while she was yet
in sight; but the force of the wind, and the violence of the sea,
rendered such an attempt little short of madness.
At length, however, the majority decided on the latter course; and
having embarked, they launched forth on the swelling tide. But soon it
was perceived to be all in vain――the boat could not live even a quarter
of an hour, and their only safety lay in again returning to the ice.
But even this was found to be impracticable. Each one now viewed his
situation as desperate; and every moment expected to be engulfed in the
rolling waters.
At this critical juncture,――this moment of deep despair,――suddenly and
almost miraculously, as it seemed to them, a ship hove in sight. She
was indeed bounding over the tumultuous waves――but she was advancing
directly towards them.
But would she see them, and if seen, could they be taken on board in
such a storm as was sweeping over the main? Fortunately, a small flag
was in the boat. This was unfurled, and, streaming as it did in the
wind, attracted the notice of the people on board the ship. The humane
captain and his crew, from the first moment, determined, if possible,
to afford them relief. This was difficult, and even perilous. But it
might be done――and it was done. A kind Providence smiled upon the
attempt, and the poor seamen, to their inexpressible joy, were rescued
from a watery grave.
The ship proved to be the Lively, from the same port as their own
vessel; and from their townsmen and acquaintances they had the pleasure
to receive every token of kindness and affection which their pitiable
condition required.
The Life of Columbus.
CHAPTER II.
_Columbus sails on his first voyage――He continues his course._
The third of August, 1496, was a memorable day to Columbus and to the
world. On the morning of that day the sails of the three vessels were
seen by the inhabitants of Palos, spread for the voyage. To Columbus
it was a joyful occasion,――to many of the people it was a season of
gloom. Several of them had friends on board. They were now to bid
them farewell, and they could not believe but that it would be final.
They had little confidence in the success of the enterprise. Even the
sailors appeared dejected. Many tears, it is said, were shed that
morning, and loud lamentations were heard as the sails rose to the wind.
All things being in readiness, orders were issued to make sail. The
vessels were soon gallantly ploughing their way through the deep, while
the flag of Columbus was streaming to the wind on board the Santa Maria.
Many a bright morning is soon overcast by clouds. It was so with the
prospects of Columbus. He was scarcely out of sight of land, before
a signal of distress was made from the Pinta. She had unshipped her
rudder, which was found to be broken. Columbus was not without his
suspicions that the misfortune was the effect of design, in consequence
of the reluctance of some on board to continue the voyage. The
misfortune made it necessary for him to steer for the Canary islands.
These islands are thirteen in number.
Three weeks were here spent in attempting to find a vessel to take the
place of the Pinta. The effort was unsuccessful. The broken rudder of
the Pinta was therefore supplied by a new one.
The vessels being again in readiness, Columbus left the island of
Gomera, where the above repairs had been made, on the 6th of September.
He now directed his course westward into the broad Atlantic.
On the 9th, Ferro, the most western of the Canary islands, was
discovered, but before the setting in of night no trace of it remained
in sight.
They had now taken leave of their country. Before them rolled a wide
waste of waters, in the billows of which many expected to find a grave.
Gloom and dejection seemed to rest heavily on the brow of many a rugged
seaman――some of whom, even in this beginning of the voyage, broke out
into loud complaints.
Columbus soothed and flattered them. He was himself confident of
success, and spread before them the prospect of wealth and honor which
he was sure they would realize.
On the 11th of September, they computed the distance run from Ferro
at about 450 miles. At this time a mast was discovered in the water.
The ill-boding seamen doubted not that it belonged to some unfortunate
vessel; and from this fragment of the wreck, drew the conclusion that a
similar fate was at no great distance to attend themselves.
September 14th, two birds were seen, a heron and a water-wagtail. These
were supposed not to venture far from land: hence, the joy of the
seamen was great. In this instance, however, their expectations were
not realized.
In the course of a few days they fell in with the trade wind. This wind
is so called because it favors trade. In the Atlantic Ocean, between
the tropics, the trade winds blow constantly from the eastward to the
westward.
They now went on prosperously and rapidly. The wind was so steady that
for several days not a sail was shifted. The sailors would have been
delighted but for one circumstance. If the wind blew so constantly from
east to west how would they ever be able to return?
On the 18th of September, the wind from the east still wafting them
forward, Columbus, from frequent experiments, was of the opinion that
the water of the ocean was hourly growing fresher as they proceeded. If
so, were they not approaching land?
The thought infused fresh animation into the crews. Every sail was
spread――every possible exertion made by each to outstrip the others. At
the same time, every eye which could be spared, was busily intent in
looking for the expected land. There was a double reason for this――one
was the ardent desire to attain the object of the voyage――the other
was a promise of a reward of thirty crowns, or nearly one hundred and
twenty dollars, to the man who should first descry land. The Pinta,
being the best sailor, generally took the lead, and a signal from her,
that a flock of birds was seen, served to add to the belief that land
was not far distant.
The prospect of land, however, died away, and the sailors again began
to be uneasy and dissatisfied. Every day’s sailing――every propitious
wind, was carrying them farther from home and from friends. All served
to strengthen their belief that in the wide waters they would find a
last dwelling-place.
On the 23d of September, the wind changed and became nearly ahead. This
impeded their progress, but it encouraged the sailors, as they inferred
from it, that perchance they might be able to get back again. Other
circumstances at this time also aroused their spirits. Several birds
alighted upon the ships. These were so small as to induce the belief
that land could not be far distant, as their strength would not admit
of long-continued flight. Besides this, they sung so sweetly and with
so much life, that the sailors thought they could not fear but that
they could get back to land.
But again, soon after, the apprehensions of the crews were all alive.
The sea appeared on every side to be covered with weeds. This they
supposed to be an evidence of their approach to shoals and rocks. These
apprehensions were still farther increased, on the 25th of September,
by an unusual and distressing swell of the sea. Columbus told them that
it was the effect of a gale which had subsided. But they believed him
not.
In truth, they had been discontented from the first of the voyage. They
had given a reluctant consent to the undertaking. The voyage proved
longer than they expected. If much longer continued, their provisions
might fail――at least there could be little hope remaining of their
being able to make a safe return.
The growing discontents of the crew were watched by Columbus with
solicitude. He was a courageous man, and better able than most men to
allay a rising storm――to dispel fear and despondency.
But at length, complaints, which had been uttered by one to another,
became louder and louder; and some even went so far as to talk of
casting Columbus into the sea and sailing forthwith on their return. In
these trying circumstances, Columbus left no expedient untried to quell
their mutinous spirit. Some he soothed――some he flattered――others he
threatened.
On the 25th, as they were sailing still westward, and before a
prosperous breeze, a shout was heard from on board the Pinta, that land
was in sight.
For a time the joy of the crews broke forth in glory to God. The masts
were climbed――the rigging was filled, and every eye was strained to
catch a glimpse of the long-desired land. The direction in which it
was supposed to be seen, was southerly. So strong was the belief that
land had been seen, that Columbus felt himself compelled to alter his
course, and all that night to steer towards the object of their search.
The morning, however, brought with it the same unbroken prospect which
had stretched gloomily before them for so many weeks. They were now
satisfied that what they had seen was only a cloud, and which had
departed like the darkness of the night.
The joy which they had experienced had been suddenly raised――it had
risen high. The disappointment which followed was severe――and dejection
sat heavily on every countenance.
Turn the Carpet.
_A Dialogue between Dick and John._
BY HANNAH MORE.
As at their work two weavers sat,
Beguiling time with friendly chat;
They touch’d upon the price of meat,
So high, a weaver scarce could eat.
“What with my brats and sickly wife,”
Quoth Dick, “I’m almost tir’d of life;
So hard my work, so poor my fare,
’Tis more than mortal man can bear.
How glorious is the rich man’s state!
His house so fine! his wealth so great!
Heav’n is unjust, you must agree;
Why all to him? why none to me?
In spite of what the Scripture teaches,
In spite of all the parson preaches,
This world (indeed I’ve thought so long)
Is rul’d, methinks, extremely wrong.
Where’er I look, howe’er I range,
’Tis all confus’d, and hard, and strange;
The good are troubled and oppress’d,
And all the wicked are the bless’d.”
Quoth John: “Our ign’rance is the cause
Why thus we blame our Maker’s laws;
_Parts of his ways_ alone we know,
’Tis all that man can see below.
See’st thou that carpet, not half done,
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun?
Behold the wild confusion there,
So rude the mass it makes one stare!
A stranger, ign’rant of the trade,
Would say, no meaning’s there convey’d;
For where’s the middle, where’s the border?
Thy carpet now is all disorder.”
Quoth Dick, “My work is yet in bits,
But still in every part it fits:
Besides, you reason like a lout,
Why, man, that _carpet’s inside out_.”
Says John, “Thou say’st the thing I mean,
And now I hope to cure thy spleen;
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt,
_Is but a carpet inside out_.
As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends;
So when on earth things look but odd,
They’re working still some scheme of God.
No plan, no pattern, can we trace,
All wants proportion, truth, and grace;
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.
But when we reach that world of light,
And view those works of God aright,
Then shall we see the whole design,
And own the workman is divine.
What now seem random strokes, will there
All order and design appear;
Then shall we praise what here we spurn’d,
For then the _carpet shall be turn’d_.”
“Thou’rt right,” quoth Dick, “no more I’ll grumble
That this sad world’s so strange a jumble;
My impious doubts are put to flight,
For my own carpet sets me right.”
A Monkey Trick.
In 1818, a vessel that sailed between Whitehaven (England) and Jamaica,
embarked on her homeward voyage, and among other passengers, carried
Mrs. B., who had at the breast a child only a few weeks old. One
beautiful afternoon, the captain perceived a distant sail, and after he
had gratified his curiosity, he politely offered his glass to the lady,
that she might obtain a clear view of the object. She had the baby in
her arms, but now she wrapped her shawl about it and placed it on a
sofa upon which she had been sitting.
Scarcely had she applied her eye to the glass, when the helmsman
exclaimed, “See what the mischievous monkey has done.” The reader may
judge of the mother’s feelings, when, on turning round, she beheld the
animal in the act of transporting her child apparently to the very top
of the mast! The monkey was a very large one, and so strong and active,
that while it grasped the infant firmly with one arm, it climbed the
shrouds nimbly by the other, totally unembarrassed by the weight of its
burthen.
One look was sufficient for the terrified mother, and, had it not been
for the assistance of those around her, she would have fallen prostrate
on the deck, where she was soon afterwards stretched apparently a
lifeless corpse. The sailors could climb as well as the monkey, but the
latter watched their motions narrowly; and as it ascended higher up
the mast the moment they attempted to put a foot on the shrouds, the
captain became afraid that it would drop the child, and endeavor to
escape by leaping from one mast to another.
In the mean time, the little innocent was heard to cry; and though many
thought it was suffering pain, their fears on this point were speedily
dissipated when they observed the monkey imitating exactly the motions
of a nurse, by dandling, soothing and caressing its charge, and even
endeavoring to hush it to sleep.
From the deck the lady was conveyed to the cabin, and gradually
restored to her senses. In the mean time, the captain ordered every man
to conceal himself below, and quietly took his own station on the cabin
stair, where he could see all that passed, without being seen. The plan
happily succeeded; the monkey, on perceiving that the coast was clear,
cautiously descended from his lofty perch, and replaced the infant on
the sofa, cold, fretful, and perhaps frightened, but in every other
respect as free from harm as when he took it up. The captain had now a
most grateful task to perform; the babe was restored to its mother’s
arms, amidst tears and thanks, and blessings.
“The Light of all Nations.”
In the vicinity of Deal, on the south-eastern coast of England, is a
place exceedingly dangerous to ships, called the Godwin Sands. Many
vessels have been wrecked upon them, yet it was thought impossible, on
account of the soft and shifting nature of the bottom, to establish a
light-house there.
A plan was, however, suggested, two or three years ago, for a structure
of iron, which, we understand, has been carried into successful
effect. This consisted of an immense hollow iron shaft, thirty feet in
diameter, and sixty-four feet in height, forming the base. This was
sunk thirty feet deep in the sands, and rested on a bed of limestone.
Upon this, a column eighty-six feet high was raised; then came the
lantern, and above this, a statue of the queen; this last, with the
lantern, is forty feet in height. The whole structure is one hundred
and ninety feet high.
The weight of the lower shaft, or base, is one hundred and twenty tons;
in the long shaft, there is room for one hundred men with provisions;
in the top part, near the lantern, there is room for twenty men, whose
attendance is constantly necessary to manage the light. This splendid
beacon is called “_The light of all nations_.”
* * * * *
PATRICK HENRY.――When Patrick Henry, who gave the first impulse to
the ball of the American revolution in Virginia, introduced his
celebrated resolution on the Stamp Act into the House of Burgesses of
Virginia, (May, 1765,) he exclaimed, when descanting on the tyranny
of the obnoxious act, Cæsar had his Brutus; Charles I. his Cromwell;
and George III.――――“Treason!” cried the speaker; “treason, treason!”
echoed from every part of the house. It was one of those trying moments
which are decisive of character. Henry faltered not for an instant;
but, rising to a loftier attitude, and fixing on the speaker an eye
flashing with fire, continued, “_may profit by their example_. If this
be treason, make the most of it.”
* * * * *
HIGHWAYMAN AND SAILOR.――One of the Dover stages, on its way to London,
was stopped by a single highwayman, who was informed by the coachman
that there were no passengers inside, and only one in the basket, and
he was a sailor. The robber then proceeded to exercise his employment
on the tar. When waked out of his sleep, Jack demanded what he wanted;
to which the son of plunder replied, “Your money.” “You sha’n’t have
it,” said Jack. “No!” replied the robber; “then I’ll blow your brains
out!” “Blow away, then, you land-lubber,” said Jack, squirting the
tobacco-juice out of his mouth, “I may as well go to London without
brains as without money;――drive on, coachman.”
* * * * *
The Peak of Teneriffe presents five zones of different vegetation; for
seven to eight hundred feet, it produces vines, corn, olives, &c.; the
second zone produces myrtles and trees; the third, chiefly pines; the
fourth and fifth produce little vegetation, and are very cold; the
upper part is pumice-stone and lava.
[Illustration: _Iron light-house on the Godwin Sands._]
Precocity of Frenchmen.
It is interesting to remark, that most of the more prominent leaders
of the Jacobin or Mountain party, in the French revolution, were young
men. It would hardly seem possible that many of them had lived long
enough to have their feelings so indurated as to be able, deliberately,
to perpetrate the atrocities of which they were guilty. This remark
will appear more obviously just when we reflect that most of them
had previously led an obscure provincial life, and may be supposed
to have been little hardened by intercourse with the world. Perhaps,
however, the greater part were actuated more by frantic enthusiasm than
deliberate malevolence.
Robespierre, the master-spirit of the party, was guillotined at the
age of thirty-five; Danton, his rival, he sent to the scaffold at
the same early age. Camille des Moulins, when asked his age by the
bloody revolutionary tribunal, gave the blasphemous reply, “My age is
that of Jesus Christ when he suffered death,”――thirty-three years.
Chaumette, another of the sanguinary tribe, suffered death at the age
of thirty-one. Challer, who proposed to erect a guillotine at Lyons
for the execution of nine thousand persons whom he had marked, was one
of the oldest, being forty-six years old at the time he was beheaded.
Fabre D’Eglantine, the author of the celebrated revolutionary calendar,
was thirty-nine.
Carrier, the most infamous probably of the whole gang, who, when at
Nantes, tied his victims together in couples, (one of each sex,) at the
rate of twenty a day, and sunk them in the river, was only twenty-eight
years of age, at his death. Robespierre, the younger, about the same
age.
St. Just, whose talents, ferocity, and eloquence, rendered him second
only to Robespierre, was about twenty-six. Chabot, the Capuchin
friar, was thirty-five. Marat, who really appears to have been half
madman, was, when assassinated, forty-nine. Babeuf, who, on the fall
of Robespierre, was thought by his party to be most worthy to succeed
the dictator, was twenty-seven when he joined the Revolutionists. The
Duc D’Orleans, father of the present French king, was forty at the time
he was guillotined. These were not the originators of the revolution;
but they were the leaders of the Jacobin Clubs, or secret affiliated
societies, over which Robespierre, as dictator, presided for two years.
They were all beheaded except Marat. Besides these there were others,
of inferior note, equally young. The present king of the French, then
lieutenant-general Egalite, (_Equality_,) was about nineteen. A pretty
_equality_ he has made of it since.
Fouche (since duke of Otranto) was about thirty.
But it is likewise worthy of observation that the leading individuals
of other parties who took part in the revolution, were generally
young men, though not by birth, talent or wealth so generally obscure
as those just mentioned. Of the Brissotins, (so named after their
leader, Brissot de Warville, well known as the friend of Jefferson,
and a traveller in this country, but otherwise called Girondists,)
Brissot was thirty-nine. Bailly, the celebrated astronomer, and
revolutionary mayor of Paris, was one of the oldest. He was beheaded,
at the instigation of Robespierre, at the age of fifty-seven, dying
with courage and dignity. Charlotte Corday, who, although a woman,
was a Girondist, was but twenty-three when she assassinated Marat.
The eloquent Barbaroux was about twenty-seven when beheaded. The
just and magnanimous Barnave was executed at the age of thirty-two.
Madame Roland, who died more as a man ought to die than all that were
guillotined, was forty. Gensonne, the Brissotin, who was first to
proclaim that _suspicion_ was sufficient cause for the infliction
of death, was sent to the scaffold by Robespierre at the age of
thirty-five. Mirabeau, whose eloquence covered his crimes all over with
glory, was about forty years of age. Cabanus was thirty-six. Buzot,
thirty-three. The most eloquent and accomplished Vergnaud perished at
the age of thirty-five.
Those last mentioned were some of the principal Brissotins. Among the
Royalists, D’Elbee, the principal Vendean chief, was about forty.
Stofflet, another Vendean, was thirty-eight. The Duc D’Enghein, no more
than twenty. Pichegru, in Robespierre’s time, not more than thirty-two.
Among the famous generals of the revolution, there were few who were
not comparatively boys. Hoche, who was thought by many to be equal to
Bonaparte, died at thirty. Honchard, when guillotined, was thirty-two.
Kleber, one of the oldest and best, was forty. Dessaix, the knight,
without fear and without reproach, was thirty when he received his
death wound at Marengo. Other great captains who afterwards became
renowned, Ney, Soult, Joubert, (only twenty-five,) M’Donald, Lannes,
Duroc, Victor, Mortier, Oudinot, Murat, Eugene, (a mere boy,) &c. &c.,
were all young. But the giant is behind――Him! _Bonaparte!_ the little
corporal was but twenty-four.
Well did the Swedish chancellor, Oxenstrein, say to his son, when he
sent him on his travels, “Go, son, and discover what little wisdom it
takes to govern the world!”
September Thoughts.
The gay, beautiful, and ever welcome months of summer are gone, and
the months of autumn have begun to take their place. Our summer
movements are fast closing,――our summer journeyings are passing
away,――the travelling invalid and belle of fashion now wend their way
homeward. Our merry meetings upon land and water, our annual visits,
our assemblies under the canopy of heaven, our sailing excursions, our
night wanderings,――all will soon be over. To be sure, Niagara still
will thunder, and still there will be the rushing of mighty waters from
her magnificent falls; but her music will be music for herself alone.
The multitude who have gazed in wonder upon this mighty work of an
Omnipotent Architect, will soon be far distant. Saratoga, too,――that
little world of folly and of fashion, where thousands congregate to
kill time, or else, perchance, to woo and wed,――will soon be desolate.
Two months hence and the cap and the cloak will take the place of our
summer apparel. Our summer breezes will be changed into autumn winds.
The gay and pleasing attire of our green fields and pleasant gardens
will present the forbidding coldness of their own peculiar desolation.
Our trees will cast off their foliage and their fruits, and instead
of the blossom and the rose, the desert will appear. “Thus passes the
glory of the world.” But a truce to autumn reflections.
September, then, has come among us. It is the time for trade, the
signal for business, the prelude to long nights and short days, the
time for balls and parties, the time for work, and the time for play;
the time for merchants and clerks to rise early and retire late; the
time for our mechanics to work in the evening and sleep in the morning;
the time for wooing and wedding; the time to prepare for winter――to
buy your fuel and make ready for stormy days. It is the time to make
money and pay your debts, the time to study, and the time to make good
bargains; the time to be honest, and the time to speak the truth; the
time to make friends, and the time to do good. In a word, it is _the_
time, _our_ time, the _only_ time. To our good mothers, grandmothers,
and daughters, we say then, improve it; and to our perpetual motion
business men, who neither sleep long nor slumber long, our advice is
not needed. To the drones and sluggards that surround us, we say,
prepare for freezing time and starving time, for a bed of ice and snow,
and for a beggar’s meal. To the drunkard, we say, keep sober; and to
the sober, we say, keep the bowl from the drunkard. Our advice is for
all, and good to all, and he, whomsoever he may be, is a criminal who
will not take it.
* * * * *
POLITENESS.――Men think very little of the value of a bow; how small the
cost and how great the return. So, for a few soft words and pleasant
looks, interest is paid, compound and simple added together. How many
compliments have been lost on the one hand, and gained on the other,
from neglecting or putting into exercise this one important thing. A
nod! Why, it has gained more friends than wealth and learning together.
A compliment, a fine speech, a pleasant look, are each more valuable
than rubies. There is yet another value to politeness, which till
lately the world knew but little, and but perhaps for Louis Phillippe
and Alibeau, nothing would have been known. It seems that the king
was in the act of bowing to the national guards, at the moment the
assassin, Alibeau, discharged his weapon at the monarch’s head.
Evidently the king’s politeness saved him his life.
* * * * *
CHINESE FILIAL PIETY.――Ouang-Ouei-Yuen, having lost his mother, who was
all that was dear to him, passed the three years of mourning in a hut,
and employed himself, in his retirement, in composing verses in honor
of his mother, which are quoted as models of sentiment and tenderness.
The three years of his mourning having elapsed, he returned to his
former residence, but did not therefore forget his filial affection.
His mother had always expressed great apprehension of thunder, and when
it thundered, always requested her son not to leave her.
Therefore, as soon as he heard a storm coming on, he hastened to his
mother’s grave, saying softly to her, as if she could hear, “I am here,
mother.”
To our Correspondents.
We are very sorry that our limits do not permit us to insert more of
the many pretty letters we receive from our friends. The following,
which pleases us on account of the kind manner in which our little
correspondent speaks of her teacher, ought to have appeared at an
earlier date.
_Troy, N. Y., June 23, 1843._
MR. MERRY:
DEAR SIR,――We have received the June number of your
magazine, and are all very much delighted to learn that we
are to have a piece of music in the next number. We have
been asking our teacher to let us solicit the same favor
of you that your Providence friends did. We have fifteen
little misses in our school, of whom I am the oldest; for I
am ten years old. We some of us take lessons on the piano,
and all of us sing. We have a pleasant school, and we all
love our teacher, Miss E. B. W., for her kindness and
faithful instructions. The particular branches to which I
attend are Geography, Davis’ Arithmetic, Grammar, Music and
French. Those that study French like it very much.
I hope you will excuse the forwardness of one of your young
friends, in writing so much about her little affairs; but I
know you have kind feelings for children.
Yours, respectfully, MARY L. C.
_Boston, Aug. 14, 1843._
DEAR MR. MERRY:
Will you allow one of your young readers to contribute the
following geographical enigma?
I am composed of 17 letters.
My 2, 9, 9, 17, 11, is a county in Massachusetts.
My 15, 6, 8, 4, 5, 10, 9, is a town in Mississippi.
My 12, 14, 8, 8, 2, 16, 6, 8, is a strait in the north of
Europe.
My 9, 6, 5, 14, 3, 14, is a desert in Africa.
My 8, 10, 2, 9, is a river in England.
My 1, 6, 4, 14, 9, 9, 6, 3, is a strait in Asia.
My 10, 11, 2, 8, 17, 3, is a town in New Hampshire.
My 8, 2, 7, 15, 17, 9, 9, 10, 17, is one of the United States.
My 16, 6, 7, 16, 10, 9, is a celebrated river in Asia.
My 1, 14, 7, is an island in the Irish Sea.
My 8, 17, 11, 6, 9, is a country in North America.
My 15, 6, 5, 14, 7, 8, is a celebrated peninsula in
Massachusetts.
My 16, 3, 10, 17, 4, 2, is a celebrated country in Europe.
My 8, 13, 6, 1, 10, 9, is a river in England.
My 5, 14, 8, 8, 17, 3, 6, 9, is a cape in the United States.
My 1, 6, 15, 4, 5, 2, 9, 8, 10, 3, is a manufacturing town in
England.
My 2, 6, 9, 8, 13, 14, 1, is a town in Massachusetts.
My whole is a public building in Boston.
N. B
* * * * *
I need not say that the following pleases me very much.
_Liverpool, May, 1843._
MY DEAREST FRIEND:
I am going to write you a letter. I am very much obliged to
you. I am very much amused in hearing stories out of your
nice books about the world. I will tell you a story about a
widow.
A TRUE STORY.
I knew a widow, very poor,
Who four small children had,
The eldest was but six years old――
A gentle, modest lad.
And very hard this widow tried
To feed her children four,――
An honest mind the woman had
Though she was very poor.
To labor she would leave her home,
For children must be fed,
And glad was she when she could buy
A shilling’s worth of bread.
One day, when snow was falling fast,
And piercing was the air,
I thought that I would go and see
How these poor children were.
Ere long I reached their cheerless home,――
’Twas searched by every breeze,――
When going in, the eldest child
I saw upon his knees.
I paused to listen to the boy;
He never raised his head,
But still went on and said, “Give us
This day our daily bread.”
I waited till the child had done,
Still listening as he prayed;
And when he rose, I asked him why
The Lord’s prayer he had said.
“Why, sir,” said he, “this morning, when
My mother went away,
She wept, because, she said, she had
No bread for us to day.
She said, we children now must starve,
Our father being dead;
And then I told her not to cry,
For I would get some bread.
‘Our Father,’ sir, the prayer begins,
Which made me think that he,
(As we have got no father here,)
Would our kind Father be.
And then, you know, the prayer, sir, too,
Asks God for bread each day;
So in the corner, sir, I went,
And that’s what made me pray.”
I quickly left that wretched room,
And went with cheerful feet,――
And very soon was back again,
With food enough to eat.
“I thought God heard me,” said the boy,――
I answered with a nod,――
I could not speak, but much I thought
Of that child’s faith in God.
I hope you will like the story that I have written: I like
it very much.
M. C.
LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.
Christ Healing the Sick.
If we look into the history of Bonaparte, or Cæsar, or Alexander, we
shall see that their lives were chiefly employed in killing people; in
making war, by which men, women and children suffered the most dreadful
agony, misery and death.
It seems to be a natural idea for men of powerful minds and great
ambition, to aim at subduing their fellow-men, and when these resist,
to kill them. And, strange to say, the greater number a man kills, the
greater hero he is.
Such is the way with mankind. How wonderful it is, then, to take up the
New Testament, and read the history of Jesus Christ. How unlike he is,
to the great men of the earth――to the Cæsars, the Alexanders and the
Napoleons!
In the fourth chapter of Matthew, we are told that, after leaving
Nazareth, Jesus began to preach repentance, and to heal all manner of
sickness and disease. Instead of wounding and killing mankind, he went
about doing good.
“And his fame”――says the sacred story,――“went throughout all Syria;
and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers
diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and
those which were lunatic, and those which had the palsy; and he healed
them.”
What a wonderful――what a beautiful story is this! Who had ever set such
an example? What _man_ had ever conceived the idea of going about doing
good? What _human being_ had ever the idea, the purpose, and the power,
of going about, curing all manner of diseases?
Surely this was unlike _human nature_, and altogether beyond _human
power_; it was evidently a _divine_ character, exercising _divine_
power. He came to save a world which was lost; for he saw that the
“heart of man was only evil, and that continually.” He came to atone
for the sins of mankind; to reconcile a holy God to a sinful world.
The more we contemplate the character of Jesus Christ, the more will it
rise in beauty and grandeur before our minds. Let us form of him the
most noble and lofty conceptions, we shall still see him towering above
and beyond them.
It does not require a great mind, but only a holy heart, to see Christ
in his majesty and beauty. Thus it is that such a man as Bonaparte,
having no just moral vision, no eye for goodness, sees in Christ only a
strange being, whom he conceives to be bewildered with his own fancies;
while a simple-minded, but still inspired apostle, calls him “my Lord
and my God!” See John, 20th chap., 28th verse.
The difference between the worldly spirit of selfish man, and the
spirit of Christianity, may be strikingly presented, by selecting
two pictures, and placing them side by side. Let us take a picture
of Bonaparte, representing him in one of the leading actions of his
life――and what do we see? He is fighting a battle; around him are
the engines of death; blood flows on every hand; the screams of the
wounded, the agonies of the dying, fill the air; the earth is strewed
with ghastly forms; the very heavens are black with the smoke of the
deadly conflict. _And this is human glory! This is human nature!_
[Illustration: _Christ healing the Sick._]
Let us turn to another picture, that painted by West, of which we give
an engraving; it is _Christ healing the sick_. Does not every child see
the difference between _human glory_ and _Christianity_; between the
things to which human nature and human pride lead us, and the things
to which Christ would lead us? Does not every child see the deformity
of one picture when placed by the side of the other picture? How poor,
paltry and mean is that spirit which sacrifices all to self! How lofty
that god-like spirit, which embraces all mankind in its generous love
of doing good! How contemptible is the worldling! How elevated the true
Christian!
[Illustration]
Going to School.
Why do children go to school――to benefit their parents, or themselves?
I sometimes fancy that children make a mistake in this matter, and
fancy that they go to school just because their parents will have it
so, and not because it is important to their happiness to learn to
read, and spell, and write and cipher.
The fact is, that parents love their children, and desire their
happiness, and therefore it is that they desire them to be taught at
school. Many parents are so anxious that their children should be well
educated, that, although they are poor, they will toil very hard to get
the means of sending them to school.
Children should therefore consider that it is for their own sake they
are sent to school, and required to learn and say their lessons. It is
to make them wiser and better, and to qualify them to obtain success in
life, that they are thus trained up, by their parents――those who love
them best, and best know what is good for them.
The First Sailor.
All my readers have seen rafts, and boats, and ships, and they know
perfectly well that it is very easy to sail on the water. But who was
the first sailor? Who first ventured forth in a boat or a vessel?
[Illustration: _A savage upon his raft._]
We are told of Noah, who floated in an ark, thousands of years ago,
and was thus saved when all the rest of mankind were drowned by the
deluge――but no doubt people had learned to go upon the water before the
time of Noah.
[Illustration: _The interior of a large ship._]
It is thought that the nautilus, of which we once gave a picture in
the Museum, and which is a natural sailor, first suggested the idea
of a boat or ship. It is probable, however, that mankind early saw
that wood would float in water, and soon applied their observation to
practical purposes. They doubtless first got upon logs, and then made
rafts, to sail upon. By-and-by they doubtless built boats, and lastly
ships.
There is a great difference between the beginning and end of an
invention. The picture at the head of this article shows a savage upon
his raft; the next is a view of the interior of a ship, displaying its
floors and beams and timbers.
The art of building ships has advanced gradually, with the other arts
of man. Here is a picture of a ship of war used about two thousand
years ago. How very different it is from a ship of war of the present
day! It has no deck, but is open like a boat; while a large ship of war
of the present day, has four stories! The ancient ship of war would
hold fifty or sixty people, while a ship of war, now, will hold a
thousand.
[Illustration]
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER VIII.
_About the bees._
It is well worth while to attend minutely to the business that is going
on in the bee-hive. Nothing, in a great city, where we see houses, and
streets, and manufactures, and a vast population, all busily engaged,
can be more curious than what is to be witnessed in the city of the
bees.
The queen is the mother of all the young bees, for she lays all
the eggs from which young ones are hatched. When she wishes to lay
the eggs, she goes to the cells which have been made by the workers,
and having taken a peep into them, drops in her eggs, taking care to
distribute them properly. It is said that a single queen will lay six
thousand eggs in a single month, and sometimes one hundred thousand in
a year!
The eggs are very small, of a bluish white color, and of a long, oval
shape. They remain unchanged for four days and are then hatched. At
first, the young bee is only a white worm or maggot, and may be seen
floating at the bottom of the cell, in a whitish fluid, furnished by
the nursing bees. It grows rapidly, and as it lengthens coils itself
into a ring. It is then called a grub-worm, or larva.
The little worms are carefully attended by the nurses, and as soon as
these approach and touch them, they open their minute jaws and receive
the food. This consists of a nice kind of soft, sweet pap, formed by
the farina of flowers, honey and water, carefully mixed, and partly
digested in the stomachs of the nurses.
When Miss Betsey Piper had got to this point, Jack spoke as follows:
“That’s very queer, aunt Betsey, and very interesting; but don’t it
remind you of the story about the old Dutch landlady, in the state of
New York?”
“No,” said aunt Betsey.
“Why,” said Jack, “don’t you remember that Mr. Roley told us about
it? He said that he was once travelling in the western part of the
state of New York, when he came to a little brown tavern, kept by an
old Dutch woman. It was evening, and he asked for supper. The old lady
had very little in her house but bread and milk, and he concluded to
have some of this. ‘How do you like it,’ said the landlady――‘mummed
or crumbed?’ Now Mr. Roley didn’t know what _mummed_ was. So, out of
curiosity, he told her he would have it mummed. Upon this, the landlady
got a large bowl of milk, and several large slices of bread. Then,
standing over the bowl, and taking a slice of bread, at each end, with
her fingers, she began to bite off pieces, and, after a little chewing,
dropped them into the milk. This was what she called _mummed_ bread and
milk! I suppose she did it all for kindness, but Mr. Roley couldn’t eat
a bit of it.”
“Well,” said aunt Betsey, “don’t you think the little bee-worms like
the sweet pap that is made for them?”
“Oh, very likely they do,” said Jack, “for they don’t know how it is
made; besides, I have seen little infants eat things that had been
chewed for them by the nurses; and it seems that the infant bees are
treated in the same way. Really, the bees seem to be very rational kind
of creatures. But what makes me wonder very much, is how they should
know anything without any books, or instruction.”
“That is indeed very wonderful,” said aunt Betsey, “and we can only
explain it by referring it to that admirable teaching of their Creator,
called instinct.” The dialogue here ceased, and the narrator went on.
When the little worms are about four or five days old, and have grown
so large and fat as to fill their cells, the nurses seal them up with
a brown cover of a conical form. No sooner does the larva find himself
shut in, than he begins to work up and down, and to wind around himself
fine silky threads, which he draws in two strands from the middle part
of his under lip. Round and round he goes, for he knows what is to be
done; nor does he stop till he has woven about himself a thin pod or
pellicle, just the size of the cell. In this condition, the creature is
called a _nymph_ or _pupa_.
The working bee is about thirty-six hours in spinning and weaving
its cocoon or covering. It thus spends about three days, during which
a wonderful change is going on. While in the larva state, the creature
has no tail, wings or legs; it is a simple worm. But while it is in its
swaddling clothes, the legs and wings are gradually formed, and, at the
end of twenty-one days from the laying of the egg, it gnaws through its
covering and comes forth a winged insect, destined to sport in the air
and hold a joyous revel among the flowers. As if impatient for sport,
the insect goes forth soon after its birth, and it is said that it may
be seen returning to the hive, loaded with wax, the same day that it
became a bee!
While the young bees are in the larva state, the utmost care is taken
of them. If any member of the hive is rude or careless toward the egg,
or worm, or the yet unhatched pupa, the nurses are very angry. But
when the pupa has gnawed his way through his covering, he seems to be
regarded as of age, and able to take care of himself. The tender care
of the nurse now ceases altogether; and the working bees scramble over
his head, without scruple. While he is still weak, and scarcely strong
enough to get out of his cell, as if for the very purpose of making
him acquainted with the hardships of life, the rude multitude of bees
rush headlong by, often knocking him down, and sometimes giving him a
severe poke in the side, or a thump on his skull. How much like human
creatures the bees are!
I have told you how the working bee nymphs are hatched; the complete
bee is formed in twenty-one days. The process is nearly the same,
in respect to the queen bees and the drones; the former, however,
are hatched in sixteen days, and the latter in twenty-five, from the
laying of the eggs. There is one thing in respect to the royal bees, or
queens, too curious to be omitted. When they are nearly ready to emerge
from their cells, the bees gnaw the covering so as to make it very
thin. They then eat a small hole through it, and feed the pupas for a
few days. They are thus kept as prisoners, and during this time they
begin to sing a faint song, called _piping_. This is so droll, that I
can’t help writing a song, which I shall call the
LAY OF THE INFANT QUEEN BEE.
Oh let me out,
My masters――pray.
Oh let me out
To-day――to-day!
Oh let me out
To try my wing,
To run about
And dance and sing.
Oh let me out
To taste the breeze,
And I will bless
Ye, pretty bees!
Oh let me out
To see the bowers,
Where honey dwells
In golden flowers!
Oh let me out,
For I’m a queen――
A pretty bee
As e’er was seen!
Should you suppose it possible that the bees could resist such a
petition as this? Yet it is a fact that often the queens are detained
as prisoners for four or five days, notwithstanding their _piping_.
* * * * *
A CHILD’S PHILOSOPHY.――Little G――――, when playing the other day on
a pile of wood, fell down and hurt himself. As he lay crying very
bitterly, one of his friends passed by, lifted him up, and patting him
on the head, said to him――“Come, my little boy, don’t cry; it will
be well to-morrow.” “Well,” said he, sobbing, “then I will not cry
to-morrow.”
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. VI. OCTOBER, 1843. No. 4.
[Illustration]
October.
It is now October――the tenth month in the year. It was anciently called
_wyn monat_, or wine month, because this is the season of the vintage.
An old stanza says,
“Then for ‘October month’ they put
A rude illuminated cut,
Reaching the grapes from off the vine,
Or pressing them, or turning wine;
Or something to denote that there
Was vintage at this time of year.”
In this country, we have some grapes, but we make no wine, or very
little. With us, October is a beautiful month; for now the green leaves
of the forest are changed and present a variety of the most brilliant
hues. The woodbine is seen climbing up the trees and rocks, as red
as the coat of a British soldier. The ash, the maple, the oak, the
shumack, are clothed in red, yellow, and purple of every shade. The
mountain seems to be robed in a coat of many colors.
Although winter is approaching, and already many of the leaves are
dropping from the boughs to wither and to perish, still the aspect of
the forest is gay and brilliant, as if nature put on her most gorgeous
garments at the very moment when death and decay are approaching.
While these scenes are presented to the eye, the farmer is busy in
gathering his crop of Indian corn, digging his potatoes, and securing
the pumpkins, squashes, beets, and other vegetables of the garden. The
migratory birds have departed, but the whistle of the quail is heard at
morning and evening. The drumming of the partridge murmurs through the
forest, and the squirrel is seen feasting upon the chestnut and walnut
trees. October is, indeed, a pleasant month.
[Illustration: _The Island of Hong Kong._]
The Island of Hong Kong.
In the late war between Great Britain and China, the former took
possession of the island of Hong Kong. They still retain it as a
station for their vessels; and as it is likely to become a place
of some interest, we give a picture which presents the bold and
rugged aspect of the country, and we shall now add a few particulars
descriptive of the island.
It lies on the coast, at the south-eastern point of China, and near to
the main land. Its surface is very uneven, it being broken into rugged
mountains and deep valleys. It appears like a huge mass of earth and
rock, that has been severed from the adjacent continent and tumbled
into the sea. The loftiest peak is said to be about fifteen hundred
feet high.
The view of the island which we have presented, exhibits several tall
conical mountains, rising in the centre, and a beautiful cascade,
pouring over a high rock into the sea. To the right may be seen a few
small huts, which, a few years since, constituted the only habitations
upon the island. These were occupied by a small number of miserable
natives, who lived almost entirely by fishing.
The island is for the most part sterile and unpromising. It has no
beasts and few birds; scarcely a tree finds root in its soil, and the
shrubs are stunted and dwarf-like. By the margin of the streams, there
are numerous flowers, some of which are exceedingly beautiful. The
climate is hot, and the thermometer sometimes rises to one hundred
and twenty degrees. This island is chiefly valuable to the British on
account of its fine harbor, which is capable of containing a great
number of ships, which may there rest in security.
Tippoo Saib.
[Illustration]
This monarch, sultan of Mysore in Hindostan, was a son of the famous
Hyder Ali, and became distinguished in those wars which Great Britain
carried on for the purpose of subjecting this portion of India. He was
born in 1751, and succeeded his father in 1782. In 1783, he signed a
treaty of peace with England, which put an end to the wars that his
father had commenced.
Tippoo had now a kingdom about twice as large as the state of New
York in extent, with an annual revenue of $14,000,000. The country
was thickly peopled and well cultivated; but Tippoo was a Mahometan,
and he began to persecute those who differed from him in religious
faith. He caused the Brahmins to be cruelly beaten, and such was his
rigor towards the Christians, that seventy thousand of them left his
dominions.
After a time, he became again involved in a war with the English, and
Tippoo was besieged by Lord Cornwall, in his capital of Seringapatam.
Reduced to extremity, he agreed to a peace, by the terms of which he
was compelled to relinquish one half his kingdom and pay the enormous
sum of $15,000,000. This took place in 1792.
Tippoo was a man of great talents and a good deal of pride. He could
not well submit to the humiliation he had suffered, and accordingly he
again engaged in war against the English. He had entered into intrigues
with the French, and as Bonaparte at this time made his famous
expedition into Egypt, it has been supposed that he expected assistance
from Tippoo in an attempt to subjugate India and strip England of her
possessions in that quarter.
The British troops prosecuted the war with vigor, and having defeated
the sultan in two pitched battles, he was obliged to retreat to his
capital. Here he was again invested, and on the 4th of May, 1799,
Seringapatam was carried by storm. Tippoo was slain in the assault,
while bravely defending the ramparts, and his kingdom was divided. This
monarch, though capricious and cruel, was fond of literature, and had
collected an extensive and valuable library, which is still preserved
in the University of Calcutta.
A Revolutionary Story.
CHAPTER II.
[Continued from page 16.]
It is not our design to detail the proceedings of the regiment raised
in Saybrook, and commanded by Colonel Joinly. It is sufficient to say
that it marched toward New York, and crossing over the Sound to Long
Island, for the purpose of executing some plan against a detachment of
British troops stationed there, they were attacked by a superior
force, and after some brave fighting, were driven back. A small
portion of them, including the colonel, being separated from the rest,
were surrounded and captured. The rest were dispersed and returned to
their homes.
New York had now fallen into the hands of the British, and General
Clinton, the British commander, had established his head-quarters
there. The citizens, for the most part, remained at home, though many
families had departed for other portions of the country. Those who
remained were not disturbed in their ordinary business, though they
were carefully watched by the British officers.
The city of New York at this period seemed almost like a British town.
The soldiers of King George, dressed in their red coats, and bearing
the British flag, were seen parading the streets every day and filling
the city with the sounds of the fife and drum. Sir Henry Clinton had a
fine house, where he might often be seen, surrounded by British
officers gayly decked in gold lace, rich epaulettes, and cocked hats
ornamented with plumes.
Though the business of these men was war, they seemed, while in New
York, to be chiefly occupied with amusement. It is true, that, during
the day, they rode forth on fine horses to review the troops, examine
the fortifications, or inspect military stores. Sometimes they
assembled together for counsel, when they might be seen carefully
inspecting maps, reading despatches, and forming deep schemes to
defeat General Washington and conquer our country.
But although a portion of their time was thus occupied, still these
officers seemed to live as if amusement engrossed their attention.
They were often seen gallanting gay ladies through the streets, and
almost every evening was devoted to pleasure. Frequent levees were
held at the general’s house, where music, dancing and revelry seemed
to fill the hearts of all who were present. There were several
American families in New York, who were friendly to the British and
opposed to the cause of liberty; they were called tories. These paid
their court to General Clinton, and did everything in their power to
please, amuse, and gratify his officers.
Thus things went gayly on in the city, while war raged in all parts of
the country. Towns and villages were attacked, the houses plundered
and burned, the inhabitants slain or driven in poverty and desolation
from their houses. Even where these scenes of violence had not
occurred, and in places remote from battle and bloodshed, there was
sorrow and gloom hanging over many a family and many a village. To
form an idea of this, let us turn our attention a moment to Saybrook
and the home of Colonel Joinly. He had now been absent about two
years, being detained in captivity at New York. He had left behind him
a wife and family of six children.
Before his departure, they had lived in the enjoyment of wealth and
prosperity. Their house stood upon the bank of the Connecticut river,
commanding a view of the noble bay, which spreads out at the point
where that stream mingles with the ocean. The edifice was of the olden
fashion, of two stories, with a steep roof and heavy cornices. It was
of ample dimensions, with several out-houses and two large barns; the
latter showing that a liberal farm was connected with the domain.
Several lofty elms stood around, and two in front, with their vast
spreading branches, especially, indicated the full century which had
elapsed since the house was reared. In the present instance, they
might have been emblematic of the two heads of the house. It seldom
happens that two nobler spirits are united than in the alliance of
Captain Joinly and his wife.
He was distinguished alike for manly beauty, fine intellect, and true
nobleness of soul. Eminent in his profession, he had acquired wealth,
which had been used to embellish his home, bestow the advantages of
education upon his family, and dispense charity around him. His wife
was in every respect his equal.
I remember her well, for she lived to the age of threescore and ten,
and when I was a boy, and sat upon her knee, she told me the tales
which I am now telling. In her old age, her tall form was erect, her
eye black and piercing, and as she walked upon her high-heeled shoes,
she seemed the very image of dignity. She was still scrupulous as to
her toilette; and though she had the long waist, the tall cap, the
frizzed gray hair, the rich, stiff, black silk of the olden time,
there was a graciousness of manner, a heavenly sanctity of countenance
about her, which rendered her, as my memory has preserved her
portrait, one of the most beautiful beings I have ever beheld. There
is surely no extravagance in conceiving that the two noble elms that
stood before the old mansion, were emblematic of the master and
mistress who presided over it.
For a series of years, an unbroken tide of prosperity had seemed to
attend the Joinly family. In the enjoyment of wealth and
respectability, they also possessed the confidence and good will of
all around. They might, perhaps, be considered a little aristocratic,
and there was doubtless something of family pride in their hearts.
But these things were common in that day; the English custom of
dividing society into different ranks was prevalent in the country.
Where there was wealth, talent, and good character, a certain degree
of superiority was assumed. It did not then, as in our day, give
offence, for such was the practice of the people; and especially in
the case of the Joinlys, was the rank assumed on the one hand, and
accorded on the other, without provoking unpleasant feelings. In the
dignity they maintained, there was nothing of strutting, of
haughtiness, or pride; and such was their reputation for kindness,
hospitality and charity to all, that envy was disarmed and scandal
silenced.
Such was the state of things when the hospital on Duck Island was
destroyed. This was a serious disaster; for the amount of property
that was lost was considerable. It was, however, followed by other
calamities. Colonel Joinly expended a large sum of money in preparing
his own outfit and that of the regiment, all of which was speedily
dissipated. Beside this, the unfortunate result of his expedition,
though in no respect occasioned by want of skill or courage, had
impaired the reputation of the colonel, and served in no small degree
to mortify the feelings of the family.
But more than all, his prolonged captivity, and the circumstances
which attended it, served to harass both himself and those who were
nearest and dearest to his heart. He was detained at the western
extremity of Long Island, contiguous to New York, where a large number
of American prisoners were kept. Some of these were in barracks, and
others in the hulks of large vessels, which were moored near the shore
of the present town of Brooklyn.
Crowded closely together in these dismal apartments, with unwholesome
and scanty food, surrounded with a putrid atmosphere, and deprived of
every comfort, the poor wretches suffered everything that humanity
could endure. Many of them fell victims to these miseries, as well as
to diseases engendered by destitution, famine, and an infectious
atmosphere.――Colonel Joinly, from his rank, was spared these miseries;
but he was a physician, and seeing the sufferings of these poor
wretches, his generous heart was touched with pity, and, from the
first, he devoted himself to their alleviation as far as was in his
power. He expended the little money he possessed in the purchase of
medicines, and when this was exhausted, he sent home to his family,
begging them to forward him all the money in their power to be
employed in this pressing charity.
Though already impoverished, and struggling under many difficulties,
his wife despatched all the money she could collect, and added several
articles of jewelry. All this was soon expended, and still there was a
demand for more. The colonel, at length, exchanged his gold watch and
his gold sleeve buckles for medicines; and finally he proceeded to
some of the merchants in New York, and ran in debt to a considerable
amount for the same object.
From the earliest dawn, till late at night, he was devoted to the
poor, suffering soldiers. Sometimes an hundred of them were prostrate
with disease, and he was the only physician. Naturally of a kind and
sympathizing nature, he felt the sorrows of these poor creatures as if
they were his own. He not only administered to them as a physician,
but he alleviated their sorrows in every way that his ingenuity could
suggest.
The soldiers looked upon him as their only friend, and they regarded
him with an affection almost bordering upon idolatry. In a multitude
of cases, he was called by the dying soldiers to communicate their
last words to their friends, and a large part of his time was taken up
in writing letters of this nature. Nothing could exceed the patience,
the gentleness, the sympathy, with which he would sit by the bedside
of the dying, soothing their agonies of body and softening their
mental sorrows.
While thus, for two long years, Colonel Joinly was occupied in his
career of charity, his family at home had been subjected to many
privations. Everything that could be done by a woman was achieved by
the energy, skill, and devotion of his wife. But they had been
completely impoverished by the draining of their resources, and
nothing was left to the support of a large and expensive family but
the farm. From this, the absolute necessaries of life were indeed
procured, but nothing more.
The situation of Mrs. Joinly was, in many respects, distressing. Her
husband was in captivity, and in circumstances which led her to feel
that his life must soon be sacrificed to exposure, care and anxiety.
She knew the depth of his feelings, and foresaw that unless he were
soon released from his present condition, he would speedily wear out
his life from mere sympathy with the distress around him. She had
several sons, now approaching manhood, who needed the guidance of a
father; and she had daughters, who were deprived of advantages which
they once possessed, and which a father’s presence alone could
restore.
With all her care, she felt too that stern poverty was creeping upon
them. The old family carriage had been laid aside, the sleek horses
were gone, and the plough-horse alone remained in their stead. The
ample flock of sheep had dwindled down to some half dozen ewes.
Nothing remained of the noble dairy, but two lean cows. The fences of
the farm were going to decay, and everything around seemed to wear an
aspect of ruin and dilapidation.
Hitherto, Mrs. Joinly had supported her adversities with firmness, or
if she had moments of weakness, they were hidden from the view of all
around, and the tears which were shed, fell in secrecy and silence.
But at last, she wrote a letter to her husband, setting forth her
anxieties, and begging him earnestly to adopt some means by which he
would be able to return.
When this letter reached Colonel Joinly, his heart was wrung with
anguish. It seemed impossible that he should leave the prisoners to
their fate, and yet, the call of his family appeared imperative. With
a view of discharging his duty to all, he proceeded to General
Clinton, and in moving terms set before him the distresses of the
prisoners, and the necessity of provision, of medicines, medical
attendants and other comforts. This earnestness and eloquence extorted
a promise of compliance with these reasonable requests; but the event
proved that it was promise alone.
Colonel Joinly also wrote to General Washington, entreating him to
provide for his immediate exchange. He set before him his great
sacrifices, his broken constitution, his ruined fortunes, his
distressed family. The reply received from the commander-in-chief was
full of kindly sympathy, but it still expressed a belief that Colonel
Joinly’s presence with the distressed prisoners was indispensable, and
that his leaving them would be but a dereliction of duty.
In a state almost bordering on despair, his nerves already shaken by
impaired health, the colonel proceeded to General Clinton, and
besought him to grant him leave of absence for a month, upon parole.
The request seemed to startle the general at first, but great virtues
make their way through all hearts. Colonel Joinly’s devotion to the
prisoners had become the theme of praise even with the enemy, and had
reached the ears of the British commander. He therefore, after a
little hesitation, granted the request of Colonel Joinly, taking only
his word of honor as the pledge for his return.
The war-worn soldier now made preparations to depart for his home,
but, owing to some caprice in the British commander, or other
circumstances, which we cannot explain, at the moment Colonel Joinly
was about to depart, his leave of absence was revoked, and sick at
heart, he was obliged to submit to the disappointment which this event
occasioned.
(To be continued.)
[For Merry’s Museum.]
The Blue-Bird.
About the beginning, or early in the month of March, in Connecticut
and Massachusetts, comes the delightful blue-bird. “Everybody loves
the blue-bird,” says the Rev. Dr. Peabody, in his Report on the Birds
of Massachusetts. And Mr. Wilson remarks of him, “As one of the first
messengers of spring, bringing the charming tidings to our very doors,
he bears his own recommendation always along with him, and meets with
a hearty welcome from everybody.”
The blue-bird has been so beautifully described by other writers, and
so well known, that I shall do little else than quote from others, and
principally from Wilson, who is perhaps unrivalled in his description
of birds.
He has written a poetical account of him, which is so interesting and
beautiful, and which so few persons, especially children, have an
opportunity of reading in his beautiful work on American Ornithology,
that I am tempted to transcribe the whole of it for the readers of
Merry’s Museum, young and old.
“When Winter’s cold tempests and snows are no more,
Green meadows and brown furrow’d fields re-appearing,
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore,
And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering;
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing,
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
O, then comes the Blue-bird, the herald of spring!
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.
“Then loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring;
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the weather;
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring,
And spicewood and sassafras budding together;
O, then, to your gardens ye housewives repair,
Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure;
The Blue-bird will chant from his box, such an air,
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure!
“He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree,
The red-flowering peach and the apple’s sweet blossoms;
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be;
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms;
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours,
The worms from their webs, where they riot and welter;
His song and his services freely are ours,
And all that he asks is――in summer a shelter.
“The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train,
Now searching the furrows,――now mounting to cheer him;
The gard’ner delights in his sweet simple strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him;
The slow lingering school-boys forget they’ll be chid,
While gazing intent as he warbles before them,
In mantle of sky-blue and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him.
“When all the gay scenes of the summer are o’er,
And autumn slow enters so silent and sallow;
And millions of warblers that charmed us before,
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow;
The Blue-bird, forsaken, yet true to his home,
Still lingers and looks for a milder to-morrow,
Till, forced by the horrors of winter to roam,
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.
“While spring’s lovely season, serene, dewy, warm,
The green face of earth, and the pure blue of heaven,
Or love’s native music have influence to charm,
Or sympathy’s glow to our feelings are given,
Still dear to each bosom the Blue-bird shall be;
His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a treasure,
For through bleakest storms, if a calm he but see,
He comes, to remind us of sunshine and pleasure!”
The Blue-bird, as most persons, young and old, probably know, builds
its nest in a hole in some old tree, generally an apple tree, unless a
box is provided for him, in which the female lays five or six very
pale blue eggs. Its song is a pleasant warble, which everybody loves
to hear. Says Wilson, “In his motions and general character, he has
great resemblance to the Robin Redbreast of Britain, (meaning Great
Britain,) and had he the brown-olive of that bird, instead of his own
blue, could scarcely be distinguished from him. Like him, he is known
to almost every child; and shows as much confidence in man by
associating with him in summer, as the other by his familiarity in
winter. His society is courted by the inhabitants of the country, and
few farmers neglect to provide for him, in some suitable place, a snug
little summer-house, ready fitted and rent free. For this, he more
than sufficiently repays them by the cheerfulness of his song, and the
multitude of injurious insects which he daily destroys.”
If the young readers of Merry’s Museum will make a small box, with a
hole in it large enough for the bird to go in and out, and nail it up
in the neighborhood of the house, in the spring or fore part of
summer, they will be almost certain to have either a blue-bird’s or a
wren’s nest made in it, and can examine the eggs and young at their
pleasure.
Last year I put up a box, for martins, on the side of my house, but no
martins coming, a pair of blue-birds took possession of it, and raised
a brood of young ones. This season, a box which I nailed up near the
house, has a wren’s nest built in it, in which the female has now
(July 3d) laid two eggs. The blue-birds have not yet occupied the
martin box, but I think they may, as it was late last year when they
made their nest in it.
VIREO.
* * * * *
KIRCHER.――The celebrated astronomer, Athanasius Kircher, having an
acquaintance who denied the existence of a Supreme Being, took the
following method to convince him of his error, upon his own principles.
Expecting a visit from him, he procured a very handsome globe, or
representation of the starry heavens, which was placed in the corner
of the room, where it could not escape his friend’s observation; who,
when he came, asked from whence it came, and to whom it belonged.
“Not to me,” said Kircher, “nor was it ever made by any person, but
came here by mere chance.” “That,” replied his skeptical friend, “is
absolutely impossible: you surely jest.” Kircher, however, persisting
in his assertion, took occasion to reason with his friend on his
own atheistical principles. “You will not believe,” said he, “that
this small body originated in mere chance; and yet you would contend
that those heavenly bodies of which it is but a faint and diminutive
resemblance, came into existence without order or design.” Pursuing
this train of reasoning, his friend was at first confounded, next
convinced, and ultimately joined in a cordial acknowledgement of the
absurdity of denying the existence of a God.
Green.
Of all colors, green is most agreeable to the eye. Red is bright and
dazzling, and pleases us for a moment; but how painful would it be if
the whole landscape around us were of a bright red color! How soon
would our eyes begin to ache! How dreadful would be the spectacle in
the heat of summer, and during the long days of June, July, and
August! How soon would a large part of mankind, under these
circumstances, be reduced to a state of absolute blindness!
If the earth were covered with yellow, or pink, or purple, or even
blue, the effect upon the eye would be either painful and destructive
to the sight, or at least very disagreeable. But as the earth is
covered with green a large part of the year, and as this color is
agreeable to the eye, none of these evil consequences are experienced.
How beautifully are the wisdom and goodness of God displayed in so
adjusting the eye of man that it should take delight in that color
which prevails in nature. If God had not been a wise being, he would
not have adapted things to each other in this admirable manner. If he
had not been a benevolent being, he would not have made the whole
earth like a picture, so that the eye of man might rejoice in it. He
would not have clothed the mountain, the forest, the hill-side, the
meadow and the valley, in that particular color which is the only one
of all others that suits the human eye.
What is it to be Polite?
Politeness is a delicate regard to the feelings of others. It does not
consist in civil bows, or graceful wavings of the hand, or a courtly
bearing of the body, or in flattering speeches; it lies rather in
avoiding rude and offensive speeches, in avoiding offensive habits,
and in adopting a general course of conduct calculated to gratify and
please those around us.
We sometimes see people who pretend to be very polite; who bow and say
flattering things, and affect an air of polish and refinement; and who
are yet haughty, and seem to say, by their airs, “We are better than
you are!” Now, whatever these people may pretend to be, they are not
polite――they are, rather, coarse-minded, vulgar, disagreeable, people;
they are at once ill-bred, hypocritical and wicked. They pretend to be
what they are not; they are filled with self-conceit, and are really
desirous of wounding the feelings of others, by making them feel
humbled in their presence. Nothing can be more offensive than such
manners.
A truly polite person endeavors to put all at ease around him. If he
is learned, in the presence of the unlettered he does not set off his
knowledge; if he is better dressed than those around him, he does not
direct attention to this fact, but leads to other topics of
consideration; if he is handsome, he acts as if he did not know it; if
he is of a higher station in life than others who may be present, he
still treats all with due attention and kindness.
The source of politeness is the heart. If the heart is good――if it is
full of gentleness, kindness, tenderness and grace, the face, the
hands, the form, will all unite to express it. The manners of a person
set forth his heart; they tell tales out of school, and let everybody
look into the bosom. If a person is always saying malicious,
ill-natured things, we know that the heart is ill-natured and
malicious. If the countenance, has a severe, harsh, and unkind
expression, we do not doubt that it is an index to the heart. As the
pointers of a clock show how the machinery moves within――telling of
every revolution, down even to the ticking of seconds――so the manners
tell the beatings of the bosom, and show to the eye of the skilful
observer, all that is going on there.
Some persons fancy that politeness implies insincerity; they imagine
that it requires a certain degree of pretence, flattery and gloss.
This is a mistake. Politeness, like every other virtue, may be carried
to excess, and thus become vicious or false. Politeness never calls
upon us to sacrifice sincerity; it never requires us to say or do or
pretend what is not true. It commands us to keep our manners void of
offence; and the best way to do this, is to keep a heart void of
offence. If we feel pleasantly, kindly, benevolently, we shall be very
apt to appear pleasantly, kindly, benevolently. If by any means we
have adopted a bad habit――if we have become satirical――if we have
fallen into the practice of telling tales of others, or exaggerating
the faults of others, or taking pleasure in telling scandalous tales
of others, the moment we become apprized of it, we should break off
such bad habits.
I sometimes fancy that young people――even some of my blue-eyed and
black-eyed friends――hardly think that they are bound to be polite:
but, let me tell you, my dear children, that now is the very time to
begin to establish the habit of paying attention to the feelings of
others. Let me beg of you, therefore, always――at the table, in the
street, in the parlor, at church, with the young and the old――be
polite; by which I mean, _be regardful of the feelings of others_.
Early Rising.
The habit of early rising is recommended by many considerations. In
the first place, it contributes to health and long life――it
invigorates the body and the mind, and it gives cheerfulness to the
spirits. The fresh morning air is the best of medicines.
Early rising also contributes to pleasure. There is no part of the
whole twenty-four hours so pleasing, so striking, so wonderful, as
that in which the whole world wakes up from sleep, in which night
gives place to day, in which the glorious fountain of life rises up as
from a sea of darkness, and fulfils the bidding of the Almighty. God
says, “Let there be light!” and there is light.
The habit of early rising contributes to thrift and success in the
pursuits of life. The mechanic, the farmer, the merchant, or the
manufacturer, who rises early in the morning, is almost certain to be
successful in his business. This habit is also of the utmost
importance to the student, as we shall readily see by glancing at the
lives of certain great men.
John Quincy Adams has been for many years in the habit of rising at
four o’clock in the morning; and it is doubtless owing to this
practice, in a considerable degree, that he has attained his present
eminence. He has been president of the United States; he has been the
diplomatic representative of our government at various foreign courts;
he has been for many years a member of congress; and all these
stations he has filled with distinguished ability.
He is a profound statesman, a fine writer, an eloquent speaker. He is
one of the most learned men that lives; and now, at the age of almost
fourscore, he is the admiration of his countrymen, and the wonder of
the age. Wherever he goes, the people crowd in flocks to see him;
whenever he addresses the multitude, there is a deep and reverend
silence, broken only by acclamations of applause. What a wonderful
reputation has this man acquired, and in a great degree through that
simple habit of early rising which is within the reach of all!
Let us look to other cases, and see what great things have been
accomplished by early rising. Paley, who, in the early part of his
college career, led an indolent life, was awakened one morning at five
o’clock by one of his companions, who reproached him with the waste of
his time and of his strong faculties of mind. Struck with the justice
of the reproach, Paley, from that time forward, rose at five every
morning. It is easy to see how such a course contributed to the
celebrity of this great author of the Moral Philosophy and the
Evidences of Christianity.
The celebrated Dr. Doddridge says, that it is to his habit of early
rising, that the world is indebted for nearly all of his works. Sir
Thomas More always rose at four o’clock, and wrote one of his most
famous works by thus stealing time from his sleep.
The celebrated naturalist, Linnæus, rose generally at four o’clock,
and at six he gave lectures to his scholars, which lasted till ten.
Dr. Franklin was an early riser. Dr. Bowditch, the distinguished
mathematician, of whom every American youth should know something,
rose with the sun in summer, and at four o’clock in winter; and he
used to remark, that to these morning hours he was indebted for all
his mathematics. Zimmerman always wrote several hours in the early
morning. Priestly was an early riser; and it is to hours gained in
this way that we are indebted for many of the volumes of Sir Walter
Scott.
Buffon, the celebrated writer on natural history, used to bribe his
servant to wake him every morning at a certain hour, and he says, that
to the perseverance of this man, the world is indebted for his
well-known work on natural history. We may add to this list of great
men, who have recommended early rising by their examples, the names of
Sir Matthew Hale, Dr. Parkhurst, Bishop Burnet, Bishop Horne, Bishop
Jewell, and many others.
Pope Julius II.
This extraordinary man was originally a fisherman, but his uncle,
Sextus IV., being pope, and seeing that he possessed great talents,
caused him to enter the church, where he soon obtained distinction.
His ambition was vast, and reaching from point to point, he at last
became pope, in 1503.
Although he professed to be the successor of St. Peter, who preached
the gospel of peace, Julius did not hesitate to raise armies and make
war; and, what is remarkable, he led his armies in person, and in
battle displayed all the fierce courage and bold daring of the
soldier. At the siege of Mirandola, in 1511, he exposed himself, at
the head of his men, at any point of danger: when a breach in the
walls was effected, he entered by a scaling ladder, sword in hand,
being among the very foremost of the headlong assailants!
The great mind of Julius was occupied with many vast projects. In the
first place, he desired to restore the see of Rome to its former
power, and he made wars, fought battles, and intrigued with kings and
princes, to effect this object. He did a good deal, as he thought, to
strengthen the power of the popes, and establish, not only the
spiritual, but temporal dominion of the church; but while he was
pleasing himself with the idea of success in one direction, we shall
see that he was laying the train, in another, by which his schemes
were to be finally exploded, and the church itself shaken to its
foundations.
[Illustration: _Pope Julius II._]
Julius was a lover of pleasure, and many tales are told of his vices
and immoralities. He was also a lover of the fine arts――painting,
sculpture, and architecture. Of these he became a patron, and many
great artists, particularly Raphael and Michael Angelo, flourished in
his time and under his auspices.
Julius did a great deal to improve and embellish the Vatican, which is
the Pope’s palace, at Rome. This building is still one of the wonders
of the world, and it would require a large book to describe its
hundreds of rooms, and its treasures of art, in painting and
sculpture.
Among other great projects, Julius determined to build a cathedral
church, one of such majesty and splendor as was suitable to the city
of Rome, the seat of the popes, the centre and head of that religion
which had not only pervaded the civilized world, but claimed to be the
perpetuation and completion of God’s dealings with man on earth. The
stupendous and admirable church of St. Peter, still standing at
Rome,――the wonder of the world and the triumph of art,――was the result
of this grand conception.
Julius was a man of great energy――and he set immediately about his
darling project. The greatest artists were employed, and the edifice
was begun on the 18th April, 1506. It was hurried forward with such
expedition, that the walls, after they were carried to a great
elevation, cracked, and it required the wonderful genius of Michael
Angelo to devise the means of remedying the difficulty, and of
furnishing the stupendous plans for the final completion of the
building.
St. Peter’s was not finished till more than a century after both
Julius and Michael Angelo had gone down to their graves――so vain are
both ambition and genius, in satisfying their own desires. And as to
Julius, this very work, designed, no doubt, to hand down his name with
glory to after times, resulted in a very different manner. His various
schemes led him into many expenses, and in his need for money he
granted the sale of _indulgences_ for sins――causing it to be set forth
that the money thus obtained, was to build the church of St. Peter.
Julius seems to have thought it very desirable to erect this noble
church; he, perhaps, regarded it as a very laudable and holy
enterprise, though doubtless, some share of selfish ambition was
mingled with other feelings. And, further, Julius seems to have
thought, for such a great and good object, that he might deal in
indulgences,――which were pieces of paper, sold for large sums of
money, in which the pope declared that the sins committed by persons
buying them, were remitted and forgiven of God!
This traffic being carried on to a great extent, roused the famous
Martin Luther in opposition to the church of Rome, and the result was
the Reformation, by which the power of the church of Rome was greatly
abridged, and the popes themselves humbled. Thus the ambition of
Julius resulted in disgrace to himself, and humiliation to the
institution which he so eagerly sought to glorify.
* * * * *
A GENTLEMAN, one dark night, riding home through a wood, had the
misfortune to strike his head against the branch of a tree, and fell
from his horse, stunned by the blow. The animal immediately returning
to the house which they had left, about a mile distant, found the door
closed and the family retired to bed.
He then pawed at the door, till one of them, hearing the noise, arose
and opened it, and to his surprise found the horse of his friend. No
sooner was the door opened than the horse turned round, and the man,
suspecting there was something wrong, followed the animal, who led him
directly to the spot where his master lay on the ground in a state of
insensibility.
Eccentric Characters
[Illustration: RICHARD DICKINSON.]
This man, though deformed by nature, as he is represented in the
picture, lived a happy life, amassed wealth, became a great favorite
with fashionable people, and at last acquired the title of Governor.
Dicky, as he was familiarly called, lived at Scarborough, a town in
Yorkshire, England, famous for mineral waters and sea bathing. It has
long been a fashionable resort in England, and in paying attention to
those who frequented the place, Dicky collected considerable money.
With this, he built several public houses, and as he was now rich, and
withal very facetious, he became quite a noted character. The ladies
patronized him; poets sung his praises, the famous Hysing painted his
portrait, and Vertue, no less celebrated, engraved it. A large etching
was executed, from which the above sketch is taken, and to the
likeness the following lines were subjoined:
“Behold the governor of Scarborough Spaw,
The strangest phiz and form you ever saw,
Yet, when you view the beauties of his mind,
In him a second Æsop you may find.
Samos unenvied boasts her Æsop gone,
And France may glory in her late Scarron,
While England has a living Dickinson.”
Dickinson received the title of governor somewhat in mockery, but he
took it in good part. He flourished rather more than a century ago.
[Illustration: JAMES WHITNEY.]
This notorious person, who was executed in 1694, for robbery, was bred
a butcher, and it is said that his first attempt at crime consisted in
an effort to steal a calf. He and a companion had endeavored, in the
course of a certain morning, to purchase the calf; but as the owner
demanded an exorbitant price, they determined to steal it the next
night.
It happened to be very dark, but, after some parley, Whitney agreed to
enter the stable and seize the animal, while his companion watched
without. He entered accordingly, and began feeling about for his prey.
He soon felt something rough, and taking it for the calf, began
tickling it, in order to make it rise. Suddenly, the animal seemed to
get upon its hind legs, and anon grasping Whitney with its fore paws,
gave him a most severe hug. In this posture, he was forced to stand,
lost in astonishment, unable to move, and afraid to cry out, lest he
should alarm the inn-keeper or some of the family; the thief without,
wondering all the time at his delay.
The latter, at length, putting his head in at the door, said, “What is
it that keeps you? Are we to be all night stealing a calf?” “A calf!”
exclaimed Whitney; “why, I believe it is the Imp himself, for he has
got his paws about me, and keeps me so close that I can’t stir a
step.” “Pooh!” cried the other; “what nonsense; but imp or no imp, I
should like to see him,――so make haste, and fetch him out at once.”
Whitney was too much alarmed to be pleased with this jesting tone, and
immediately rejoined, impatiently, “Oh, do be quiet, and come to my
assistance, for I don’t half like him.” The other accordingly entered,
and after a little examination, they discovered, to their amazement,
that they were deceived.
It seems that a muzzled bear, belonging to an itinerant showman,
having been accidentally placed in the stable during the day, the calf
had been removed to make room for him. By their joint efforts, Whitney
got relieved from the bear’s grasp, when both made off with all speed,
half resolved never again to try their hand at thieving, since the
trade had had so luckless a beginning.
Unfortunately, Whitney did not mind the warning conveyed by this ill
success. He soon after became an inn-keeper in Hertfordshire, and
connected himself with a set of people, called _Gentlemen of the
road_. These were robbers, who waylaid travellers, and robbed them of
their money, jewels, watches, &c.
These desperate men were in those days so numerous along the great
roads in England, that no persons who had money, thought of
travelling, unless they were sufficiently armed. Many of these robbers
became distinguished for their daring feats, and some of them were
almost as famous as Robin Hood. Whitney, at last, became a leader
among these men, and a great many wonderful tales were told of his
dexterity, boldness, and success. It seems that he pretended to be a
generous robber, and the following story is told of him.
He once robbed a gentleman on Newmarket heath of a large quantity of
silver, tied up in a bag. When Whitney had got the money, the
gentleman remonstrated with him, saying, “that he should be put to the
greatest inconvenience, if he were obliged to proceed on his journey
without money.” Upon this, Whitney opened the mouth of the bag, and
told him to take what would pay his expenses. The gentleman took out
as much as his two hands would hold, to which Whitney made no
objection, only remarking, with a smile, “I thought you would have had
more conscience, sir.”
Whitney pursued his career of crime, but justice followed in his
track. He was finally betrayed by one of his companions in iniquity,
and being tried in London, received sentence of death. In the presence
of a vast crowd, he acknowledged his guilt, and, at the early age of
thirty-four years, was launched into eternity.
[Illustration: HENRY WOLBY.]
This individual inherited a large estate, was bred at the university,
and spent several years abroad in travelling. On his return, he
married a lady of great beauty, and became in the course of time a man
of great respectability, honored by the rich, blessed by the poor and
respected by all.
When he was about forty years old, he had a dispute with his brother.
He met him one day in the fields, and the latter snapped a pistol at
him, which happily flashed in the pan. Thinking this was only done to
frighten him, Wolby disarmed the ruffian, put the pistol in his
pocket, and thoughtfully returned home.
On examining the weapon, he found that it was loaded with bullets.
This had such an extraordinary effect upon his mind that he instantly
determined to retire from the world, in which resolution he persisted
to the end of his life.
He took a house in Grub street, London, and selected three rooms for
himself, one for eating, one for lodging, and the third for study. He
had no attendant but an old maid; and while his diet was set on the
table by her, he retired into his lodging room, and into his study
while his bed was making. Out of these chambers, from the time of his
entry into them, he never issued, till he was carried thence,
forty-four years after, on men’s shoulders; neither in all that time
did his son-in-law, daughter, or grand-child, brother, sister, or
kinsman, young or old, rich or poor, of what degree or condition,
soever, look upon his face, save the ancient maid, whose name was
Elizabeth. She only made his fire, prepared his bed, provided his
diet, and dressed his chambers. She saw him but seldom――never but in
cases of extraordinary necessity――and died not above six days before
him.
“In all the time of his retirement, he never tasted fish or flesh. His
chief food was oatmeal gruel, but now and then in summer he had a
sallad of choice cool herbs; and for dainties, when he would feast
himself upon a high day, he would eat the yelk of a hen’s egg, but no
part of the white. What bread he did eat, he cut out of the middle of
the loaf, but the crust he never tasted. His constant drink was four
shilling beer, and no other, for he never tasted wine or strong water.
Now and then, when his stomach served, he did eat some kind of
sackers, and now and then drank red cow’s milk, which his maid,
Elizabeth, fetched him out of the fields warm from the cow.
Nevertheless, he kept a bountiful table for his servants, and
sufficient entertainment for any stranger or tenant who had occasion
of business at his house. Every book that was printed, was bought for
him, and conveyed to him; but such as related to controversy, he
always laid aside and never read.
“In Christmas holidays, at Easter, and other festivals, he had great
cheer provided, with all dishes in season, served into his own
chamber, with store of wine, which his maid brought in. Then, after
thanks to God for his good benefits, he would pin a clean napkin
before him, and putting on a pair of clean Holland sleeves, which
reached his elbows, cutting up dish after dish, in order; he would
send one to one poor neighbor, the next to another, whether it were
brawn, beef, capon, goose, &c., till he had left the table quite
empty, when giving thanks again, he laid by his linen, and caused the
cloth to be taken away; and this he would do, at dinner and supper,
upon these days, without tasting of anything whatsoever.
“When any clamored impudently at the gate, they were not therefore
immediately relieved; but when, from his private chamber, he spied any
sick, weak, or lame, he would presently send after them, to comfort,
cherish and strengthen them; and not a trifle, but as much as would
relieve them for many days after. He would moreover inquire which of
his neighbors were industrious, and had great charge of children: and
withal, if their labor and industry could not supply their families,
to such persons he would send, and relieve them according to their
necessities. He died, October 29, 1636, aged eighty-four. At his
death, his hair and beard were so overgrown, that he appeared rather
like a hermit of the wilderness, than the inhabitant of one of the
first cities in the world.”
The Life of Columbus.
CHAPTER III.
_Voyage continued――Land discovered――Going ashore――Other discoveries――
Columbus shipwrecked――He builds a fort._
Although, as I said, the hopes of the seamen were for a time blasted,
and they appeared sad and dispirited, the vessels still continued
their westward course. The weather was fine, the sea tranquil and the
wind favorable. By and by, new indications of land cheered their
hearts. Dolphins were seen playing about the ships, and birds of
various kinds hovered round them.
On the 7th of October, several on board the Santa Maria thought they
perceived land. This was made known to the Nina, which being a good
sailer, stretched forward with the hope of gaining the reward of
thirty crowns. It had been agreed that in case land was discovered by
either vessel, a flag should be hoisted at her mast head and a gun
fired. Not long after the appearances of land we have mentioned, the
signal was given from the Nina. But, as in former instances, this
proved a mistake, and the high hopes which were again suddenly excited
soon vanished away.
To Columbus himself, it now seemed strange that no land should be
made. They had reached a distance from home of more than two thousand
miles, and yet the prospect was no brighter than weeks before. At this
time, he determined to vary his course for a couple of days
south-west. He was induced to do this by the appearance of flocks of
birds which were proceeding in that direction.
The prospect still continued to be encouraging, and after the two
days, Columbus still pursued the same course. But on the setting in of
the third night, the murmurs of the crew were loud and threatening.
Finding mild and conciliatory language in vain, Columbus at length
assumed a tone of authority, and declared it to be his unalterable
intention to persevere until he had attained the object of his search.
On the following day, the indications of land infused new courage into
every one’s bosom. Besides several other things, a thorn bush, with
berries on it, was picked up; also a board and a cane. The night at
length set in. It was a night of deep anxiety to Columbus. His breast
was alternately filled with hope and fear. Indications of land were
now so strong that he ventured to announce to the crews his firm
belief that the time of better things was approaching. “This night,”
said he, “I trust land will be found.” He now ordered a double watch
on the forecastle, and promised a reward of a doublet, or vest of
velvet, in addition to the thirty crowns, to him who should make the
important discovery.
That night, no one slept on board; all was animation, all was hope;
all watched with interest the most intense. To this general animation
there was one exception, and that one was Columbus himself. He took a
station on the top of the cabin. He watched in silence the progress of
the vessels――a deep anxiety pervaded his soul.
About ten o’clock, he was startled by the glimmer, as he thought, of a
distant light. He hesitated――again looked――fancied he saw it――believed
that he saw it――yet he might be deceived. In this uncertainty, he
spoke to one of the crew, and pointed in the direction of the light,
and inquired whether he saw it. The man declared he did. For a time it
disappeared, but again and again it was seen by them, and at length
was announced to the crew, by several of whom it was also descried. At
two o’clock in the morning, (October 12,) the joyful signal was given
by a gun from on board the Pinta. A seaman first saw the land. His
name was Rodrigo de Triana. When first discovered it was about six
miles distant.
Satisfied that the long-sought-for object was found, the sails were
furled, and on the bosom of the tranquil deep, the vessels lay in
peace, and the crews, with eager impatience, waited for the dawn of
day. That at length arrived, and behold, outspread before them, lay a
beautiful island!
The feelings of Columbus I shall not attempt to describe. It may well
be supposed that his joy was intense. The crews were in transports.
They now thronged about Columbus. They embraced him――solicited his
forgiveness, and told him only to command, and henceforth they would
obey. Preparations were now made to land and to take possession of the
country in the name of the king and queen of Spain. This was done with
much form and solemn ceremony.
Columbus dressed himself in a suit of scarlet, and as the boats, well
manned and armed, proceeded towards the shore, he bore aloft a royal
standard. On reaching the shore, Columbus kneeled, and audibly
returned thanks to God. All followed his example. This done, Columbus
drew his sword, and waving the standard, declared the land to belong
to the crown of Spain. He then required all present to take the oath
of submission to him as governor of the island.
From the light which Columbus had seen the night preceding, he had
concluded that the land, whatever it was, was inhabited. Before
landing, he found his conjectures to be true. Numerous bodies of
natives were seen running towards the shore, and appeared to be lost
in wonder and amazement. While the boats were getting ready, the
number of natives collected on the beach, continued to increase. But
as the Spaniards drew towards the shore, they fled in great terror to
the woods.
But after the landing was effected, finding the Spaniards quite
peaceable in their appearance, they began to venture nearer and
nearer, until at length, no longer afraid, they came and handled the
long beards of their new visitors. They appeared greatly to admire
their dress and the whiteness of their skins. They looked upon the
Spaniards as the inhabitants of the skies, but they could scarcely
imagine how they descended to the earth unless by means of the clouds,
or by the assistance of the sails of their vessels, which they seemed
to think were wings.
These inhabitants were naked,――their color was of a copper hue. They
had no beards, and the hair of their heads was straight and coarse.
They were all painted, and in a manner which was hideous. They
appeared to be well shaped, had fine eyes, and in their dispositions
were very gentle. Columbus took every possible means to secure their
friendship. He distributed among them numerous small presents, such as
beads, bells, &c.
Having spent some time in examining the island, Columbus made
preparations to leave it. He gave it the name of San Salvador. By the
natives it was called Guanahani. In the maps of the present day it
goes by the name of Cat Island. This island belongs to a cluster,
known by the name of Bahamas, of which some say there are five hundred
belonging to the group. The southern limit of San Salvador is in
twenty-four degrees north latitude.
Leaving San Salvador, Columbus proceeded to visit several other
islands lying in the neighborhood. He found them all inhabited by
people strongly resembling the natives of Guanahani. The Spaniards
everywhere inquired, by signs, for gold and precious stones; but they
were uniformly given to understand, that to find these in abundance,
they must go farther south.
On the 28th of October, Columbus discovered the large island of Cuba.
The Spaniards were everywhere delighted with the appearance of the
islands. The groves were covered with the richest foliage; flowers of
endless beauty and variety were sending forth their fragrance upon the
surrounding air; birds of the most brilliant plumage were sporting on
the wing; and insects of every hue were playing in the sunbeams. All
appeared, to the weary navigators, like an earthly paradise. Gold was
now the great object of their search. This only was wanting, and their
joy would have been complete. But in respect to this, they were
disappointed. Leaving Cuba, Columbus coasted southerly, but finding
the wind unpropitious, he ordered the vessels to return to Cuba. On
the following morning, however, the Pinta was nowhere to be seen. What
was the meaning of this? Columbus was satisfied that no misfortune had
befallen her. She must have deserted. But why? Was she about to return
to Spain to rob him of the honor to which he was entitled? At first,
it was his purpose to pursue her; but at length he thought better of
it, and proceeded to make still farther examination of the coast of
Cuba.
Having spent some time longer near its shores, he stretched southward,
and soon after discovered the large island of Hispaniola. On the coast
of this, a most unfortunate occurrence took place. On Christmas eve,
as his vessel was in a calm and smooth sea, and proceeding before a
gentle breeze, Columbus retired to rest. Shortly after he had lain
down, the helmsman entrusted the pilotage of the ship to a boy, and
with the rest of the crew, was soon asleep. In the meanwhile, the
vessel fell into a current, and before any on board were aware of the
danger, she was driving rapidly upon a sand bank.
The noise of the breakers alarmed the boy, who now called for
assistance. Columbus was soon on deck, and was followed by the crew. A
boat was got in readiness, and the crew ordered to carry out an anchor
to a distance, with the hope of warping the vessel into deeper water.
Too much alarmed to attend to the directions of Columbus, the men in
the boat, instead of casting the anchor, rowed off half a league to
the Nina for assistance. But assistance came too late. The vessel was
firmly fixed upon the bank. All efforts to save her were in vain.
Columbus and his men took refuge on board the Nina, and on the
following day, went on shore, which was only about a league and a half
distant. Here they were treated with great kindness by Guacanagari, an
old chief, and his subjects, and they found considerable quantities of
gold in possession of the Indians. The Spaniards spent some time at
this place, being at a loss what course to adopt. The Santa Maria was
now wrecked, and the Pinta had not been heard from. The Nina was a
small vessel, and many of her crew were fearful that she might be lost
on her return.
In these circumstances, and with these fears, several of the crew
begged Columbus to allow them to remain on the island. After a little
reflection, and finding the natives to be friendly, he consented that
a certain number should remain. For their comfort and security, he
determined to erect a fort from the materials furnished by the Santa
Maria. Accordingly she was broken up, conveyed to land, and the fort
commenced.
While this was in progress, some Indians arrived from the eastern part
of the island, with the news that a large vessel was in that
neighborhood. This was joyful intelligence to Columbus. It could be no
other than the Pinta. He immediately despatched one of his men, with
several natives, to ascertain the truth of the report. At the end of
three days, the messengers returned, but they had obtained no
intelligence to confirm the report. Notwithstanding this, it was still
believed that the Pinta had been seen, and some hopes were indulged
that she might yet be fallen in with.
The completion of the fort was now hastened. It was called La Navidad,
or The Nativity. This being finished, Columbus felt himself under the
necessity of discontinuing his voyage of discovery and of returning to
Spain. It might be that the Pinta had been shipwrecked. Sailing in an
unexplored sea, amidst islands, would greatly endanger the safety of
the Nina. He concluded it wise, therefore, to hasten his departure
before any accident should occur, which might forever put it out of
his power to return, and thus conceal the important discoveries he had
made, from the sovereigns of Spain and the people of Europe.
Jumping Rabbit’s Story.
CHAPTER IV.
_Hunting adventures._
Some time now passed without any remarkable event. After a hunting or
war expedition, the Indian men usually spend a large part of their
time in idleness. For several weeks after their return, the warriors
might be seen stretched at full length in their wigwams upon the beds
of skins, and often, during the day, upon the bare ground, basking in
the warm sunshine.
Thus they would repose day and night, sleeping a part of the time, and
dozing away the rest of the hours. When hungry, they arose and ate the
meal provided for them by the women, and then returned to their rest.
At this period, they seemed like mere animals, such as wolves or
foxes, idly slumbering in their caves, careless of the past, the
present and the future.
Once in a while these men would rouse themselves from their indolence,
and spend a night in a wild war-dance, or in other sports. When
excited in their amusements, they shook off their lethargy and seemed
totally changed from the stupid beings which they appeared to be, a
few hours before. Their black eyes would now flash with fiery
excitement; their parted lips would display their white teeth; their
long, black hair would stream in the wind; their hands and arms would
exhibit the most animated gestures, and their whole form seem to be
animated by intense excitement. After the sport was over, these
warriors would relapse into the same state of merely animal existence,
as if they had no minds, no cares, no plans, no fears or hopes.
Thus some weeks passed away, but at last, it became necessary that a
supply of food should be obtained. It is true that some small game was
obtained by the boys, and some of the men, almost every day. This
consisted of the heath hen, which resembles the partridge or pheasant
of the Atlantic states; black and grey squirrels, rabbits and hares,
wild turkeys, raccoons, prairie dogs, &c. These creatures were
abundant, and I often accompanied the young Indians in hunting them.
There were some guns and rifles in the tribe, but the chief weapons
were the bow and arrow. The boys and most of the young men had no
other. It was surprising to see with what precision and force the
arrows were thrown. I have often seen a squirrel, perched upon the
limb of an aged tree, and being nearly a hundred feet in air, look
down as if to laugh and jeer at the sportsman below; when the arrow
was sent from the string, and, striking him in the head, brought him
whirling and sprawling to the ground.
In these hunts I took a keen delight; and such was my enterprise and
success, that I soon became rather famous as a hunter of the lesser
game. My agility in pursuing a wounded bird or quadruped, and the
facility with which I threaded the tangled forests, gave me the title
of _Jumping Rabbit_, which long continued to be my name.
In these hunts, we seldom wandered to any great distance from the
encampment, and rarely remained out over night. In a few instances, we
were absent for two or three days, and extended our excursions to the
distance of twenty or thirty miles.
I recollect that in one of these expeditions, we came to a
considerable lake, entirely surrounded with dense forests. It was
difficult even to peep through the woods, for the trees stood very
close together, and the spaces between them were choked up with dead
trunks and branches, woven and wedged together, as if the whole
constituted one fabric.
With a great deal of labor, creeping and winding like serpents through
the openings, we made our way through the forest, and came to the
shores of the lake. Accustomed, as I then was, to nature in her wild
moods, the scene that then presented itself, greatly surprised me. The
forest that encircled the lake, consisted, to a great extent, of lofty
firs, which stood close to the water, and formed, around its whole
border, what seemed to be a dark green wall, rising almost to the
clouds, and thus bestowing upon the spot an aspect of the most perfect
protection and seclusion.
As if won to the place by its security and repose, myriads of aquatic
birds were there, some resting upon its bosom, some wading in its
depths, some standing along its borders, and thousands winnowing the
air above its surface. There were flocks of swans, with arching necks
and snowy bosoms; multitudes of pelicans, either darting down upon
their prey, or lazily digesting their food as they stood upon the
rocks along the shore; and wild geese, and ducks almost without
number. There was the pensive heron, standing half leg deep in the
water, and patiently waiting to snap up some luckless frog or fish;
there was the tall crane, with crested head, and spiteful countenance,
looking keenly into the mud for his meal; and red flamingoes, standing
in rows that looked like files of soldiers.
The scene presented the idea of a paradise for water-birds; a spot
unknown to man, and wholly secured to the use and behoof of its
feathered tenantry. The birds themselves seemed so to regard it, for
such were their habits of confidence, that when we approached them,
they hardly noticed us, or moved from us. We shot a few arrows among
them, and killed several, but this created no general alarm. One of
our party had a rifle, and taking aim at the leader of a long file of
swans that glided upon the water near us, he fired, and the noble
bird, uttering a faint scream, spread his wings for flight, and fell
dead upon the surface. His companions rose heavily from the lake, and
sweeping round and round in the air, settled again upon the water,
encircling their dead companion.
Loaded with game, we now set out for our return; but this expedition
was destined to be signalized by adventures. In our progress homeward,
we had occasion to cross a deep valley, through which a small rivulet
found its way. On the high rocky banks of this stream our party sat
down to rest themselves for an hour or two, and then set forward. It
happened that I had crept into the bushes and fallen asleep; and when
my companions went away, not observing me, they left me soundly wrapt
in repose.
They had been gone a considerable time when I was awoke by a noise,
and looking up, I saw a huge grisly bear at a little distance, looking
steadfastly at me. I knew that the next moment he would be upon me,
and seizing my bow and arrows, I sprang forward, and at a single bound
leaped over the high bank, into the stream. It was not more than forty
feet in width――and I had hardly crossed it, when I heard the heavy
plunge of the bear behind me. Clambering up the opposite bank with the
quickness of a wild-cat, I seized upon the drooping branches of a
tree, and rapidly mounted it. The fierce beast came close upon me, and
seizing the boughs with its claws and teeth, tore them in a hundred
pieces. By this time, however, I had ascended beyond its reach.
The grisly bear is twice the size of the common bear, and from its
savage disposition and great strength, is altogether the most dreadful
beast of the American continent. But, happily for me, it does not
often climb trees. I therefore felt secure. Pausing on a large limb of
the tree, I looked down at my shaggy acquaintance below. He had now
got over his fury, and gazing in my face with a look of the deepest
interest, he seemed to think, if he did not say――“Oh how I love you!”
After sitting upon the tree for some time, I began to grow impatient
to be released――but Bruin seemed to have no idea of parting with me
thus. He continued for several hours, sitting upon his rump, in a kind
of brown study, but occasionally looking at me. At last, growing
weary, I reclined against the trunk of the tree, and my grisly jailer,
as if to torment me, lay down upon the ground, and putting his nose to
his tail, seemed to say that he had made up his mind to stay till I
should come down. I waited for some time in silence, to see if he
would not fall asleep and allow me an opportunity of escape; but the
moment I moved a foot or hand, I could see his keen eye twinkle, thus
showing that the sentinel was awake and watchful.
At last I got out of patience, and selecting a good arrow, I sent it
fiercely at his head. It struck him over the eye, and evidently gave
him great pain, for he growled terribly, and rubbed the wounded place
with his huge paw; and finally he looked up at me, at the same time
curling his lip and showing a set of teeth that made me shudder. I
could easily understand this pantomime, and I knew it to mean
something like this: “Sooner or later, my lad, you must come down, and
these teeth shall take due revenge upon you.”
Night at length came――and still the beast remained at his post. I
caught a little sleep, but I was too fearful of falling to the ground
to get any sound repose. In the morning I heard the call of my
companions, and now knew that they had missed me, and were come to
find me. I answered their shout with a cry that filled the valley with
echoes. The old bear seemed startled; he rose, shook his shaggy coat,
and gazed wistfully around.
Directed by my voice, my friends soon drew near; and when they came to
the opposite bank of the river, I told them my situation and pointed
out Bruin at the foot of the tree. In a moment the rifle was levelled
at my tormentor, and the ball entered his side. Stung with pain, but
not mortally wounded, the monster turned towards his new enemy.
Leaping into the stream, he began to swim across; but his head being
exposed, several arrows were aimed at him, some of which took effect.
As he ascended the rocky bank of the river, the rifle being re-loaded,
was again discharged, and, the ball passing through his heart, he fell
backward, and rolled with a heavy plash into the stream.
But I have wandered a little from my track. I said that the necessity
of obtaining a supply of food, at last roused the men of the
encampment from their repose. After making due preparation, by
providing themselves with knives, bows and arrows, &c., about twenty
of them departed; and as I was now a tolerably expert hunter, I was
permitted to accompany the party. The events which followed, will be
described in the next chapter.
* * * * *
Always have a book within your reach, which you may catch up at your
odd minutes. Revolve in your mind what you have last been reading.
LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.
[Illustration]
Mamma’s Lessons.
I once knew two little children, who had a great deal of knowledge,
for their age, and yet they were not taught altogether by books. They
had a good mother, who took great pains with their education, and she
managed in such a way as to make her lessons very pleasing.
I will tell you one method of teaching which she adopted――and it was
this. She would get her two children around her, and then would ask
them what creatures lived in the air? what lived in the water? what
lived on the earth, &c. The children would give such answers as they
pleased; if they were right, they were told so; if wrong, they were
corrected.
That you may understand how this affair went on, I will give you a
dialogue, which will set the matter clearly before you. You will
remember that the children were named Dick and Lydia.
_Mother._ Now tell me, my children, what animals live in the air?
_Dick._ Birds.
_M._ Do all birds live in the air?
_Lydia._ No, mother; the ostrich is said never to fly, and it seems to
me that many other birds, such as hens, partridges, quails, and
others, rarely fly, and therefore cannot be said even to live in the
air.
_M._ What birds live most in the air?
_D._ I should think the swallows, for they seem to me to be dodging
about from morning to night. And, mother, I have heard Ben Halliard,
the sailor, say that there is a sea-swallow that is always flying; he
declares that the creature never lights and that he hatches his eggs
under his wing!
_M._ The sea-swallow, or mother Cary’s chicken, is a bird that can
remain on the wing for a long time; but like all other birds, it goes
sometimes to the land. It builds its nest on the uninhabited islands
of the sea; many of them may be seen in the unfrequented rocky islands
near Florida.
_L._ Mother, it is said the birds of Paradise live always on the wing.
_M._ This is also an error; the sailors, who frequented the seas near
the Asiatic islands, where these lovely birds are often seen on the
wing, fancied them to be creatures of the air; and being always in the
spicy breath of those charming regions, they called them _birds of
Paradise_. But now, that we are better acquainted with the islands of
the Pacific we know that the birds of Paradise live chiefly on the
land, and sport, like others of the feathered race, amid the branches
of the trees.
_L._ Well, mother, I think there are other creatures that live in the
air, beside birds. I mean insects, such as butterflies, bees, wasps,
and other little flying creatures.
_M._ You should rather say, my dear, that these animals live _a part
of the time_ in the air. It is with these insects, as with birds, that
though we see them often on the wing, they really spend but a part of
the time in flying. Let me now ask you to tell what animals live in
the water?
_D._ Fishes.
_L._ Beside fishes, there are other things; such as lobsters, crabs,
oysters, clams, and many other creatures.
_D._ Yes; but these are fishes,――are they not, mother?
_M._ They are called shell-fish, but they are quite distinct from
fishes, properly so called. The latter have no legs, and possess fins,
by which they push themselves along in the water. They have a long
skeleton, upon which the flesh is formed; whereas, in the shell-fish,
there is no interior skeleton, but the flesh and muscles are attached
to an exterior shell. Thus you see that the whole structure of the
proper fishes and of the shell fish are very distinct.
_D._ That is very curious, indeed; but there are some creatures that
live partly in water and partly on the land.
_M._ Yes; and these are called amphibious.
_L._ That puts me in mind of a story, mother. A traveller went once to
the Tower of London, to see the wild animals. There was a man there
who made it his business to show them and describe them. Well, there
was a young alligator among the animals, and when the showman came to
describe him, he said, “Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a halligator,
which came from Merriky, in the state of Georgia; it was ketched in
the great river Mississippi, which runs all the way up hill. This
creature is amphibious, which means that he cannot live in the water
and dies on the land; he is six feet and a ’alf from the tip of his
tail to the tip of his nose, and seven feet ten inches from the tip of
his nose to the tip of his tail. Like all Merrikens, the halligator is
fond of young niggers, and the night afore he was ketched, he made his
supper upon two of them!”
_M._ That story is absurd enough; though it is quite true that the
showman at the Tower of London, does tell some queer stories. If he
makes such mistakes and shows such prejudice, in respect to our
country, as the story represents, he is certainly like many English
travellers, who ought to know better. I think Mr. Dickens, who writes
such nonsense about our country, should be employed to show the
animals at the Tower. But let me now ask what class of animals live
entirely on the land?
_L._ Quadrupeds, or four-footed beasts.
_M._ That is right; most quadrupeds spend their time wholly on the
land; the only one of them that can fly, is the bat; and this creature
is formed almost as much like a bird as a four-footed beast. Some of
the amphibious animals, such as lizards, toads, frogs and tortoises,
are quadrupeds; and though these creatures live a part of their time
in the water, most of them still spend the greater portion of their
time on the land.
Questions.
I should like to have my little readers send me answers to the
following twenty questions. They must be careful to direct all their
letters to the care of Bradbury & Soden, and they must also pay the
postage.
1. What are the five most remarkable quadrupeds in Africa?
2. What are the three most famous animals in Asia?
3. What is the largest of quadrupeds, and of what countries is it a
native?
4. What is the tallest animal in the world, and where is it found?
5. What is the largest kind of bird, and where is it found?
6. What is the largest kind of serpent, and where is it found?
7. What is the smallest kind of bird, and where is it found?
8. What is the largest of animals, and where does it live?
9. What animal most resembles man, and where is it found?
10. What animal is most useful to man?
11. What is the largest quadruped found wild in America?
12. What is the most fierce and formidable wild quadruped in the
United States?
13. What celebrated poisonous serpent belongs to the United States?
14. What is the largest bird of prey in the world and where is it
found?
15. What are the two most remarkable animals of New Holland?
16. What bird is called the king of birds?
17. What is generally esteemed the most beautiful of insects?
18. What is the most useful insect to man?
19. What animal seems most attached to man?
20. What is the most powerful known quadruped?
[Illustration]
Old Age.
Here is a picture of an old man, walking in the woods, and a little
bird, on the tree, seems to be speaking to him. What do you think the
little bird says to the old man? I will try to tell you. Thus speaks
the little bird:
“Come, good old man, and speak to me,
For I am young and thou art old;
Full many a year hath passed o’er thee,
And many a tale of wisdom told.
Give me thy counsel, aged wight;
For here the hawk doth prowl by day,
And many a cruel owl by night――
Seeking on little birds to prey.
Oh, tell me how these things to shun,
Or teach me where to find some zone,
Beneath a far-off southern sun,
Where hawks and owls are all unknown.”
Thus urged, the old monk spake: “Sweet thing,
I love to list thy pretty words,
And gather from thy twittering,
That there is wisdom with the birds.
And I will give thee counsel true,
And if thou heed my word with care,
In pleasures ever sweet and new,
Thy life shall pass――but, bird, beware!
Far o’er the deep an islet lone,
Is circled by the briny wave;
No grief or sorrow there is known,
No grisly death, no ghastly grave.
Depart and win with earnest flight,
This peaceful region of the blest;
But mark――a bosom fair and bright,
Alone can reach that land of rest!”
Now these lines tell a fancy tale, or allegory, which has some
meaning. In the first place, I wish my readers to observe that the
little bird does not laugh at the old man and make fun of him, or run
away from him. On the contrary, the bird seems to think that as the
man is old, he has a great deal of wisdom, and is therefore capable of
giving good advice.
Now the bird here shows good sense. Instead of avoiding old people,
children should always love to be with them, and should always treat
them with kindness, attention and respect. Old people are usually very
fond of children, and they can tell them many pretty tales, and many
curious things they have seen.
It seems that the bird is troubled by hawks and owls, and desires to
go to some happy land where it may be free from such dangers, and may
dwell in quiet and content. And the old man tells the bird, of a
far-off isle, where those who are pure and good may live forever in a
state of unbroken felicity. This part of the allegory means that there
is a another world, in which the pure in heart may see God and dwell
with Him forever in happiness.
The Sun, Moon and Stars.
Here is a picture which represents the earth in the centre, and the
sun, moon and stars around it. It also represents clouds around the
earth.
We suppose that all our readers know that the earth is a vast globe,
or ball, eight thousand miles in diameter and twenty-five thousand
miles in circumference. It is suspended in space, and makes a vast
circuit around the sun, every year. It also turns round on its axis
once in twenty-four hours.
Some people cannot conceive that the earth turns round every day, and
I know of a man who insists that it is impossible. “Why,” says he, “if
the earth was to turn round, my well would be bottom upwards, and all
the water would run out!” The fact that the earth revolves like a
wheel, is just as certain as that there is a sun or a moon.
In the picture, the sun appears very near to the earth; but this is
only to show how the sun shines on the earth. The sun is actually
ninety-five millions of miles from the earth. The moon is also a great
many thousand miles from the earth. The stars are likewise very
distant, some of them being much farther off than the sun.
[Illustration]
The science of the heavenly bodies is called astronomy; and a very
interesting study it is. It tells us the size, the distance, and the
motions of the sun, moon and stars, as far as we can learn them. In
the study of the stars, a telescope is used, which enables us to see a
great many more stars than are visible to the naked eye; it also
enables you to see little moons around some of the planets, such as
Jupiter and Saturn; it also enables you to see a bright ring around
Saturn.
By the study of the heavens, wise and learned men have come to the
opinion that all these bright orbs which you see in the sky at night,
are worlds, covered with people, like our own world. They suppose
that, to the people in these stars, our world looks like a little
bright star. What a great subject of contemplation is this! And how
mighty and glorious must be that Being who has created, and who
sustains so many worlds, with all the living beings that dwell upon
them!
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER IX.
_Many curious things about bees._
We have already told so much about bees, that our young readers are
perhaps weary of the subject; but it must be remembered that we are
relating the story of Inquisitive Jack, and it is proper that we
should give a full account of whatever interested him.
It happened in his case, as it has in many others, that the more he
knew about this subject, the more interesting it became to him. When
he first noticed the bees, crawling about the flowers, and fingering
the little delicate leaves in the centre of the blossoms, he did not
think much about them; but now that he had become acquainted with the
wonders of the bee-hive, he was very curious to gain all the knowledge
he could upon the subject. By his own inquiries, therefore, and the
help of aunt Betsey, he learned the following additional particulars
respecting these curious insects.
After the swarming season is over, a general massacre of the drones in
the hive takes place. This usually occurs toward the latter part of
July. The unfortunate victims evidently perceive their danger; for
they are now seen darting in and out of the hive, and passing from one
place to another, as if afraid of being seized. Like some poor man,
who owes a debt he cannot pay, and is afraid of being caught by the
sheriff, they wander from place to place, as if in a constant state of
alarm.
When the working bees meet these drones, they fall upon them and
plunge their stings into their bodies. The wounded drones immediately
expand their wings and expire. Some of these poor creatures struggle
hard for life, but they are all slain at last.
This destruction of the drones may remind us of the old Spartans of
Greece, who sacrificed everything to the thrift and prosperity of the
state. The bee-hive may be considered a little monarchy, in which the
great object is to increase the number and wealth of the community.
The drones having provided for the due increase of the bees, can no
farther contribute to the prosperity of the little nation. On the
contrary, they will not work even so much as to obtain their own food;
they still devour a portion of honey, and thus diminish the general
stock which is laid up as a provision against the coming winter.
Making everything give way, therefore, to the interest of the
community at large, the drones are slain without mercy.
This practice of the bees has furnished a happy illustration to the
poet, who thus urges upon mankind a life of industry:
“Nor think a life of toil severe,
No life has blessings so sincere:
Its meals so luscious, sleep so sweet,
Such vigorous limbs, such health complete;
No mind so active, brisk and gay
As his who toils the livelong day.
A life of sloth drags hardly on;
Suns set too late and rise too soon.
Youth, manhood, age, all linger slow
To him who nothing has to do.
The drone, a nuisance to the hive,
Stays, but can scarce be said to live;
And well the bees, those judges wise,
Plague, chase and sting him till he dies.”
The swarming of bees may be compared to the emigration of a great
number of people from one country, and forming colonies in another. In
the winter, at least three-fourths of the bees in the hive usually
perish. But the amazing fruitfulness of the queen more than supplies
this waste, and by midsummer, the hive is usually too full for them
all to be comfortable.
It is in somewhat the same situation that Ireland is in at the present
time――and as many of the natives of that island are coming in swarms
to this country, so the bees pass off in crowds, and take up their
abode elsewhere. Sometimes two or even three swarms will issue from
one hive in a year.
The swarm is very careful to select a good fair day for their
emigration. They usually take one of the young queens with them, and,
if by any chance the swarm passes off without a queen, they always
return to the hive. While swarming, bees are generally peaceable, and
may be hived without difficulty.
A writer upon bees tells the following interesting story: “A little
girl of my acquaintance was greatly afraid of bees, but was completely
cured of her fears by the following incident. A swarm having come off,
I observed the queen alight by herself at some distance from the hive;
I immediately called my little friend that I might shew her the queen.
She wished to see her more nearly; so, after having caused her to put
on her gloves, I gave the queen into her hand.
“We were in an instant surrounded by the whole swarm. In this
emergency, I encouraged the girl to be steady, bidding her remain
silent and fear nothing. I then made her stretch out her right hand
which held the queen, and covered her neck and shoulders with a very
thin handkerchief. The swarm soon fixed upon her hand, and hung from
it, as from the branch of a tree. The little girl was delighted above
measure at this novel sight, and so entirely freed from all her fears
that she bade me uncover her face. At length, I brought a hive, and
shaking the swarm from the child’s hand, it was lodged in safety,
without inflicting a single wound.”
Bees are subject to several diseases; among which vertigo is the most
remarkable. This causes great lassitude or weakness of the hind legs,
an irregular mode of flying, and often produces death. The enemies of
bees are numerous, among which we may mention birds, poultry, mice,
wax-moths, slugs, hornets, wasps, ants and spiders. Of all these, the
most destructive are wasps; these often enter the hive, and as one
wasp is a match for three bees, they devour great quantities of honey.
Another great enemy to bees is the king-bird, or tyrant fly-catcher. A
gentleman once shot a king-bird, and in his crop he found no less than
one hundred and seventy-one bees; on being taken out, and laid on a
blanket in the sun, fifty-four of these returned to life.
Great attention has been paid to the rearing of bees, and it has been
found advantageous to remove them from one place to another, so that
they may obtain fresh pasturage. A gentleman in England had once a
swarm which weighed but five pounds when he removed it to Dartmoor
Heath; at the end of two months, it was increased in weight no less
than twenty-four pounds!
Bees are supposed to have some means of communicating with each other,
not very unlike language. Their two horns which come out from the head
below the eyes, called antennæ, are supposed to answer the purpose of
ears, and to convey sounds as well as to accomplish some other
objects.
Bees, as well as ants, are often seen to meet and cross their antennæ,
and they then proceed to act as if important information was thus
imparted. When the queen of a hive is lost, the intelligence is spread
with such rapidity that twenty thousand bees are informed of the fact
in the space of a few hours,――a circumstance to be explained only by
the supposition of something like language, in use among them.
The lives of most insects are extremely brief. Some live but a few
hours; others for a few days, or weeks, or months. By far the larger
portion begin and end their existence in the course of the warm
season. The drones or male bees are cut off by violence, as we have
seen, after having lived three or four months. The average life of the
working bee is about six months, though they sometimes live to the age
of ten or twelve months.
The queen is a more favored being. She is not only the mother of
thousands, but she survives, while many generations pass away. Her
life is often extended to the period of four or five years.
What is Habit?
When we have done a thing several times, it becomes easier for us to
do it than before. When a boy begins to use profane words, he does it
with a feeling of awkwardness. The first time he swears, he usually
feels quite badly.
But he swears the second time more easily, and more easily still the
third time. At last he does it without any bad feeling, and, indeed,
takes a pleasure in his profanity. He has now got a _habit_ of
swearing, and it is easier for him to use bad language than any other.
It is just the same with lying. A child feels very badly when he tells
the first lie. He feels badly, too, when he tells the second; but when
he has told a dozen or two, he usually tells a lie as easily as he
tells the truth; and the reason is that he has got a _habit_ of lying.
Habit is, then, a disposition, an inclination to do a thing, arising
from practice. It is said that practice makes perfect; by which it is
meant that a person does a thing easily which he has done often.
Now some very important inferences are to be drawn from this. If a
person does evil repeatedly, he gets a habit of it, and it becomes
natural, easy for him to do evil; and the longer a person goes on in
this habit, the more easy it is for him to do evil, and the more
difficult to do well. What a fearful thing it is, therefore, to get
any bad habit!
It is the same with good habits as bad ones――they tend to control us
and guide our conduct. If a person does good repeatedly, it becomes a
habit with him to do good; it is easy for him to do good, and
difficult to do wrong. What an important thing it is to have good
habits!
Now, my dear reader, remember that every day you are forming habits,
good or bad; you are every day making it easier to do evil or to do
well. Habits are like railroad tracks, upon which we move quickly,
easily, and rapidly. Let us all take care that our habits lead in a
right direction, and end in peace and not in sorrow.
* * * * *
Fitchburg, July 29, 1843.
MR. ROBERT MERRY:
Dear Sir,――The following lines were written for a little
girl who is a subscriber to the Museum. It would be
gratifying to her to have them inserted.
Yours, F. S. W.
THE CHICKADEE.
_Elizabeth._――Pretty bird, pray come to me,
I’ve a little home for thee.
_Bird._――No I can’t, I am free,
Chickadee dee dee,
I will sing upon this tree,
Every day for you and me;
O how happy I shall be!
Chickadee dee dee.
When the earth from snow is free
And the tender plant you see,
Then you’ll hear right merrily,
Chickadee dee dee.
_E._――When the summer months shall flee
And the little busy bee
Stays at home, where will be
Chickadee dee dee?
_B._――Far away beyond the sea,
Singing in the orange tree,
You will hear so cheerily,
Chickadee dee dee.
Here I am, don’t you see,
High upon this cherry tree;
So good-bye, dear Lizze,
Don’t forget the chickadee.
(_Flies away._)――Chickadee, chickadee,
I am happy, I am free;
While cheerily and merrily,
Sings the little chickadee!
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. VI. NOVEMBER, 1843. No. 5.
[Illustration]
A long Chapter upon November.
We have reached November, the eleventh month in the year. Our Saxon
ancestors called October _wyn-monat_, or wine month, and this
_wynt-monat_, or wind month. It is indeed a blustering season; and it
seems as if winter and summer were in a furious contest for mastery.
The cold winds come down from the north, loaded with sleet and hail,
and for a time seem to exercise dominion over the land.
The tempest roars in the forest; nuts are shaken down from the trees;
the leaves are scattered in the valley; the ocean is lashed into foam;
all nature appears to be shadowed with gloom; and every living thing
seems to shrink from the scene. The birds have already departed, or if
any linger, they hurry away on a swift and busy wing. The woodchuck,
the dormouse, and the chip-squirrel creep into their holes, and
prepare for their long winter repose.
Occasionally, the black clouds are driven back, and gleams of sunshine
creep over the land. A southerly wind, too, occasionally breathes upon
us, and it seems as if the genial warmth of autumn would triumph in
the great contest of nature. But, as the days advance, the strength of
winter increases, and we slide into December, when its dominion
becomes complete. Like an unrelenting despot, it then binds the river
and the lake in icy chains; it sweeps away the last vestige of summer,
and marks the boundaries of its realm with a dazzling mantle of snow.
Such is November in New England. In Old England, it is still more
gloomy. The thick fogs, mingling with the smoke, hang like a dark
curtain over the country; the day is dwindled to the length of seven
or eight hours, and the sun rises but a few degrees in the horizon. It
is quite common for it to be so dark that lamps and candles are burnt
in the houses during the whole day, and frequently the stage-coaches
have been obliged at the same time to travel with their lamps lighted.
This gloom of nature is, however, not without its advantages. The
necessity of providing for winter is taught by it to every one. The
farmer lays in his stock of fuel; the house is made tight; the cattle
are gathered to the barn-yard, and thus the necessities of life
enforce upon the people industry, prudence, and frugality; and these
virtues become established in society. Thus it is that in cold
countries the people, benefitted by the rigors of their climate,
become more hardy, energetic, and virtuous. Thus it is, if you travel
over the world, you will find in northern countries the finest houses,
the best roads, the handsomest edifices, and, indeed, the greatest
comforts and luxuries of life. On the contrary, if you travel in
southern countries, where winter brings no snow, and where even
November is a month of flowers, you will find most of the people idle,
careless, and vicious. Their houses are generally frail and poor;
their clothing slight, filthy, and ragged. Everything seems marked
with poverty and neglect.
So it is that Providence balances the account with the different
portions of the globe. Those who endure a harsh climate are
compensated by the comforts and refinements which spring up in the
soil of necessity. Those who enjoy a bland and smiling climate pay for
it in various evils, social, mental, and moral.
There is one advantage which the cold season brings, and which we of
New England enjoy in a peculiar manner. As winter approaches, we are
driven into the house, and are taught to find our pleasures there. The
family circle is thus drawn closer together, and hence acquires a
deeper and more lasting interest.
If children could always wander abroad, chasing butterflies, plucking
flowers, and feasting upon fruits, they would feel little of that
dependence upon parents, which is the source of many virtues. Brothers
and sisters would experience little of that interchange of kindly
offices and friendly feelings, which weave their hearts together with
an enduring web of affection. Home would lose more than half its
charms, nearly all its thousand streams of virtue and of bliss.
As I am quite aware that some of my black-eyed, blue-eyed, and
gray-eyed readers are pretty sharp critics, and understand geography,
I must qualify these remarks. In speaking of cold countries here, I
have alluded particularly to those which belong to what is called the
Temperate Zone; those which lie between the burning tropics and the
frigid regions toward the poles. I know that the latter are occupied
by short and squalid races of Laplanders, Esquimaux, and Samoides. The
extreme winter in these regions seems to stint and degrade the human
species.
Yet these polar people believe they are the happiest in the world.
Sheltered in their icy dwellings, feasting upon blubber oil, and
skimming over the vast snowy plains upon sledges drawn by dogs or
reindeer, they deem themselves blessed above the rest of mankind. They
probably enjoy their existence quite as much as do the languid and
voluptuous inhabitants of the tropics.
* * * * *
A drunken fellow, being reproved by some of his friends for having
sold his feather bed, replied, “As I am very well, thank God, why
should I _keep my bed_?”
Pierre Ramus.
Pierre de la Ramée, more generally known by the name of Ramus, was
born in 1515, in a village in Normandy. His parents were of the
poorest rank; his grandfather being a charbonnier, a calling similar
to that of our coalheaver, and his father a laborer. Poverty being his
consequent inheritance, Ramus was early left to his own resources; no
sooner, therefore, had he attained the age of eight years, than he
repaired to Paris. The difficulty he found there of obtaining common
subsistence soon obliged him to return home: another attempt, which he
afterwards made, met with no better success.
Early imbued with a strong love and desire for learning, he suffered
every misery and privation, in order to obtain the means necessary for
its acquirement. Having received a limited aid from one of his uncles,
he, for a third time, set out for Paris, where, immediately on his
arrival, he entered the college of Navarre in the capacity of valet;
during the day fulfilling every menial task, but devoting his nights
to his dear and absorbing study.
This extreme perseverance and application, regardless of difficulties,
obtained its consequent reward. Being admitted to the degree of master
of arts, which he received with all its accompanying scholastic
honors, he was enabled to devote himself with more intensity to study.
By the opinions which he promulgated, in the form of a thesis,
respecting the philosophy of Aristotle,――a doubt of whose sovereign
authority at that time was considered a profane and audacious
sacrilege,――he attracted the attention of the scholars of the time,
and ultimately their enmity. With the uncompromising hardihood of his
character, he continued to deny the infallibility of the favorite code
of philosophy, and published, in support of his opinions, two volumes
of criticisms upon Aristotle’s works.
Ramus was at first persecuted merely with scholastic virulence, but,
on his further irritating his opponents, a serious accusation was
brought against him, before the Parliament of Paris; and to such
lengths had the matter gone as to call for the mediation of Francis
the First.
Ramus was found guilty, and sentenced, in 1543, to vacate his
professorship, and his works were interdicted throughout the kingdom.
This severe sentence, however, did not produce the effect desired by
the Sorbonne; for, in the following year, he was appointed to a
professorship in the college of Presles, and, in 1551, received the
further appointment of royal professor of philosophy and rhetoric. His
opinions had, however, attracted the attention and enmity of a more
powerful body than that of the Sorbonne. To contest the infallibility
of Aristotle, at the same time that it attacked scholastic prejudices,
was sufficient to provoke a revolution even in theology. The
consequence to Ramus was implacable hatred from the ecclesiastical
body, who seemed intent upon his destruction.
One of the great subjects of reform attempted by Ramus, and which
created the greatest animosity against him, was that which had for its
object the introduction of a democratical government into the church.
He pretended that the consistories alone ought to prepare all
questions of doctrine, and submit them to the judgment of the
faithful. The people, according to his tenets, possessed in themselves
the right of choosing their ministers, of excommunication, and
absolution.
[Illustration: _Peter Ramus._]
The persecution of Ramus was carried to such an extent, that,
according to Bayle, he was obliged to conceal himself. At the king’s
instigation, he for some time secreted himself at Fontainbleau, where,
by the aid of the works he found in the royal library, he was enabled
to prosecute his geometrical and astronomical studies. On his
residence there being discovered, he successively concealed himself in
different places, thinking by that means to evade his relentless
persecutors. During his absence, his library at Presles was given up
to public pillage.
On the proclamation of peace, in the year 1563, between Charles the
Ninth and the Protestants, Ramus returned to his professorship,
devoting himself principally to the teaching of mathematics. On the
breaking out of the second civil war, in 1567, he was again obliged to
quit Paris, and seek protection in the Huguenot camp, where he
remained until the battle of St. Denis. A few months after this, on
peace being again proclaimed, he once more returned to his
professorial duties; but, foreseeing the inevitable approach of
another war, and fearing the consequent result, he sued for the king’s
permission of absence, under the plea of visiting the German
academies, which being granted, he retired to Germany, in 1568, where
he was received with every demonstration of honor. Ramus returned to
France on the conclusion of the third war, in 1571, and perished in
the massacre of St. Bartholomew, as related by Moreri in the
following words:――
“Ramus having concealed himself during the tumult of the massacre, he
was discovered by the assassins sent by Charpentier, his competitor.
After having paid a large sum of money, in the hopes of bribing his
assassins to preserve his life, he was severely wounded, and thrown
from the window into the court beneath. Partly in consequence of the
wounds received and the effects of the fall, his bowels protruded. The
scholars, encouraged by the presence of their professors, no sooner
saw this, than they tore them from the body, and scattered them in the
street, along which they dragged the body, beating it with rods, by
way of contempt.”
Such was the horrid death of one of the most estimable men that ever
lived. The private life of Ramus was most irreproachable. Entirely
devoting himself to study and research, he refused the most lucrative
preferments, choosing rather the situation of professor at the college
of Presles. His temperance was exemplary: except a little bouilli, he
ate little else for dinner. For twenty years he had not tasted wine,
and afterwards, when he partook of it, it was by the order of his
physicians. His bed was of straw; he rose early, and studied late; he
was never known to foster an evil passion of any kind: he possessed
the greatest firmness under misfortune. His only reproach was his
obstinacy; but every man who is strongly attached to his convictions
is subject to this reproach.
A Revolutionary Story.
CHAPTER III.
[Continued from page 104.]
We have related the bitter disappointment experienced by Colonel
Joinly, at being deprived of the means of release from his captivity,
and of even obtaining a short respite for the purpose of visiting his
family; nor was his sorrow mitigated by any propitious event. Time
rolled on, and the evils of his condition seemed rather to increase.
The number of the prisoners had accumulated, and their miseries were
aggravated by all the possible horrors of the prison house;――unhealthy
provisions, foul apartments, and loathsome atmosphere, attended by
disease and death.
His own elastic constitution was also rapidly bending beneath his
various cares, his incessant labors, the impurities which he breathed,
the scenes he witnessed, and gnawing anxieties for his family and his
home. At last, in one of his fits of depression, he poured out his
whole soul in a letter to his wife. When she received it, it sank into
her inmost soul. Accustomed, however, to confine her cares and
anxieties to her own breast, she did not impart the substance of her
letter to her already depressed and anxious children.
She revolved the subject, however, deeply in her own mind; yet what
could she, a woman, do? Even could she devise the means of escape for
her husband, she knew him too well to believe that he would take
advantage of it. She knew his chivalrous pride; his deep sense of
duty; his devotion to the cause of his country and of humanity; and
she believed that these mingled feelings would unite to keep him at
his post until some arrangement could be made to supply his place, and
provide for the miserable sufferers whose only comfort he seemed to
be.
We may not say that there was no momentary repining, no rebel
suggestions of the heart against the ways of Providence, in these
stern events. There were moments when she felt it impossible to be
passive. Again and again, in the solitude of her chamber, with
clenched hand and flashing eye, she said, “I must do something――I must
do something.” It is often easier to rush into some headlong
enterprise than to submit with patient dignity to the dark, uncertain
course of time; to bow with resignation to the will of Heaven, saying,
“Thy will be done.”
This beautiful and lofty heroism is however no uncommon grace of
woman; and Madam Joinly, after the storm of feeling and affection had
subsided into a calm, sat down and wrote a cheering, submissive, and
consolatory letter to her husband. When she had nearly completed it,
she left it, marked with her tears, upon the table in the library, and
went out of the room, intending soon to return.
She was, however, detained; and during her absence, her eldest son,
whose name was Worthington, came accidentally into the room. His eye
fell upon the two letters, and he hastily ran them over. He had known
something before of his father’s anxiety and his mother’s sorrow, but
the whole force of their distress was now for the first time unfolded
to him. He was a youth of quick perception, great self-dependence, and
firm resolution. Saying nothing to any member of the family, and
treasuring the knowledge he had acquired in his own heart, he strode
rapidly down to the river, leaped into a light boat, and pushed off
from the shore. Applying the oars, he bent them with his vigorous
strokes, and the little shallop glided out like an arrow upon the
broad water of the sound.
The sea was smooth, and young Joinly, as if he could now breathe
freely, drew in his oars, and permitted the boat to float at the will
of the waves. He then gave himself up to thought. The resolution to do
something was speedily fixed; but what should he attempt? Should he go
to General Washington, and beg for his interference? Should he proceed
to New York, and throw himself at the feet of the British general, and
solicit the liberation of his parent? Should he proceed to the scene
of his father’s captivity, and devise the means of his escape?
These suggestions were, one after another, considered and rejected,
partly as likely to prove ineffectual, but more, perhaps, because they
did not recommend themselves to the young man’s somewhat bold and
daring humor. He was, indeed, wrought up to such a pitch of
excitement, that his heart found relief in contemplating the most
hazardous enterprises.
While he was ruminating over his plans, a vessel from the eastward
hove in sight. As her tall masts and snowy canvass rose to view over
the bending water, the British flag became visible, and young Joinly
soon discovered that she was a British frigate of considerable size.
With a slow and stealing progress, she advanced directly toward his
position. He waited till she was within the distance of two or three
miles, when he applied his oar and swept up toward the mouth of the
river.
After a short space, he paused and bent his eye upon the frigate, now
at no great distance. He was well-skilled in marine affairs, and his
practised eye soon perceived that it was the very ship which, several
years before, had destroyed the hospital on Duck Island. His mind
turning upon this event, the captivity of his father, and the
desolation of the whole country, and all proceeding from one
source――British power――he fixed his eyes sternly upon the flag of the
ship before him, and stretching forth his clenched fist, and uttering
a curse which we will not repeat, he shook it in impotent defiance.
At this instant, he saw a mass of white smoke unfold itself from the
side of the ship; a few seconds afterwards he heard the report of a
cannon, and, nearly at the same moment, the ball dipped in the water
at the distance of a hundred yards from the boat, sending the white
spray high into the air. It rose, slightly glanced forward, seeming to
utter a growling sound as it passed on, struck the boat at the edge of
the water, and dashed it into a thousand pieces.
CHAPTER IV.
The youth found himself suddenly sprawling in the water, but he was
entirely unhurt. Preserving his presence of mind, he rose after the
first dip upon the surface, and said, half audibly, “That was a good
shot, old bull.” He then applied his sinewy arms to the wave, and,
though he was two miles from the shore, soon reached it in safety.
For two or three days, young Joinly was noticed by his mother to be
taciturn, thoughtful, and frequently absent-minded. Several times she
remarked that his brow was contracted, and that there was an
expression of unwonted sternness upon his countenance. “What is the
matter, Worthington?” said she, one evening, as he sat in the midst of
the family group; “why is it that you always are making up faces, as
if you were going to turn Bluebeard?”
“Do I make up faces, mother?” said the youth, a little startled.
“Indeed, I was not aware of it. I suppose I am thinking of these
rascally British.”
“And what have they done?” said the mother.
“Oh,” said Worthington, smiling, “they have spoiled my boat.” He then
proceeded to relate the accident we have already described.
Though the danger had been passed for several days, the youth’s
graphic description of the perilous adventure drove the color from the
cheeks of the sisters, and made even the firmer heart of the mother
beat with unwonted excitement.
“Oh, my son,” said she, when he had finished, “why will you be
constantly involving yourself in such dangers?”
“Indeed, mother, it was no fault of mine. You seem to be blaming me
for the misdemeanor of his Majesty’s ship of the line; but really the
thing was so well done that I can hardly find it in my heart to be out
of humor. I am really suspicious that they had a Yankee gunner aboard.
A lubberly British tar could never have taken so straight an aim.”
“I do not like to hear you talk so lightly of the matter,” said Mrs.
Joinly. “Your own life has been in imminent hazard, and it appears to
me that more serious thought is due to such a circumstance; and,
beside, I cannot but reflect upon the fearful state of things around
us. In wanton sport, these British officers fire upon a human being as
a sportsman shoots at a woodcock or a partridge. How horrible is war,
which thus perverts the manners and feelings of mankind; that converts
murder into sport, sets aside the great commandment, ‘Thou shalt not
kill,’ and makes bloodshed and slaughter a kind of chase, in which the
amusement is proportioned to the number and value of the game.”
The young man made no reply. He sat musing for some time, and then,
rising somewhat abruptly, he retired to his own room.
In the morning, Mrs. Joinly found upon her table a note from her son,
saying that he was to be absent for a few days upon an expedition of
importance. It entered into no explanations or details, and the mother
was left to conjecture the cause of the young man’s absence. We must
now follow him in his adventures.
Since young Joinly had read his father’s letter and his mother’s
reply, he had resolved to make some effort for the release of the
former. He had considered a great variety of schemes, but they were
all dismissed, from one consideration or other. The accident which had
occurred to him in the boat presented a new suggestion. The identical
ship which had been the instrument of destroying the houses upon Duck
Island was proceeding toward New York.
The desire of revenge for that calamity, which had been followed by so
many disasters to his family, naturally arose in his heart. This was
quickened by the wanton attack upon his little boat, and his mind was
nearly resolved upon some attempt to seize upon the commander and
destroy his vessel, thus taking an officer of equal rank with his
father, and having the means of securing an exchange for his parent,
at the same time that he would inflict a merited retribution upon the
enemy.
This scheme, wild and extravagant as it might seem, did not appear
impossible to the heated fancy of the youth, particularly as he felt a
perfect willingness to sacrifice his life in the undertaking. It was
at the moment that he was half resolved upon this mad scheme that the
conversation with his mother had taken place. Her solemn words
impressed him deeply. He retired to his room, and threw himself upon
the bed. The sufferings of his family and the sufferings of the whole
country were strongly impressed upon his mind.
The war at this period was carried on by the British armies in a
manner which was calculated to rouse every feeling of indignation in
the American people. The southern coasts of the United States had been
ravaged by their troops in a style befitting pirates rather than
soldiers, and more recently the borders of Connecticut had met with a
similar fate. New Haven had been attacked, and the beautiful town of
Fairfield had been laid in ashes. These circumstances were attended
with the most aggravating atrocities. Private property was destroyed
in mere wantonness. Individuals were shot down, or butchered by the
soldiers, where no public object could be gained.
In the darkness of his chamber, these events crowded upon the youth’s
imagination. They came attended with all the details current at the
time, and heightened by the colors which indignation and rumor
imparted to them. His own fancy, too, gave them a vividness beyond the
reality; and, amid all these crowding images, his mother’s words came
again and again upon his heart: “In wanton sport these British
officers fire upon a human being as a sportsman shoots at a woodcock
or a partridge.”
In this uneasy manner he spent several hours, but at last fell asleep.
After a brief repose, he awoke, dressed himself, lighted a candle, and
wrote the letter to his mother which we have already mentioned. After
a few brief preparations, he went forth. His step was firm, and his
whole bearing showed that his resolution was taken. The gray dawn was
just visible in the east. As the youth was about departing, and had
already advanced several rods from the house, he paused and looked
back. The venerable mansion lay dark and still beneath the arches of
the lofty elms that spread their branches above it. The gloom of the
scene seemed but an emblem of the shadows that rested upon the hearts
of those within, and those once so bright, so cheerful, so happy. A
single tear gathered in the young man’s eyes; but he dashed it aside,
and strode forward upon his path.
CHAPTER V.
Our young adventurer had ascertained that the Tiger, the British
frigate of which we have already spoken, lay at anchor in a little
harbor of Long Island, toward the western extremity of the sound. He
had conferred with several companions of his own age, and with some
friends of his father, who were still older, and they had signified
their willingness to aid him in any effort for his father’s release in
which he was willing to lead them.
His present design was to muster these men, and set forth upon an
attempt to destroy the vessel we have already mentioned, and, if
possible, seize upon the commander. If this attempt, on farther
examination, should not seem to be feasible, an effort to seize upon
some other British officer, of which there were several stationed upon
the western part of Long Island, was to be made.
Proceeding to the house of an active and energetic friend, young
Joinly communicated his design, and the two, separately proceeding to
the several houses of their proposed companions, rallied about thirty
of them by the time the sun had risen. Most of them were young men,
though several of them were of mature years. One of them was the owner
of a small sloop; and, entering this, the whole party dropped down the
river.
The celerity with which their preparations were made is explained by
considering that in these times the knapsack and the firelock were
ready at a moment’s call. The other necessary equipments and
provisions were easily supplied. Nearly every man on board was
familiar with the sea, and knew every rock, current, or shoal along
the shore. They soon spread their sails, and, hugging the land,
proceeded westward upon their chivalrous expedition.
In the space of three or four days they had reached the shores of
Greenwich. They then crossed over by night to the opposite shore of
Long Island, in the vicinity of the Tiger. Running up into a little
shallow bay, sheltered by pine trees, they came to anchor. As soon as
the morning approached, they despatched several of the men to
reconnoitre. These returned toward evening of the following day, and
brought the information that the Tiger was lying, at the distance of
about four miles, at anchor in a small bay.
On the shore was a little village, and in the vicinity were the houses
of several respectable farmers. One of these houses, apart from the
rest, was occupied by the principal officers of the ship, who were
indulging on shore in feasting and drinking. The resolution was soon
adopted by the adventurers to take speedy advantage of this state of
things to put their scheme in execution. In about a week their
preparations were made, and they only waited for a dark and
tempestuous night to make the attempt.
In about ten days the desired storm arrived. It was late in the
autumn, and one of those chilly, north-easterly storms common to our
climate had set in. The plot of our little band was a singular one.
They had with them an ingenious mechanic, by the name of Bushnell, who
had been long engaged in preparing machinery, something like that of a
clock, by which he could ignite powder under water at any given time.
His experiments had proved at least partially successful, and rumors
of some scheme for blowing up the British ships at New York, by this
machinery, had got into circulation. The British were excessively
alarmed, and swept the water around their vessels, both night and day,
to intercept any infernal engine that might be stealing upon them.
Bushnell’s plan, on the present occasion, was to approach the vessel
in the darkness of the night, and, under cover of the storm, to attach
a small skiff, laden with several barrels of gunpowder, to the side of
the vessel――to connect the machinery with this, and leave it to
explode. The rest of the men were to be upon the shore, and, in the
confusion which they expected to follow, to make sure of the commander
of the vessel. The arrangements were duly made early in the evening,
and about nine o’clock Bushnell and two companions set off for the
ship.
The night was excessively dark, and the wind, blowing a gale, swept
with a deafening roar through the rigging. Everything favored the
enterprise. Unseen and unheard, the conspirators stole over the short
chopping waves of the bay, and, sheltered beneath the projecting stern
of the massy hulk, took their measures with deliberation.
After a brief space, they departed unnoticed and unsuspected, leaving
the little skiff, with its burden of death and destruction, firmly
attached beneath the frigate.
They soon reached the shore, and took the stations assigned them with
their companions. The machinery was so adjusted, that it would strike
in the space of half an hour, and communicate the fatal spark to the
powder.
[To be continued.]
The Musical Snuff-box at Church.
A gentleman had a musical snuff-box which played two favorite airs,
called “Drops of brandy,” and “The glasses sparkle on the board.” He
went out of town, one Sunday, to dine with a friend, taking his box in
his pocket.
He went with the family to the church, and the service was about half
through, when, putting his hand in his pocket, he accidentally touched
the spring of the box, when it immediately struck up, “Drops of
brandy,” most merrily.
Every eye and every ear was directed to the spot, to the great dismay
and confusion of the gentleman, who endeavored to stop the box. His
endeavors, however, only made the difficulty worse, for the tune
immediately changed, and, “The glasses sparkle on the board,” was
heard distinctly in all parts of the church, the congregation with
difficulty restraining their mirth.
Finding it impossible to stop the music, the unfortunate gentleman
started up and hurried out of the church, the box persisting in
playing all the time that he marched along the aisle. I believe the
unlucky box was never taken to church again.
[Illustration]
John Hancock.
I suppose all my readers have seen the Declaration of our
Independence, with the signatures attached. John Hancock was the
president of the convention that drew up that famous instrument, and
was the first who signed it. Every one must have remarked the bold,
strong, decided hand in which his name is written. That was a good way
to do a great action――to do it firmly, and in such a manner as to show
that there was no timidity of heart, no trembling of the hand, no
wavering of purpose.
It is a good thing for all young Americans to read the lives and study
the characters of the great men of our country; and it is my purpose
frequently to place the biographies of such individuals in the pages
of Merry’s Museum. I shall now give a brief sketch of John Hancock.
He was born at Braintree, in Massachusetts, in 1737, and inherited a
large fortune from his uncle. He was educated at Cambridge college,
and was elected a member of the assembly in 1766, and soon
distinguished himself by a talent for business, and a zealous
opposition to the oppressive acts of the British. In 1774, he was
president of the provincial congress, and the year after was elected a
member of the general congress, which met at Philadelphia. He was
chosen president of that body, and in that capacity signed the
Declaration of Independence in 1776.
His health declining the next year, he left that appointment; but he
was elected, in 1788, the first governor of Massachusetts under the
new constitution. He held that office for four years. In three years
after, he was again elected governor, in which station he remained
till his death, which took place in 1793, in the fifty-sixth year of
his age.
Governor Hancock possessed talents that always adorned the several
exalted stations to which he was elevated. He was one of the first and
most conspicuous actors in the great drama of the Revolution, and
gained, by his zealous devotion to his country, a rank among the most
distinguished of her benefactors. In private life he was characterized
by affability, urbanity, and distinguished liberality to the poor.
Jumping Rabbit’s Story.
CHAPTER V.
_The buffalo hunt._
Five of our hunting party were on horseback, and the rest on foot. We
proceeded over a hilly country for two days, meeting with no other
game than a single deer, which was shot by one of the party, thrown
across one of the horses, and carried onward. We came, at length, to
the borders of an extensive prairie, which lay spread out like the sea
before us. In taking a general view of its surface, it seemed to be
almost perfectly level. But as we advanced, I perceived that it was
undulating, like the ocean thrown into long waves by a gale of wind.
It was now late in the autumn, but the prairie was covered with a
great variety of flowers, some of them exceedingly brilliant and
beautiful. I hardly noticed these objects then. I was with savages,
and they never perceive anything lovely in flowers, or landscapes, or
nature’s fairest scenes. It might seem that those who live always in
the midst of nature’s works would feel their beauty and admire them.
But it is not so. The exquisite emotions excited in a refined mind by
beautiful landscapes and the picturesque objects of nature, belong
only to those who have enjoyed the advantages of civilization. No
savage is ever either a painter or a poet. You never see these
dwellers in the wilderness culling bouquets, or making wreaths of
blossoms.
We held a straight course for several hours, until, at last, we
reached a little dell which was covered with trees. At a distance,
this appeared like an island in the sea. Here we paused, and
preparations were made to remain for some days. Early on the ensuing
morning, most of the party were roused and went forth in quest of
game; but the only result was the killing of two or three deer.
Several days now passed, but on the fifth day after our arrival we met
with more stirring adventures.
Soon after the sun arose, one of the Indians announced that a herd of
buffaloes was coming. We all looked in the direction to which he
pointed, and, at the distance of nearly two miles, we saw an immense
number of objects, seeming like small black spots on the surface of
the prairie. These gradually approached us, and we could soon hear a
confused noise, like the distant roar of a tempest. The Indians were
immediately on the alert.
As the wind was blowing toward the herd, they were afraid that the
quick scent of the buffaloes would perceive us, and that the
affrighted animals would take to flight. To avoid this danger, we
immediately determined to shift our position. Those who had horses
mounted them and departed, and those who were on foot followed them.
Some proceeded to the right and some to the left, making a wide sweep,
and intending to come in upon the herd in the opposite direction.
We were not long in performing this manœuvre. I shall never forget the
scene that was now presented. Before us and near at hand were several
thousands of these huge animals, many of them equal in size to the
largest ox. They had also an aspect entirely distinct from our tame
cattle. Their swarthy color, their wild, shaggy hair, their thick
mane, the profusion of rough and bristling hair about the face, the
enormous hump upon the shoulders, together with the fierce countenance
of these animals, rendered them objects at once interesting and
formidable.
And if this was their appearance, taken singly, the spectacle of
thousands of these huge beasts was hardly short of sublime. The whole
mass were moving slowly forward. Some paused occasionally, to nip the
herbage, or devour the leaves from a favorite shrub, and others
sauntered on with a careless and indifferent air. But many of the
bulls, and some of the rest, seemed to be almost constantly occupied
in fighting.
Some were pawing the earth, and scattering the dust in the air; some
were kneeling and plunging their horns into the little hillocks of
earth, lowing at the same time, and seeming desirous of giving a
challenge to mortal combat; some were already fighting, and, with
their horns locked, were straining every nerve for the mastery; others
were leaping and frisking as they went; and others still were plunging
their horns into the sides of such of their brethren as came within
their reach. The lowing of the herd was incessant, and came upon the
ear with a deafening roar. The air was filled with confused sounds,
and the earth was shaken beneath our feet by the trampling multitude.
Accustomed as I was to scenes of adventure, I was still startled at
this spectacle, and, for a time, my mind was somewhat confused. My
excitement was increased by an incident which immediately followed.
The Indians who had accompanied me had dispersed themselves, and being
upon the flank of the herd, and sheltered by the tall grass, were
stealing towards their unsuspecting victims.
I had myself crouched down in a thick tuft of grass, upon one of the
thousand swells of the prairie. It chanced that a buffalo of the
largest size, straying a little from his companions, was coming
directly towards the spot where I lay. He soon came near, and I could
see his curly pate and the glistening of his eye. He came slowly, but
steadily on. I had a rifle in my hand, but such was my amazement that
I never thought of using it. I remained crouched upon one knee until
the animal was within six feet of me.
It is impossible to describe the consternation depicted in the brute’s
countenance when he first saw me. He paused for a moment; his eyeballs
stood out, his nostrils expanded, and the long stiff hair upon his
neck stood erect. After glaring at me for a few seconds, the creature
lifted his tail into the air, and sped away with a prodigious gallop.
He had proceeded but a few rods, however, before I heard the report of
a rifle, and the flying buffalo stumbled and fell to the earth,
tearing up the soil in the heavy plunge. He, however, rose to his
feet, and proceeded, with a staggering gallop, for about a hundred
yards. He then paused, and at length stood still. I came forward,
supposing that the wound was mortal, and that the creature would soon
fall to the earth; but what was my surprise, on coming up with him, to
discover three or four wolves standing in front of him, and evidently
on the point of making an attack.
Without reflection, I discharged my rifle among them, and killed two
of them. The noise directed the attention of the wounded buffalo to
me, and he immediately turned upon me. I easily kept out of his way at
first; but his speed increased, and I soon found it necessary to exert
myself to the utmost for escape. My uncommon speed was now my only
hope. The raging beast followed me at long bounds, and I was
frequently obliged to throw him off by a short turn to the right or
left, in order to escape from the plunge of his horns. I had already
begun to grow weary and short of breath, when I heard a loud bellow
and a heavy fall to the earth. I looked around, and my pursuer lay
dead upon the ground.
After a few moments, my self-possession returned. I loaded my rifle
and proceeded toward the scene of action, for my companions were now
at their work. I had an opportunity of seeing the manner in which the
Indians on horseback attack the buffalo. I chanced to be near one of
our bravest huntsmen as he assailed a bull of the largest size. The
man was firmly mounted, but he had no other weapons than a bow and a
quiver of arrows. The buffalo had perceived the approach of the enemy,
and immediately fled at full gallop.
The hunter pursued, and, speedily coming up with the animal, he drew
his arrow to the head, and plunged it between its ribs. It entered
more than one half its length, but the buffalo continued its flight.
Another and another arrow were speedily discharged, and all of them
took effect. The last was almost entirely buried in the flank of the
huge beast. Stung with agony, he wheeled suddenly round, and made a
fierce plunge at the mounted horseman. The movement was sudden and
rapid, but the blow was evaded by a swaying movement to the left. The
impulse of the horseman carried him past the animal for a considerable
distance, and the latter, apparently incapable of farther exertion,
stood still.
His sides were covered with blood, and mingled foam and blood were
streaming from his open mouth. He held his head down, his tongue
protruded, his eyes stood out, and he shivered in every limb. At the
same time, he uttered a low and plaintive bellow. The unrelenting
hunter speedily turned his horse back, and again approached his prey.
He paused a moment, and seemed to hesitate whether it were needful to
spend another arrow; but, after a short space, he placed one upon the
string. The bison watched the movement, and, at the instant it sped,
uttered a terrible roar, and sprung again toward the horseman. The
latter, prepared for the movement, leaped aside, and the exhausted
prey rolled, with a crushing sound, to the earth. The last arrow had
reached his heart.
I looked over the vast plain, and the countless herd of bisons were
now in full flight; plunging, galloping, and bellowing, they swept
over the plain. It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the
scene. A variety of stunning sounds fell upon the ear, and the earth
trembled as if shaken by an earthquake. Yet, amid this scene of
confusion, the Indians seemed in their element. Mingling with the
crowd of animals, their arrows flew, and their bullets sped. Those who
were on foot, and those who were mounted, alike kept up with the
flying herd.
Nothing could exceed the fierceness of their looks, or the animation
of their actions. Their whole souls engaged in the work of death;
their hair streaming in the wind, their eyes gleaming with fiery
exultation, and speeding from point to point with incredible
swiftness; they had an aspect of wildness, energy, and power, which
words alone cannot paint. For my own share in the adventure I can say
but little. I had several fair shots, but they were all without
success, excepting in one instance. A buffalo calf, toward the latter
part of the chase, was passing near, and I brought it down with a
single ball.
I must not omit to mention one incident, that particularly attracted
my attention in the midst of these scenes. From the moment the attack
began, I had noticed several wolves gliding hither and thither, and
seeming to watch the progress of the fight. These creatures follow the
herds of bisons, and, if one of them becomes sick or wounded, they
attack and devour him. They seemed now to be quite aware that
something was to be done in their behalf, and, accordingly, gathered
in considerable numbers to the place where the attack was about to be
made.
Several buffaloes had now been slain, and others were wounded. As I
was passing along, I saw a buffalo that had received a bullet in his
side, and was severely hurt. The creature seemed exhausted and
incapable of flight. As if understanding the exact nature of the case,
several wolves had gathered around him, and, squatting upon their
haunches at a respectful distance, were waiting the moment when the
animal should be sufficiently feeble to render it safe for them to
make the attack. At my approach, however, the buffalo made a new
effort, and galloped beyond my reach, followed, however, by his
unrelenting and greedy attendants.
In about half an hour after the attack commenced, it was all over. The
herd had passed on; but scattered along, for the space of three or
four miles, lay no less than sixteen dead buffaloes, the fruit of our
efforts. I must say, however, that the packs of wolves, which
constantly hung around the buffaloes, devoured two or three that we
had killed before we could secure them.
Several days were spent in skinning our game; in cutting off the best
parts of the meat, and in preparations for our return. At last, having
loaded our horses with the hides and a portion of the meat, and each
man taking what he could carry, we set out upon our journey, and,
after a laborious march, reached the settlement.
The new London Exchange.
The bank of England is the focus of the money operations of London. It
is situated in that part of the metropolis called the city, about a
mile and a half to the east of Temple Bar.
This bank is an immense quadrangular building, with a large court in
the centre. The number of rooms in the edifice are numerous, and a
person without a guide would inevitably get lost amid its labyrinth of
staircases, passages, rooms, entries, and offices. During the business
hours of the day, there are constant streams of people passing in and
out of this great temple of mammon.
The number of officers and clerks employed in the bank is very great,
and, in some of the rooms, you see them shovelling heaps of gold,
almost as freely and as abundantly as if it were Indian corn. Near the
bank is the post-office, which is also an immense edifice. The number
of persons at work within the bustle and activity that are exhibited
there, the marking of parcels, the tumbling about of mail-bags, the
running hither and thither, seem almost to render the place a city in
itself.
Near these two great buildings are the offices of the chief bankers of
London, who receive and pay out immense sums of money at their
counters every day. All the streets in this region are mainly occupied
by persons who are engaged in the great money operations of the
metropolis. Nothing can exceed the bustle and activity of this part of
the city. The streets are thronged with cabs, coaches, omnibuses, and
other vehicles, and with a ceaseless flood of people, passing rapidly
on, as if they thought the world was speedily coming to an end.
[Illustration: _Laying the corner stone of the new London
Exchange._]
Near to the bank was formerly the old Exchange, which was a four-sided
building, in the court of which, merchants, bankers, and others in
London, were accustomed to assemble for the purpose of transacting
business. This court was quadrangular, and, on the four sides, were
the emblems of the four quarters of the globe. On that side where the
emblems of Europe were, European business was transacted; on the
Asiatic side, business relating to Asia was transacted; and so of the
rest.
The time of assembly, in this Exchange, was usually from two to four
o’clock. At these hours, you would here see a crowd of persons; and
the amount of business transacted within this little square, in the
space of a couple of hours, often amounted to several millions of
pounds sterling.
For several years past, the opinion had prevailed, in London, that the
old Exchange was small, inconvenient, and unworthy of the great
commercial metropolis of the world. A scheme was, therefore, set on
foot for erecting a new Exchange, which might at once be convenient,
and suited, by its extent and magnificence, to satisfy the wants as
well as the ambition of the great emporium of Britain.
The building has already been commenced, and considerable progress has
been made in its construction. London has hundreds of edifices, any
one of which would be an object of interest and curiosity, on account
of its extent and magnificence, on our side of the Atlantic. But the
new Exchange promises to rank among the very finest of the public
buildings of London, both on account of its size and the beauty of its
architecture.
The corner-stone of this fine structure was laid on the 17th of
January, 1842, and appears to have been one of the most imposing
ceremonies, of the kind, that ever took place. An immense crowd of
people was assembled, among whom were many persons of the highest
distinction. The performances took place beneath a tent, in which
there were about fifteen thousand persons.
This tent was one hundred feet high, and three hundred feet in
circumference. Around it were eleven tiers of seats, gradually rising
to the height of twenty-four feet. These seats, as well as the floor
and sides of the tent, were covered with crimson drapery. It was
lighted by a magnificent chandelier, containing about fifty gas
lights. In the centre of the tent was an open space, in which the
foundation-stone, an immense block of free-stone, was suspended. In
front of it were two chairs of state, one for Prince Albert and the
other for the lord mayor.
All things being ready, Prince Albert deposited, in an excavation in
the stone, a glass bottle, containing a variety of coins, both gold,
silver, and copper. A glass brick was also deposited, with an English
inscription encrusted thereon. These were covered with a stone, and,
the prince applied the level to see that it was true. Some mortar was
put into the crevices, and his royal highness smoothed it down, in a
very workmanlike manner, with a silver trowel, exquisitely fabricated
for the purpose. An enthusiastic cheer rung through the assembly, to
attest the appreciation of the skill displayed by the prince. The
stone was lowered to its bed, and the mighty pageant was over.
The Imperial Joss.
[Illustration: _Imperial Joss._]
This is the chief idol of the Chinese empire, and is worshipped with
profound reverence by many persons, especially by the chief
dignitaries. The present emperor, whose name is Taou Twang, and who is
now about seventy years old, is very particular in his devotions to
the Imperial Joss. This image is variously represented, but always
exhibits the appearance of a very fat man, with an enormous
belly,――one who is fond of good eating and good drinking, and who
cares for little else.
A man’s religion is usually an index to his own character. If we may
judge the higher classes of Chinese by their deity, we should suppose
that, if they are not better than their gods, they are a low, coarse,
and sensual people.
The Chinese temples, or Joss houses, are very magnificent; and it is
said that there are, in the empire, about five hundred of these of the
larger kind. When the emperor goes to worship the imperial deity, he
dresses himself with the utmost magnificence, and is attended by all
his officers of state, sumptuously apparelled. But while he thus
displays the greatest external grandeur, he exhibits great humility
and dejection, prostrating himself upon the earth, rolling himself in
the dust, and speaking of himself, to the object of his adoration, in
terms of the utmost abasement.
In the vicinity of Canton, there is a Joss house, which makes a
magnificent appearance. It is four stories high, with a fine cupola.
It has, also, numerous galleries and out-houses.
A Salt Water Scene.
In one of the recent fishing excursions in our bay, the steward of the
steamer had employed, as assistant cook, a simple negro, who had
“never before smelt salt water,” nor knew its peculiar properties.
There were a hundred persons on board to feed, and, not having a very
large supply of water on board, at the first dinner the steward took
his aid severely to task for wasting the fresh water in boiling the
vegetables, when the salt water, alongside, was so much better for the
purpose. Poor Darky promised to do better next time; and, accordingly,
on the following morning, when the bell rang for breakfast, the
aforesaid hundred half-famished people rushed up to the table, and,
seizing the coffee-cups, each quaffed a copious draught, when, phew!
phiz! splutter! what a spitting and coughing there ensued! “Steward!
cook! captain! where are you? what is the matter of the coffee?”
shouted a Babel of vehement voices. The steward appeared, and
protested his ignorance of anything wrong, when a deputation was sent
for poor cook, and he soon appeared amid the excited multitude,
trembling, and as pale as he could be. “What is the matter with this
coffee?” demanded the captain.
“I sure I don’t know, massa,” he replied.
“Where did you get the water that you made it of?”
“Why, massa cap’n, de steward scold me for wasting the fresh water for
bile the ’taters, and said de salt was better; so _I got it out ob de
riber, too, to make dis coffee_.”
Hungry as was the party, a hearty roar followed the explanation of
this real African bull, and all hands were obliged, in good humor, to
wait the making of _fresh_ coffee.
* * * * *
THE SHOULDER OF MUTTON.――The blade bone of a shoulder of mutton is
called in Scotland “a poor man,” as in some parts of England it is
termed “a poor knight of Windsor.” Some years ago, an old Scottish
peer chanced to be indisposed whilst he was in London attending
parliament. The master of the hotel where he lodged, anxious to show
attention to his noble guest, waited on him to enumerate the contents
of his well-stocked larder, so as to endeavor to hit on something
which might suit his appetite. “I think, landlord,” said his lordship,
rising up from his couch, and throwing back the tartan plaid with
which he had screened his grim and ferocious visage, “I think I could
eat a morsel of _a poor man_.” The landlord fled in terror, having no
doubt that his guest was a cannibal, who might be in the habit of
eating a slice of a tenant, as light food, when under a regimen.
The Life of Columbus.
CHAPTER IV.
_Columbus sails for Spain――Manner in which Columbus was welcomed
on his arrival in Spain._
Having thus determined to return to Spain, Columbus selected
thirty-nine of the crew, who were to remain. He established rules for
their government, and, having made all the provision for their comfort
in his power, he gave them a parting address. He recommended to them
to treat the natives and one another kindly; to live amicably; to
settle disputes which might arise; and he promised them, should his
life be spared, to return to them at a future day.
On the 4th of January, 1493, all things being settled, a signal gun
announced their readiness to depart. A mutual farewell was pronounced,
and the sails of the Nina were soon spread to the wind. Two days after
their departure, while a head wind was blowing strongly against them,
and they made but little progress, the long-lost Pinta was seen
bearing down upon them.
This was a joyful sight. Nothing certain had been heard of her since
her separation from the other vessels. Fears were entertained that she
was lost. But Columbus had all along suspected that her captain had
separated from him with a design to search for islands where he might
find gold. And so it proved to be.
The captain, however, pretended otherwise. He endeavored to convince
Columbus that he had no bad design, and had been detained by
unpropitious weather and ignorance of the route to Cuba. But all this
was untrue. He had visited several islands, and procured gold, half of
which he kept himself, and the rest he divided among his crew, telling
them to keep it a secret. Columbus would have arrested him; but as he
had now only one small vessel beside the Pinta, he wisely concluded to
say but little, and hasten back to Spain.
The wind becoming favorable soon after, both vessels directed their
course eastward, stopping, however, at several islands in their way.
At one island, where they anchored, an unhappy circumstance occurred.
Some of the Spaniards landed here. They found the island inhabited by
a ferocious-looking people. They had long bows, swords, and war-clubs.
These last were made of a kind of wood so hard and so heavy as to
level the stoutest man at a single blow.
At first, these savages conducted peaceably towards the Spaniards;
nevertheless, their looks bespoke treachery and war. One of them
returned with the Spaniards on board the Nina. He was treated very
kindly, and several presents were given him. This was done to secure
the friendship of his brethren on the island.
At length, this Indian was put on shore. As the boat approached the
land, a party of warriors were seen lurking in the edge of some woods
not far distant. As the boat reached the shore, they laid aside their
arms, and approached in apparent friendship. They began to trade with
the Spaniards, and sold them two bows.
But, on a sudden, they fell back, seized their weapons, and rushed
forward to secure the Spaniards. The latter, finding themselves in
danger, attacked the Indians, and wounded several. They would have
made greater execution, but they were ordered by the commander of the
party to return.
Columbus regretted this occurrence. It was the first unpleasant
interview which he and his men had had with the inhabitants of the new
world. But, happily, before Columbus left the neighborhood, the affray
was peaceably settled. The chief of the Indians was a noble-spirited
man, and seemed much to regret the conduct of his subjects. He made a
present to Columbus, and even visited him on board his vessel.
Columbus now prepared to take leave of these islands, and set sail
once more upon the broad ocean. Every day’s delay was felt to be
hazardous. A slight accident might prevent their ever reaching Spain;
and thus their important discovery, their toils, and their dangers,
would all be lost. Their voyage, also, with all the skill and
diligence they might exercise, was likely to be a long one. The trade
winds were against them, and the Pinta had become so weak, that no
great press of sail could be put upon her.
Nothing important occurred till the 13th of February. The day
previous, a gale had begun to blow, and the sea was greatly disturbed.
On the evening of the 13th, the indications of an approaching tempest
were still stronger; and, not long after, it burst upon them in awful
fury.
All that night their sails were lashed down tight; and yet, such was
the violence of the gale, that they were driven forward with the speed
of a race-horse. In the morning, they were still on the top of the
waves, though every moment likely to be swallowed up. Through all that
day the vessels kept in sight of each other; but each, as it rose on
the mountain wave, expected to take its last look of its companion.
The night again set in. The spirit of the tempest was still unbroken;
nay, it seemed as if the very elements were all engaged in war. The
ocean, lashed by the storm, raged and roared, and every succeeding
billow was still more mountainous than the one which had gone before.
Each vessel continued to display a light, at intervals, as a signal to
the other. For a time, that displayed by the Pinta was seen on board
the Nina; but it grew more and more dim and distant, and, at length,
was looked for in vain.
It was a tremendous night, and it seemed that only by a miracle the
vessel could survive the fury of the gale. But, on the dawn of the
following morning, she was still riding aloft, though she seemed,
every moment, on the brink of ruin.
The courageous spirit of Columbus was the last to quail. He did not
yet despair; but he, himself, was appalled. It was probable that the
Pinta had gone down. It was more than probable that his own vessel
would that day sink to some unexplored cavern in the abyss. His life
and that of his crew were valuable. But it was of still greater moment
to the world that the knowledge of his discovery should not be lost.
In this distressed and troubled state――in this season of awful
suspense, Columbus was not unmindful of prayers and vows. But, alas!
he prayed not to the God of the ocean; his vows were not made to him.
In those days, it was the custom of many, in times of peril, to pray
to the Virgin Mary, and to make a vow, if preserved, to go on a
pilgrimage. This Columbus and his men now did; as if the Virgin Mary
could save them; as if to go bareheaded, on their hands and feet, for
miles and leagues, would be pleasing to God!
How much more proper it would have been to have sought the protection
of _Him_ who rideth upon the wings of the wind, and maketh the clouds
his chariots; who alone could say to the noisy waters, “Peace, be
still.” The prayers and vows of Columbus seemed of little avail. Why
should they have been heard, when the true God of the waters was lost
sight of, and creatures were worshipped instead of himself?
The storm still went on in its fury: billow was followed by billow,
surge was piled upon surge. Columbus began to consider in what manner
he could communicate to the eastern world a knowledge of his
discovery. There was one expedient which might succeed, if he should
be lost, and he now proceeded to adopt it.
He wrote a brief account of his voyage and discoveries on a piece of
parchment, which he hastily enclosed in a cake of wax, and, putting
this latter into a barrel, he threw it into the sea, with the hope
that it might, at length, be picked up by some one who would inform
the king and queen of Spain of the important news it contained.
Fortunately, however, the storm soon after somewhat abated, and, to
their inexpressible joy, land appeared in view, which proved to be the
island of St. Mary’s, the most southern of the Azores.
For two days, after they discovered land, the Nina was tossed about,
it being impossible to reach a harbor. At length they cast anchor;
but, before morning, they parted their cable, and were again exposed
to the most imminent danger of being shipwrecked.
We must pass over many interesting events and trying scenes which
occurred before Columbus had the good fortune to arrive at Palos. We
must briefly mention here that, at length, when Columbus reached St.
Mary’s, the government of that island seized a part of the crew of the
Nina, who had landed, and attempted to take Columbus himself. The
island of St. Mary’s belonged to the king of Portugal, who had given
his subjects orders to seize Columbus, should it be in their power.
The reason for this was a jealousy, on the part of that king, that
Columbus might interfere with voyages of discovery which were
undertaken under his own direction.
The difficulties at St. Mary’s were, however, settled, and Columbus at
length proceeded towards Spain. Another storm now came on, and drove
him into a port of Portugal. He would have avoided touching at any
port of Portugal, could he have done so with safety. But, having been
struck by a squall of wind, he was obliged to make the first harbor he
was able.
From this place he wrote to the king of Portugal, informing him of his
situation, and requested permission to go with his vessel to Lisbon.
This request was granted. On his arrival at this place, the
inhabitants crowded on board to listen to the stories of the crew, and
to see various articles of curiosity, which they had brought from the
new world.
The king of Portugal was at this time at Valparaiso, about
twenty-seven miles from Lisbon. From the former place, he despatched a
messenger to Columbus, inviting him to the royal residence. Columbus
wished not to go, justly fearing that some evil was designed him. But,
at length, he deemed it wise to accept the invitation.
On reaching Valparaiso, he related his adventures to the king, and his
discoveries, and the perils of his return. The king listened with deep
attention, and, though he treated Columbus kindly, it was evident that
he felt deeply mortified that he had lost the honor of this important
discovery, when he might have employed Columbus himself.
Some of the king’s counsellors endeavored to prejudice him against
Columbus, and, it is said, advised the king to have him murdered. But
Columbus was at length dismissed in safety, and again set sail for
Palos. A few days brought him in sight of this long wished-for port,
and, on the 15th of March, at noon, the anchor of the Nina was cast in
the spot from which it had been raised about seven months and a half
before.
The joy of Columbus and his crew, on reaching Palos, may, perhaps, be
imagined, but cannot be described. The joy of the inhabitants was not
less intense. The vessel was descried coming up the river, and was
recognised as one of those which had been abroad on a voyage of
discovery.
The news rapidly spread along the streets; business was suspended, and
the people were seen rushing to the wharves; all was hurry, curiosity,
and bustle. Yes, there was much anxiety on the part of many. They had
friends there; or, it might be, they were lost. But one vessel had
arrived. Where were the others? One person had a husband: was he
alive? a father, a brother: were they on board this vessel? or――――.
The anxiety was deep, and no wonder.
The ship was anchored, the sails were furled, and Columbus and his
almost bewildered men now landed, amidst the greetings of the
assembled multitude. Inquiries, one after another, went round in quick
succession. Explanations were made as well as the hurry and confusion
would allow. A long procession was formed, and Columbus and his men
were marched to a church, where public thanks were returned for their
success and safe return.
To heighten the joy of the people of Palos, it was so ordered that, on
the evening of this very day, the Pinta was also seen standing up the
river. She had been separated from Columbus, we have told, and was
supposed to be lost. But it was not so. She had, however, only escaped
as if by a miracle. She had been tossed up and down, and driven before
the tempest, for days, and had, at length, succeeded in getting into a
port, from whence, after the gale had subsided, she proceeded on her
return; and now she came in, to add to the joy of the justly delighted
people of Palos.
One circumstance is related, which all who read this story would wish
to have otherwise. I have spoken of the improper conduct of Pinzon,
the commander of the Pinta, while in Hispaniola, in leaving Columbus.
From the violence of the gale, which separated him from the Nina, he
had some reason to conclude that she was lost, just as Columbus
supposed the Pinta was lost. But, instead of waiting to ascertain
whether this was a fact, Pinzon, on putting into port, sent a letter
to the king and queen of Spain, informing them of the discovery which
_he_ had made, and claiming all the honor of it.
This was ungenerous, as well as wicked. But what was his surprise to
find that Columbus had arrived before him! What was his mortification
to learn the honors which the real discoverer of the new world was
receiving, at the very time he came in with the expectation of taking
all the honor to himself!
Pinzon was afraid and ashamed to meet Columbus. He, therefore, avoided
being seen, and, not long after, died at his own house, the victim of
his own pride and folly. Still higher honors awaited Columbus than
those which he had received from the inhabitants of Palos. The letter,
which he had written to the king and queen of Spain, had prepared the
way for his gracious reception. Indeed, the news of his discovery
spread everywhere, and filled the whole country with admiration and
delight.
In a short time, Columbus proceeded to Barcelona, to inform the king
and queen more particularly concerning his voyage, and about the new
world which he had discovered. On his journey, multitudes flocked,
from the surrounding country, to see this wonderful man and the
natives of the new world, several of whom had accompanied him to
Spain.
On his arrival at Barcelona, his reception at court was truly
flattering. The king and queen did not attempt to conceal their
pleasure at the success of his voyage, and took every means to load
him with honor. He was received in great state, and, in the presence
of the whole court, the king and queen even rose to welcome him: nay,
he had the privilege of seating himself in their presence,――an honor
seldom granted to any one.
Columbus now gave an account of his voyage; told them of the new
world; exhibited the curiosities which he had brought back; and, more
than all――the indisputable evidence of the truth of what he had told
them――the natives, whom he now presented to the king and queen.
It may be proper to dwell a moment upon the change in the
circumstances of Columbus. For many years he had been endeavoring to
effect a darling project. He had struggled with misfortune; he had
fought his way without money, without patrons――nay, in opposition to
powerful enemies. Less than a year before, he was a humble individual,
and accounted by many a visionary and a fortune-hunter. But now he
stood in the presence of the sovereigns of Spain, welcomed and honored
by them, and an acknowledged benefactor to the world.
The news of his discovery soon spread through Europe, and it was
justly considered by far the greatest achievement of the age. Its
results have been even greater than were anticipated; for, in the
space of three centuries and a half, we see the new world occupied by
several great and independent nations, with systems of government
which are likely to revolutionize Europe itself.
We shall mention, in this place, one circumstance, which we cannot
think of but with regret. Our readers will remember that the person
who first discovered land was to have a reward of thirty crowns a year
for life. Columbus, we have said in a preceding page, first saw a
light, which had been kindled by the natives, but a seaman first
actually discovered the land. It was a question to whom the reward
belonged――to Columbus or to the seaman. It was given to Columbus. One
would think that it should have been given to the seaman, and that
Columbus himself would have wished it. The honor, no doubt, was
thought more of, by Columbus, than the money.
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER X.
_Something worth knowing._
I have already told my readers that our little hero, whom we call
Inquisitive Jack, was of a very investigating turn of mind. I do not
mean to say that he was curious and inquisitive about improper things.
He had not that unpleasant trait of character, which belongs to some
people and some children――a constant disposition to be curious and
inquisitive about other people’s affairs. If he was a kind of Paul
Pry, his curiosity only led him to pry into the works of nature and
art, and not to be meddlesome in the affairs of other people.
I believe I have also said that, when Jack became interested in a
subject, he did not like to leave it till he knew all about it. He did
not, like some little people, proceed from one object to another,
amusing himself for a moment, and laying up no permanent stores of
knowledge. He was more like the little insect of which we have told so
long a story――the bee――which, when it alights upon a blossom, scrapes
out all the honey, and then stores it away in cells for future use. So
it was with Jack. He studied one subject at a time, made himself
master of the knowledge it afforded, packed it away in the cells of
his memory, and then was ready to set about something else.
Well, on account of this trait of character, he would not leave the
subject of bees until he had extracted from Aunt Betsey all she knew
of the subject――all the learning she had got. I have already told you
many things which he learned, but there are many others which I have
not related. I must now tell you a few of these, and then we will
proceed to something else.
Jack had an idea, which is common to children, that all domestic
animals were naturally tame; and he was greatly surprised to learn
that dogs, cats, cows, hens, pigs, horses, and even bees, were
originally wild, and had been brought into their present state by the
arts of man. In the course of his conversations with Aunt Betsey, he
acquired these new ideas, and he was then very curious to hear about
wild bees and bee-hunters. Accordingly, his kind-hearted relative
proceeded to satisfy his inquiries upon this subject. The substance of
what she told him was as follows:
In nearly all countries there are swarms of wild bees, which have
their abode in the forest. Their hive is the hollow trunk of some aged
tree. Here they build their cells and store their honey. The native
flowers of the forest, of the valley, and the mountain, of the
hill-side and the lawn, afford them a supply of their delicious food,
not only for the daily meal, during the warm season, but for the
stores of winter.
It is a part of the plan of the benevolent Creator, that every portion
of the universe shall be filled with life, so that happiness may
everywhere abound. Even where man has not yet made his way in the
wilderness and the solitary place, there are the flowers, with their
honey, and there, amid other insects, is the busy, happy bee, to
gather it. How vast must be the field of enjoyment which the
omniscient eye surveys, if even the study of insects unfolds such a
view as is here suggested.
The habits of the wild bees are nearly the same as those of the
domestic ones. They live in large communities, build their cells in
hexagons, are subject to the government of a queen, and have their
periodical swarms, as we have related.
The hunting of wild bees is very common in the western states of this
country. In some parts they are so abundant, that some persons become
regular bee-hunters. Their mode of finding the hives is curious and
interesting.
I must tell you that, when a bee sets off from a flower, to return to
the hive, it always flies home in a straight line. It is one of the
amazing instincts of this little creature, that, wherever it may be,
it has the power of going to its home without deviation from a direct
course. It may wander in the woods, it may sport amid the mazes of the
flowery meadow, yet still the little creature never gets its head
turned, never gets lost. The moment that its honey-bags are filled, it
mounts upward on the breeze, and, without hesitation, speeds like an
arrow to its mark.
The bee-hunter takes advantage of this curious trait in the bee. He
sees in what direction the insect flies, and, by following on, is
able, at last, to discover the hive. A practised bee-hunter often
adopts this method. He notices the direction in which a bee flies from
one flower, and sets down two or three sticks to mark the route. He
then goes to a little distance, and starts another bee, and marks the
route he takes. If the two lines tend toward each other, he concludes
that the angle at which they meet is the point where the hive is to be
found. Judging of the distance by the skill acquired by practice, the
hunter proceeds to the spot, and seldom fails of finding the honey
which he seeks pretty near the place which his calculations have
indicated.
The scientific bee-hunter sometimes adopts the following method: he
places some bee-bread, in order to tempt the bees, on a flat board or
tile, and draws a circle round it with white paint. The bee always
settles upon the edge of anything flat; so she must travel through the
paint to reach the edge. When she flies away, the white paint on her
body enables the hunter to observe her flight, and her course is
marked down with a pocket compass. The same thing is done at another
spot, some distance from the first, and, by comparing the direction of
the two lines, the situation of the nest is easily found, as it must
be at the point where the lines would meet.
We are told that, in Africa, there is a curious little hunter of the
wild bee. This is a quadruped, about as large as a woodchuck, called
the honey-ratel. This cunning little fellow seems to understand
optics; for, when he wishes to get a distinct view of the bees, he
holds up one of his fore paws, as you would your hand, in order to
shade his eyes, and thus exclude from the pupil of the eye an excess
of light. He watches the bees, particularly at sunset, for he knows
that, like other working people, they are then retiring to their
homes. Following the route they take, he is able to find out the
vicinity of the hive, and, when he has come pretty near, his keen
scent directs him to the honey which he seeks.
There is, also, in the wilds of Africa, a little bird called the
honey-guide. This creature has the faculty of finding out where the
honey is stored, and it is said that, when he meets a traveller in the
wilderness, he will flutter along before him, from branch to branch,
and from tree to tree, and, at last, guide him to the hive.
I remember to have read a story, of this kind, a great many years ago,
when I was a boy. It was in the beautiful tale of Alphonso and
Dalinda, told by Madame de Genlis, in her Tales of the Castle. I have
never forgotten it; and no story, that I have since heard, has seemed
half so pleasing. Does it not seem, indeed, almost like an incident of
fairy land, that travellers, wandering in the wilds of Africa, should
find a little bird, who becomes their guide to a feast of honey?
If I were to repeat all that Aunt Betsey Piper told her nephew about
bees, I am afraid that I should fill a book. So I may as well bring
this chapter to an end, after saying a few words about other kinds of
bees.
I might talk a long time about the humble-bee, or, as some of my
little readers call him, the bumble-bee. He is very large, and goes
about with an air of importance, like some fat, bustling people that
we know of. He has one habit which it is well not to imitate, and that
is, of always humming a tune as he roams about. This bee makes his
nest of moss, in the hayfield, usually beneath a heap of stones, or in
some excavation of the earth. Two or three dozen usually assemble
together, and carry on the various operations of the little community.
The mason bee builds her nest in the hole of an old wall, of little
pieces of clay. She makes four or five cells, of the size of a
thimble, in each of which she lays an egg. The carpenter bee makes a
nest in an old post, by boring a hole, twelve inches long, with her
teeth. In these holes she lays her eggs.
We could tell some of Aunt Betsey’s curious stories about upholstery
bees and leaf-cutter bees, and we could say a good deal about their
spiteful cousins, the wasps and hornets. But we must close the chapter
by remarking, that all these different branches of the bee family live
in communities, make and store honey, hatch their young from eggs,
adopt a kind of despotic government, and carry a sharp sword sheathed
in the tail.
Stomach of the Horse.
When we think of the adaptations of animal structure to the different
conditions of living creatures, the camel, the ship of the desert,
immediately occurs; and no doubt it is highly interesting to observe
how this animal is adapted to the sandy wastes, in its eye, its
nostril, its foot, the cells of its stomach, and its capacity of
endurance. But it is, perhaps, more important to look to _our_
domestic animals, and, of all, the most deserving of attention is the
horse.
Of all creatures, the horse has the smallest stomach, relatively to
its size. Had he the quadruple, ruminating stomach of the ox, he would
not have been at all times ready for exertion; the traveller could not
have baited his steed and immediately resumed his journey. The stomach
of the horse is not so capacious, even when distended, as to impede
his wind and speed; and the food is passing onward with a greater
degree of regularity than in any other animal.
A proof of this is, that the horse has no gall bladder. Most people
understand that bile is necessary to digestion, and the gall-bladder
is a receptacle for that bile. Where the digestive process is
performed in a large stomach, and the food descends in larger
quantities, and at long intervals, the gall bladder is necessary; and
there is that sympathy between the stomach and gall bladder that they
are filled and emptied at the same time. The absence of the gall
bladder in the horse, therefore, implies the almost continual process
of digestion, which again results from the smallness of the stomach.
Another peculiarity in the horse is the supply of fluid. When the
camel drinks, the water is deposited in cells connected with the
stomach; but if a horse drinks a pail of water, in eight minutes none
of that water is in the stomach; it is rapidly passing off into the
large intestines and cœcum. We cannot resist the conviction that this
variation in the digestive organs of the horse is in correspondence
with his whole form and properties, which are for sudden and powerful,
as well as long-continued exertion.
[Illustration]
Patriotism.
An interesting story of Codrus, the last king of Athens, is handed
down by the historian. When the Heraclidæ made war against Athens, one
of the oracles, in which the Grecians placed great confidence, and
which they were accustomed to consult on important occasions, declared
that victory would be granted to them provided they abstained from
injuring the Athenian king.
Codrus was a man of noble soul, and preferred the happiness of his
country to everything else. Accordingly, he determined to sacrifice
his life in order to secure success to the Athenians. With this view,
he dressed himself as a common person and entered the enemy’s camp. He
provoked a quarrel with a soldier, and was immediately slain.
The Heraclidæ soon discovered that they had killed the Athenian king,
and, knowing that they had violated the condition upon which the
oracle promised them success, became alarmed, and discontinued the
war.
[Illustration]
The Wooden Horse.
One of the most famous poems ever produced, is that entitled the
Iliad. This was written by a man called Homer, who composed it in
several different fragments, and went about the country reciting them
to the people. He lived about nine hundred years before Christ.
The scene of the Iliad is laid along the north-eastern shore of the
Mediterranean sea. It gives an account of a terrible war, carried on
by the Greeks against the city of Troy. This lasted for ten years, and
resulted in the overthrow of that city. The events, as related by
Homer, are, many of them, curious and remarkable. He not only
describes the deeds of military heroes, but he represents the gods and
goddesses,――such as Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, Juno, Venus, and others,
as taking part in the struggle; at one time aiding and animating their
friends, and, at another, baffling or overthrowing their enemies.
The principal leaders, on the part of the Greeks, are Ajax, Achilles
and Ulysses. Those on the part of the Trojans, were Hector, Priam and
Paris. The characters of these heroes are drawn with great power and
skill by the poet, though we cannot but shudder at the bloody and
savage acts which they perform. The manner in which Troy was at last
taken, is thus related by Homer. It seems that Ulysses, who was a very
artful and contriving man, caused an immense wooden horse to be made,
capable of holding a considerable number of people. This was filled
with soldiers, and offered, as a present, to the Trojans. These,
having no suspicion of what was in the horse, accepted the present
with great pleasure. A part of the walls, which surrounded and
defended the city, was removed, and the immense horse was rolled in,
amid the acclamations of the crowd. The breach in the wall was then
closed up, and the Trojans were left with their admired, but dangerous
present.
In the middle of the night, when the people of Troy were wrapped in
profound sleep, the soldiers, who were locked up in the bowels of the
horse, stole out and spread themselves over the city. They then set
fire to it in various places, and opened the gates to their friends,
the Greeks, without. These were waiting for the opportunity, and
rushed into the city.
The Trojans were now suddenly awakened from their repose, and, when
they went forth, they beheld their houses in flames and the enemy
filling the streets. Most of the inhabitants were put to the sword.
Such is old Homer’s story of the Wooden Horse.
[Illustration]
Hannibal crossing the Alps.
One of the most wonderful events related in history, is that of
Hannibal’s crossing the Alps, with an army of many thousand men, about
two thousand years ago.
At that period, Rome, a city of Italy, and Carthage, a city of Africa,
were at war. Hannibal was the Carthaginian general, and, being in
Spain with his army, he determined to lead them into Italy. He,
accordingly, crossed the Pyrenees and entered France, in his march.
But now the Alps, the loftiest mountains in Europe, lay between him
and Italy. They were not only many thousand feet in height, but their
tops were covered with perpetual snow and ice. There were no roads
over these cold and desolate regions, and no general had ever before
thought of leading an army across them.
But Hannibal was a bold and enterprising man. He did not follow in the
footsteps of those who had gone before, but struck out new paths for
himself. He carefully examined the mountains, and, while he thus saw
the difficulties, he felt sure that they could be overcome.
It must have been a strange and interesting sight to have seen the
soldiers climbing up the steep, shaggy sides of the mountains,
creeping along the dizzy edges of the precipices, crossing the dark
and narrow ravines, and ascending and descending the steep and
slippery glaciers. It must have been curious to have seen the
elephants, of which there were several hundreds attached to the army,
climbing over the lofty peaks of the mountains. It must have
astonished the inhabitants of Italy to have seen the vast army, after
crossing a barrier regarded as insurmountable, now pouring down upon
their smiling plains like an overwhelming torrent, and spreading the
terrors of war on every hand.
This achievement of Hannibal has ever been regarded as one of the
wonders of history. A little more than forty years ago, Buonaparte,
also, crossed the Alps with a large army; but he enjoyed many
advantages not possessed by the Carthaginian hero. He had better
equipments, tools and implements for his purpose, and possessed far
more skilful engineers. His soldiers, also, were better fitted to aid
in such an enterprise. The achievement, however, is esteemed one of
the greatest exploits in the life of Napoleon.
[Illustration]
The House of our Childhood
There is no word in our language that has a sweeter sound than _home_.
It is the place where we began our existence――where life opened upon
us. It was here that our parents dwelt; it was here that brothers and
sisters lived; it was here that we became acquainted with good and
evil. And now, when we have parted with home, we look back to that
dear spot with an affection amounting almost to transport.
How beautiful has the old house become by that enchantment which
distance lends to the view! How is every room consecrated in the
memory by some little incident treasured in the heart! How many things
about it are associated with a mother’s voice――a mother’s look――a
father’s hallowed tone! How is every spot, around the dwelling,
touched with the hues of childhood’s romance and poetry, where
Not the lightest leaf but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams!
My little readers, let me tell you a secret. There is no time in life
more happy than childhood. You will find no friends in life better
than father and mother; no attentions truer than those of brothers and
sisters; no place sweeter than home. Think of these things, and do all
you can to make home still happier, and to enjoy and deserve the
blessings which home furnishes to those who are virtuous.
Blessing on a Child.
BY CAROLINE BOWLES.
And the bonnie babe! on her
All your choicest gifts confer;
Just as much of wit and sense
As may be hers without pretence――
Just as much of grace and beauty
As shall not interfere with duty――
Just as much of sprightliness
As may companion gentleness――
Just as much of firmness, too,
As with self-will has naught to do――
Just as much light-hearted cheer
As may be melted to a tear
By a word, a tone, a look,
Pity’s touch, or Love’s rebuke――
As much of frankness, sweetly free,
As may consort with modesty――
As much of feeling as will bear
Of after life the wear and tear――
As much of life――but, fairies! there
Ye vanish into thinnest air;
And with ye parts the playful vein
That loved a light and trivial strain.
Befits me better, babe! for thee
T’ invoke Almighty agency――
Almighty love――Almighty power,
To nurture up the human flower;
To cherish it with heavenly dew,
Sustain with earthly blessings too;
And, when the ripe, full time shall be,
Engraft it on eternity.
Varieties.
A PUZZLER.――Will some of my little readers learn to repeat the
following: “Mr. B, did you say, or did you not say, what I said you
said? because Mr. C. said you never did say what I said you said. Now,
if you did say that you did not say what I said you said, then what
did you say?”
* * * * *
FEEDING THE POULTRY.――I know a little girl, who feeds her mother’s
poultry; and I believe she takes the entire care of them. She gives
them corn to eat, and fresh water to drink, every day. There is one
chicken, which she says is very greedy, and always tries to get more
than his share; and that, you know, is very disagreeable. So his
little mistress shuts this greedy fowl up, sometimes, in a coop, and
makes him eat his dinner by himself, as she thinks he sets a bad
example to the other chickens. Do you not think so, too?
* * * * *
A SHARP REPLY.――A countryman sowing his ground, two smart fellows
riding that way, one of them called to him, with an insolent air,
“Well, honest fellow, ’tis your business to sow, but we reap the
fruits of your labor.” “’Tis very likely you may,” replied the man,
“for I am sowing hemp.”
* * * * *
AN IMITATIVE HORSE.――A gentleman had a horse, which, after being kept
in the stable for some time, and turned out into the field, where
there was a pump well supplied with water, regularly obtained a
quantity therefrom by his own dexterity. For this purpose, the animal
was observed to take the handle in his mouth, and work it with his
head, in a way similar to that done by the hand of man, until a
sufficiency of what nature called for was produced in the trough.
* * * * *
QUEER.――A country editor, having no deaths in his paper, put in this
notice: “Several deaths unavoidably deferred.”
Our Correspondence.
Notes, letters and billets, puzzles and charades, cuts and
compliments, praise and blame, are here before us, for which we return
our hearty thanks to our little correspondents. We insert the
following, which is all we can do this month. We are now winding off
all our stories for the close of the year, and are preparing lots of
pleasant things for the first of January. So, gentle readers, all,
pray hold us excused, if we have omitted particularly to acknowledge
any of your kind favors.
SHEBOYGAN FALLS, W. T., 1843.
ROBERT MERRY, ESQ.:
My Dear old Friend,――Your “Museum” has been very amusing,
as well as instructive, to me and my little brothers,
during the last year. And, my dear father having made us
a new-year’s present of one dollar, I think the best use
we can make of it is to send it to you, for which we wish
you to send us the Museum during the year 1843; and, by
so doing, you will very much enhance the pleasure of your
little friends in the wilds of Wisconsin. G. F. C.
* * * * *
A “CONSTANT READER” sends us the following charade:
When walking by the water’s side,
My _first_ you oft may see;
And if a lamp your steps should guide,
My next would in it be:
My whole does form a lady’s name,
Who long has been beloved of fame.
* * * * *
Elizabeth B. guesses that the answer to the geographical puzzle, in the
September number, is, “Merchants’ Exchange,” and she guesses right.
* * * * *
Another correspondent, who calls himself a “reader of Merry’s Museum,”
has furnished us with a similar answer.
* * * * *
I am pleased with the letter from our limping friend, which follows.
I have a sort of sympathy and fellow-feeling for every one who has
been upon crutches and carries a cane――if it be for use, and not for
display. Our little correspondent has hard fortune, but let him keep a
good heart. Mind Bob Merry, and go ahead.
MACHIAS, Sept. 7, 1843.
_Good morning, Mr. Merry!_
Dear Sir,――I am a blue-eyed friend and subscriber. I have
taken your Museum ever since it was published. I like it
very much indeed. The story of the Siberian Sable-Hunter,
and Merry’s Adventures, please me best. Would you be so
good as to put in some more stories about “Bill Keeler?”
Bill was an honest chap. I am lame, but was not shot
through the knee, like you. I used to walk on crutches for
four years, but now I only use a cane.
I was twelve years old the twenty-second day of February,
Washington’s birth-day. I like Washington very much; he did
so much good for his country.
Will you not publish some original stories about China and
the emperor Napoleon? By so doing, you will gratify your
little friend. Please write an answer to my letter.
SAMUEL H――――
* * * * *
We have received a very pretty letter from Sophia M. T. She scolds us a
little, and she has reason. But she shall hear from “the old man in the
corner,” and perhaps he will be able to make amends for his delay.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
[Illustration: DECEMBER, 1843.
Vol. 6. No. 6.]
December, the first month of winter and the last of the year, has
come. It is a severe and pinching season, and compels us to shut the
door, cherish the fire, and make ourselves comfortable within.
It is the very time for Robert Merry’s Museum, provided it be
interesting and instructive. We have taken some pains to make the
present number satisfactory to our readers. It winds up the stories of
Jumping Rabbit, a Tale of the Revolution, the Life of Columbus, and
Inquisitive Jack; for we do not wish to stretch our narratives across
from one year to another.
We know not how it may be with others, but we are seldom satisfied
with our own efforts. The conception is often bright and warm, while
the performance is dim and cold. We have sought to please, we have
striven to improve the little companions of our monthly prattle, but
we have fallen far short of what we intended. We are, however, not
discouraged; but, with good resolution and cheerful hope, we shall
enter upon a new year, promising to exert ourselves to do our best――to
do better than ever before.
A Revolutionary Story.
CHAPTER VI.
[Continued from page 138.]
We left our party of adventurers at a moment of deep interest. Young
Joinly and the greater portion of his companions were posted near the
house in which the captain of the Tiger, with some of his officers,
was then stationed. Bushnell and his associate had just returned from
the ship, to which they had attached their little magazine of powder,
with the mechanism intended to explode it in half an hour.
Guided by one of their party, who had waited for them, they now joined
the little band we have just mentioned. The position of the party
commanded a view of the ship, and, amid the intense darkness, her
position was known by the light at her bow. When Bushnell arrived, and
communicated to Joinly and his friends the success of the enterprise,
thus far, and assured them that the vessel would be torn in pieces in
the space of a few minutes, it may be well imagined that their anxiety
was intense.
Keeping their eyes fixed in the direction of the ship, they gazed
earnestly, and, more than once, the false and flickering light of the
strained vision was taken to be the scintillations of the kindling
explosion. In this state of suspense, seconds were lengthened to
minutes, and, ere the half hour had elapsed, the whole party felt that
the time had gone by, and began to fear that the mechanism had failed
and the scheme miscarried. Young Joinly, in particular, from the
impetuosity of his temper and the excited state of his feelings,
experienced an impatience he could scarcely repress.
Nothing is so hard to endure, particularly to an ardent mind, as
inaction in a protracted state of doubt and fear.
“It is all over,” said Joinly; “the engine has failed; let us attack
the house!”
“Hush, hush!” said Bushnell, whose nerves were more steady; “the time
has not arrived; the engine will yet do its work: you will hear from
it within five minutes.”
A perfect silence among the party now ensued, and nothing was heard,
save the raging of the tempest. A few minutes passed, and a small
flash was seen near the water’s edge and beneath the stern of the
vessel. “There you have it,” said Bushnell; and, a moment after, a
terrific light streamed up from the water, seeming to envelope the
mighty hulk of the vessel, while a ruddy reflection tinged every rope
and spar, as well as the surface of the sea and the little huts of the
adjacent village. A heavy sound followed, and a rushing impulse of the
air. Darkness again settled upon the scene, and the hoarse moan of the
tempest seemed once more to drown every other sound.
The eyes of the adventurers were now turned upon the house where the
captain resided. But a few moments passed, when there was a bustle
within, and it was evident that the phenomenon had been observed. By
this time, the conspirators had surrounded the house, and Joinly was
on the point of entering the door, when it was opened by the captain
himself, and, in the light, he saw Joinly and his little band standing
with their muskets ready for action. “I command you to surrender!”
said Joinly, stepping forward in the full blaze of the lamp. “Your
vessel is blown to atoms, and, if you make the slightest resistance,
both you and all in this house shall be instantly shot down!”
“Who are you? what are you?” said the captain, in a state of profound
astonishment.
“It is enough that we are Americans!” said the youth. “There is no
time for parley. Do you surrender?”
“Not so easily!” said the officer, who was now joined by two or three
other persons, slamming the door in the face of the young commander.
“Now for it!” said Joinly; and, with a thundering crash, several of
the men rushed against the door, which gave way, and Joinly was pushed
into the room. Two or three of his men entered immediately at his
heels. The captain of the Tiger fired his pistol, and the ball passed
between the left arm and the breast of young Joinly.
A scuffle immediately followed, and several random shots were
exchanged. In a very short space, the Americans were victorious,
having secured the five British officers. Young Joinly had thrown the
captain upon the floor, where he held him fast till the rest were
mastered. Finding it idle to resist, the British officers submitted to
their fate, and were permitted to rise. The captain was then commanded
to prepare immediately to depart, and the rest were tied, hand and
foot, and left separate from each other in the different rooms of the
house.
Having secured the chief object of their expedition, Joinly and his
party made a hasty retreat, knowing that the alarm would soon be
communicated to the troops stationed in the vicinity. Taking a course
which led around the head of the bay, they made their way to the
sheltered spot where their little sloop was anchored. The gale was
still raging; but, seeming not to heed it, they released her from her
moorings and put her before the wind.
Keeping in to the land, they were somewhat sheltered from the gale;
but still the little vessel seemed to dance like a feather upon the
wave. The morning had now dawned, but the thick haze rendered it
impossible to see at any great distance. As they were proceeding in
their course, they saw a large vessel, scudding, like themselves,
before the wind. It was not long before they also discovered that it
was the Tiger, which they had supposed blown to atoms, and apparently
in pursuit of them.
As soon as this idea entered the mind of young Joinly, he stretched a
little more out from the land and hoisted an additional sail. “We will
give him a chase,” said he, “and we will see which shall have the best
of it. Hurl-gate is five miles ahead, and we will try which shall get
through it first.”
The men on board the boat had now become so accustomed to the
authority of young Joinly, that they offered no opposition to this
wild and perilous suggestion; but, taking their several stations, each
man well performed his part, and the sloop, shivering in every plank
and seeming to partake of the excitement, skimmed like a sea-gull over
the water. The two vessels proceeded steadily for some time, but it
was at last obvious that the Tiger was gaining upon the sloop.
The captain, who had watched the whole of the proceeding with intense
interest, now spoke and said to Joinly, “Young man, you had better
give it up; you’ll soon be riddled with her shot.”
“Look yonder,” said Joinly, in reply, pointing forward; “do you see
the water boiling in yonder whirlpool like a pot?”
“I do, I do!” said the captain, his countenance assuming a look of the
utmost anxiety.
“That is Hurl-gate!” said the youth. “_We_ shall pass it in safety;
but, if the Tiger proceed five hundred fathoms more, her escape is
impossible, and her doom certain.”
A general silence now prevailed, during which the sloop passed safely
through the tumbling eddies of the whirlpool. The frigate continued on
her track, and in a few moments she struck upon the rocks. This
circumstance was immediately noticed on board the sloop, and a general
shout of triumph rang through the air.
We must leave the frigate to her fate, only remarking that, although
she escaped, with little damage, from the explosion of the gunpowder,
yet it was but to find her doom in Hurl-gate. There was only
sufficient time for the men on board to escape, when she went to
pieces.
CHAPTER VII.
General Washington was now stationed upon the west bank of the Hudson
river, about twenty miles from New York. It was young Joinly’s scheme
to take his captive directly to the camp, and solicit, in person, an
exchange of the British officer for his father. The sloop was,
therefore, turned up into a little creek, where Joinly, with one of
his companions and the prisoner, were landed. These proceeded on their
journey, while the rest of the adventurers found their way safely back
to Saybrook in their little vessel.
In the space of two or three days, Joinly reached the American camp,
and was soon conducted to the head quarters of the commander-in-chief.
That officer was alone, and the young man was ushered into his
presence. He told his story with simplicity, and closed with a request
that steps might be taken for the release of his father.
“This is a strange feat you have performed,” said Washington, “and you
must have had a strong motive for an adventure so perilous.” The tears
started to the young man’s eyes as he replied,
“My father, sir, has been in captivity for almost three years. His
health is wasted with toil, anxiety and care; his fortune is
scattered; his lands are impoverished; his home is desolate. Are not
these motives which should make a son forget his own safety and
comfort, and think only of his father’s release?”
“I can well believe that they are,” said the general, in a softened
tone; “I can well believe that they are. I have not the pleasure of a
personal acquaintance with your father, but I know that he is a man of
exalted worth. He has suffered deeply for his country; but, alas! this
is what all are called upon to endure. He, however, has some
compensation, in satisfying the promptings of a patriotic breast and
fulfilling the suggestions of a kind and generous heart.
“My young friend, your father is worthy of the effort you have made,
and, if I can reconcile it with my sense of duty to the country, your
object shall be accomplished. There is one difficulty, however, which
you have overlooked. Your father is a colonel, and the officer you
have captured is but a captain. Sir Guy Carleton will hardly make an
exchange so unequal as to give up the former for the latter. However,
if you will call upon me to-morrow, you shall know the result.”
Young Joinly now went away; but, on the morrow, returned to the office
of the general at the time appointed. He found him alone, as before.
Washington received him with that serene dignity, that mixture of
command and kindness, which characterized him. After a brief
explanation, he handed the youth a sealed packet, addressed to General
Carleton. “My young friend,” said he, “you will take this to Sir Guy,
at New York. It contains a proposal for an exchange of Colonel G――――,
a British officer, who has been recently captured, for your father. I
regret that a specific exchange of the officer you have yourself
taken, could not be proposed. It would not be consonant to the rules
of war, nor would it be accepted by the British general. Here is a
letter to your father, expressing my high sense of his generous
services and his patriotic sacrifices in behalf of his country. And,
for yourself, remember that, if I can ever do you a personal service,
it will be cheerfully rendered. Farewell.”
With a mingled feeling of affection and awe toward this remarkable
man, young Joinly departed. Being duly provided with a pass, he easily
made his way to New York, and presented his communication to Sir Guy
Carleton. The proposed exchange was readily accepted, and the youth
was permitted to proceed to his father’s quarters and communicate the
intelligence of his release.
With a beating heart, he entered a boat, and proceeded to the barracks
at Brooklyn, upon Long Island, then occupied by American prisoners of
war. On reaching the gate, he was permitted, by the sentinel, to
enter, and one of the prisoners offered to conduct him to his father’s
room. He led him through a long passage, and young Joinly noticed, as
he passed, a considerable number of the prisoners. It is impossible to
describe the wasted and haggard aspect of these miserable wretches.
They were ragged, and filthy, and emaciated. They not only seemed to
be deprived of the comforts of life, but degraded by a feeling of
utter desolation and abandonment.
On reaching his father’s apartments, Joinly was informed that he had
gone to visit some patients, at one of the prison-ships, which was
moored in the river near at hand. As he passed by the apartments of
the prisoners, he noticed a large room, in which there were several
persons lying upon beds of straw. These were sick, and several of them
were approaching their end. Yet their companions around them seemed to
take little heed of their sufferings or their condition. Some were
walking about, some were talking, and others were disputing. Rough
words and strong oaths were frequently uttered.
In a corner of this dismal room, there was one group that riveted the
attention of the youth. Two persons were sitting upon the floor, for
there were no chairs nor seats in the room. Between them lay the cold,
lifeless form of one of their companions. Yet these persons, made
familiar with death, were shuffling a pack of greasy cards over the
dead body, which they used as their table. Shocked at the scene, and
suffocated with the offensive atmosphere, our youthful friend hurried
away from the apartments, and went in pursuit of his father.
As he passed along, his mind was busy in reflecting upon the scenes he
had witnessed. “I once thought,” said he, mentally, “that I should
like to be a soldier, but I am getting to look upon his vocation with
horror. It seems that war not only takes away the lives of men in
battle, but degrades and brutifies them in the prison-house. And my
poor father, too! It is in such scenes as these, the mere sight of
which makes my head giddy and my heart sick, that my father has toiled
and suffered for the last three years.” With reflections like these;
the youth proceeded, in a boat, to the prison-ship.
This was the hulk of a large ship of war, which, being unfit for
service, was dismantled, anchored in the East river, and converted
into a prison. He mounted the side of the enormous vessel, and stood
upon the deck. Standing, sitting, or lying around, were a large number
of prisoners, bearing even deeper marks of misery than those we have
before described. On making inquiries for his father, the young man
was told that he was below.
He descended, accordingly, into the bowels of the ship, though the
revolting atmosphere nearly stifled him. He was conducted to a remote
part of the vessel, and pointed to a person sitting by the side of a
sick man, upon a couch of straw. Although the back of the individual
was toward him, and the room dark, he immediately recognised the
well-known form of his father. The latter, however, was bent over the
sick man, and seemed intently occupied in conversing with him.
Partly restrained from his emotions at once more seeing his father,
and in such circumstances, and partly from an unwillingness to break
in upon such a scene, young Joinly paused. His father, unconscious of
the presence of his son, continued to address the sick man. “My poor
friend,” said he, in tones of the utmost kindness, “set your heart at
rest upon that point. I induced you to join the fatal expedition which
resulted in your captivity and mine. I assure you, if I am ever
delivered from this confinement, and am restored to my home, your wife
and children shall never want for the comforts of life.
“Let not fears for them disturb these last moments of existence. You
will, at least, leave the inheritance of a good name to your
children,――the reputation of one who died in the service of his
country. In the possession of such an inheritance, they can never
suffer from poverty or neglect. This fearful war must soon end, and it
will result in the independence of our country. Let it lighten our
hearts, and cheer even this prison-house, and shed consolation upon
our dying moments, that we have been permitted to participate in that
suffering which has made a nation free.”
“My dear colonel,” said the poor man, in a faint voice, “I thank you a
thousand times. I should now die in peace, were it not for one painful
thought.”
“And what is that?” said Colonel Joinly.
“It is, that you will yourself be sacrificed in these horrid dungeons.
Your constitution is failing, and you cannot much longer sustain this
wear and tear of body and mind.”
“Do not let these thoughts trouble you, my friend,” replied the
colonel. “Having made your peace, as I trust, with God, let these last
moments be peaceful also; and fear not for me. I know no other, and I
seek no other path than that of duty. There is a sun always shining
over that path, through whatever trials it may lead. If it is Heaven’s
will that I be sacrificed, what better can I do than fulfil Heaven’s
decree?”
“But, colonel,” said the sick man, “it is rumored, in the ship, that
an exchange is about to be offered to you. Many of the prisoners are
in despair lest you should leave them, for you are their only comfort.
I know your character, and fear that your sense of duty may lead you
to refuse to accept an exchange. Let me pray you not thus to lay down
your life.”
“Nay, nay,” said the colonel, “fear nothing on that score. I am aware
that my health is failing, and I know that I could not much longer
endure the kind of life I have led. If an exchange is made, it is not
for me to refuse. I assure you, however, I would not leave these poor
prisoners to their fate if the hope was not presented that, in being
released, I might make representations to the British officers, and an
appeal to the American people, which should effect something in their
behalf. I have great hopes of obtaining something from the noble heart
of Sir Guy Carleton, who has succeeded the weak and heartless Sir
Henry Clinton.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said the sick man, earnestly. “I am now
relieved from every anxiety. Farewell, colonel; you must now go to the
other prisoners. I trust we shall meet in a happier world than this.”
Colonel Joinly pressed the poor man’s emaciated hand beneath both his
own, while the tears fell down his cheeks. The sick man folded his
arms upon his breast, and closed his eyes. The pallid and wasted
features showed the havoc of suffering and disease upon a countenance
still youthful; but, amid the ghastly aspect of death, there was a
smile, which seemed to show that the soul within was at peace. Colonel
Joinly remained in his chair some moments, his face buried in his
hand. With a strong effort, he then arose, and turned to depart. He
now met his son, who had stood aside during the scene we have
described.
We shall not dwell upon the first interview of the father and son. The
story of the latter was soon told, and Colonel Joinly was apprized at
once of his own liberation and the gallant achievement by which it had
been accomplished. Nearly overpowered with his feelings, he was
desirous of leaving the ship and going to his own room. He, therefore,
mounted to the deck, for the purpose of departing; but a scene awaited
him here which he had not anticipated.
The rumor of his exchange had reached the prisoners, and a large
number of them had now assembled to express their thanks and give vent
to their sorrow. They formed a line on each side, from the
companion-way to the ladder, and, as he passed along, they reached out
their hands in token of farewell. Many of them were in tears, and
several were earnest in their supplications to the colonel to do
something for their families, or, perhaps, make an effort for their
own deliverance from their dungeon.
This painful and trying scene was at last over, and the father and son
soon reached the apartment of the former. A short time was spent in
mutual inquiries and explanations, and then preparations were made for
their departure. Colonel Joinly’s first steps, however, were in behalf
of the suffering soldiers for whom he had labored so long. He visited
several of the British officers in New York, and especially Sir Guy
Carleton. A promise was given――and we are happy to say that it was
fulfilled――that the prisoners, thenceforward, should receive the care
and attention due to Christian men.
The father and son now set out for Saybrook, where they arrived in due
season. The colonel was greatly changed by the suffering he had
endured. His tall and robust form was emaciated and bent over; his
hair had grown thin and white, and his countenance had become at once
sallow and deeply furrowed with traces never to be effaced.
It was obvious to all that his constitution was broken, and that he
had brought back to his home but the wreck of that manly form and
dauntless spirit which characterized him in earlier days. The joy of
his wife and family, at his return, was chastened by this change in
his appearance; but they were still overflowing with gratitude, and
content once more settled upon the group around the fireside.
Colonel Joinly now returned to his medical practice, devoting a large
share of his attention to the public interests, and especially to the
means of improving the condition of the American prisoners at New
York. His shattered fortunes were, however, never repaired. The
remainder of his life was spent in comparative poverty and the
imperfect health which attends a broken constitution. Still, he never
repined, but found compensation and consolation in the consciousness
of having discharged his duty, and in the cheering reflection that his
sacrifices had been made in behalf of that arduous, yet successful
struggle which resulted in the independence of his country.
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS.]
This famous holiday takes place on the 25th of December. It is little
observed, at the present day, in comparison of what it was in former
times. Even in England, it is now chiefly celebrated by family parties
and services in the churches, these being decorated with evergreens.
In this country, it is little noticed, except by persons belonging
either to the Catholic or Episcopal church.
In former times it was otherwise, especially in England. The day was
then celebrated, in that country, by a great variety of merry customs.
It was common, in those days, for persons, called mummers, to
promenade the streets, dressed up in masks, and representing fantastic
characters. A group of these jesters would sometimes go about,
representing Old Father Christmas, with a long beard, white shoes,
high-crowned hat, with scarfs and garters tied around it, and a drum
beating before him.
[Illustration]
He was attended by a numerous family of children, among whom
Roast-beef, Plum-pudding, &c., were conspicuous. There was another
character in this group, called Misrule, who was a great rowdy, and
made a vast deal of sport on these occasions. He was a great fat
fellow, with an enormous hat, and he strutted forward, playing on a
musical instrument. These maskers went from place to place, during
Christmas, exciting a great deal of mirth and amusement wherever they
went.
[Illustration]
As Christmas is the anniversary of the birth of our Saviour, we cannot
see much propriety in these amusements, and we think it is well that
they have passed away. There was another custom, that of singing
Christmas carols, which is also laid aside.
This was done by a party of singers, who went about, from house to
house, on Christmas eve, singing their songs in honor of the Virgin
Mary and the nativity of Christ. They were generally welcomed by the
people, and often received a loaf of brown bread, a pot of beer, and
some few silver pennies. Sometimes, late at night, by the chill rays
of the moon you would see an old man and the a boy carolling beneath
the windows, hoping to be compensated for their harsh and grating
music.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Many other of the Christmas ceremonies of England, which were in vogue
two centuries ago, have passed away, and the occasion is more quietly
and more properly noticed by religious services, acts of charity to
the poor, a meeting of friends, and a general diffusion of
cheerfulness and festivity.
* * * * *
TASSO’S WISH.――Tasso being told that he had an opportunity of taking
advantage of a very bitter enemy, “I wish not to plunder him,” said
he; “but there are things which I wish to take from him; not his
honor, his wealth, nor his life――but his _ill will_.”
“I do not admire a man,” says Pascal, “who possesses one virtue in all
its perfection, if he does not at the same time evince the opposite
virtue in an equal degree, such as was Epaminondas, who to extreme
valor joined the utmost kindness and benignity.”
The Life of Columbus.
CHAPTER V.
_Columbus sails on his second voyage._
The discovery, which Columbus had made, was everywhere deemed of great
importance. But its vast results were not yet foreseen. Curiosity was
alive. Ferdinand and Isabella themselves were anxious to follow up the
discovery which had been made, and they authorized Columbus to fit
out, at their expense, a large expedition for the new world.
By September, three ships, and fourteen smaller vessels, were equipped
and manned, ready for the voyage. On the 25th of that month, this
fleet sailed from the bay of Cadiz. We shall not stop to relate the
incidents of this voyage, excepting some interesting events which took
place at one of the Caribbee islands. These islands were discovered by
Columbus during this voyage. One of these islands goes by the name of
Guadaloupe, which was given to it by Columbus himself.
On the 4th of November the fleet reached this island, and here several
of the Spaniards landed. What was their surprise to find human sculls
and bones in the houses of the natives, and many other evidences that
the people were cannibals, or eaters of human flesh!
From this point, Columbus proceeded, with his fleet, to some distance,
where he found a more commodious harbor. Here they discovered several
persons who had been recently killed, and whose limbs the natives had
put upon the fire to roast. These were captives, taken in a war which
was then waging between the people of this island and the people of
islands not far distant.
While Columbus remained here, a number of female captives made their
escape, and fled to the Spaniards for safety. These Columbus took with
him on his voyage. He was now in great trouble. He wished to hasten
his departure; but a party of nine men, who had gone ashore, had not
returned. The next day no tidings were heard of them. Great fears were
entertained that they might have fallen into the hands of the savages,
and been eaten at one of their feasts.
Columbus was unwilling to leave the place without knowing something
more certain as to the fate of these unfortunate men. In this state of
anxiety, a bold young man, belonging to the fleet, offered to go, with
a party of forty men, in search of them.
This offer was accepted, and the party now went forth on their
hazardous expedition. They marched all day, making search in every
place――in the open country and in forests――but all in vain. They,
themselves, met with no accident, but they could hear no tidings of
their lost companions.
Some days had now elapsed since their departure. Columbus was
reluctant to leave the island, since it was possible that they might
have become lost in some extensive forest. But the greater probability
was, that they had fallen a sacrifice to the cannibals.
Orders were at length given to make sail. Just at this critical
moment, the long-lost party were discovered on the shore, making signs
to their departing companions. It was a fortunate and joyful
discovery. A little longer, and the poor fellows must have been left
to have fallen into the hands of the savages, who would have feasted
upon their bodies. Boats were despatched, which quickly brought them
on board, worn out with fatigue and anxiety, reduced by famine, and
their bodies wounded by briars and thorns. They had lost their way;
they had wandered about, through forests and through thickets, and had
arrived at the shore just in time to escape being left to perish in an
inhospitable land.
Columbus now continued his voyage, and, on the 27th, cast anchor about
a league from the spot on which he had built the fort of La Navidad,
and where he had left a party of Spaniards, as we have related, to
await his return.
CHAPTER VI.
_What took place in the new world._
Columbus, as I said, arrived off the fort of La Navidad on the 27th of
November, 1493. It was in the evening when the fleet cast anchor. The
fort could not be distinguished, but many an eye was turned that way,
hoping to discover some light. But nothing was seen. Columbus now
directed some cannon to be fired, to give the people in the fort
notice of their arrival.
No sooner were the guns fired, than all on board listened for an
answer, and looked for a signal in return; but they looked and
listened in vain. All was dark and solitary. What could this mean? No
one was prepared to answer; but all secretly, and some even aloud,
prophesied that some dreadful disaster had befallen the people of the
fort. Nothing, however, could be certainly known until the morning.
This was, therefore, waited for with no little anxiety and impatience.
About midnight, however, several Indians, from the island, came on
board. They were persons whom Columbus had seen before. One was a
relation of Guacanagari, the chief of the Indians in that part of the
island.
These Indians informed Columbus of the sad fate of the Spaniards. They
were almost all dead. Some had fallen sick and perished; some had
quarrelled among themselves; some had separated from the rest; and the
few, who he believed to survive, were in another part of the island.
They also told Columbus how Coanabo, a mighty chief, had, during his
absence, come from the mountains of Cibao, and had nearly ruined
Guacanagari and his people; that their chief had been wounded in
battle, and was still confined.
The following day, a party from the fleet went on shore, and visited
the fort. It was a heap of ruins. Suspicions were now entertained that
all was not right on the part of Guacanagari and his people. Several
circumstances seemed to indicate that they had been concerned in the
murder of the Spaniards. One fact, that excited the suspicions of
Columbus more than all others, was that none of the Indians came near
him. A few were seen lurking about, but they were shy. The country
looked desolate and deserted.
After a time, however, the truth came out. The Spaniards had wrought
their own ruin. They had quarrelled; they had abused Guacanagari and
his people; they had separated from one another. Some had died through
their own indulgences; and a party, who had wandered into the
dominions of Coanabo, had been seized by him and put to death. After
their death, Coanabo had raised an army, had invaded the territories
of Guacanagari, had routed his people, wounded him, and burnt his
village.
This was sad intelligence for Columbus, and cast a gloom not only over
his mind, but over the minds of all on board the fleet. Columbus,
however, lost no time in searching for a suitable spot on which to
commence a settlement. One was, at length, found, about thirty miles
from La Navidad; and here was commenced the building of a city, which
Columbus named Isabella, after the queen of Spain.
At length, when matters were somewhat settled, Columbus despatched
twelve of the vessels to return to Spain. He remained in the new world
to superintend the affairs of the colony.
Not long after the sailing of the fleet, Columbus experienced a severe
trial. He was himself worn out with fatigue, and became seriously ill.
To add to his trouble, several of the colonists became uneasy and were
mutinous. For a time, affairs assumed a serious aspect. But,
fortunately, through the firmness and good management of Columbus, the
difficulties were settled.
Columbus now made preparations to explore the island. This he did
himself, in company with a select band of men. With this expedition,
Columbus was highly gratified. After his return to Isabella, he sailed
on a visit to Cuba, and, during his voyage, discovered the important
island of Jamaica.
CHAPTER VII.
_What happened during the absence of Columbus on an exploring
voyage, and other matters._
Some time before Columbus departed on his voyage, he had erected a
fortress in the mountains of Cibao, within the territory of Caonabo.
When completed, he gave the command of it to Pedro Margarite, who had
with him fifty-six men. To these he afterwards added a reinforcement
of twenty men, having learned that the fort was in danger of an attack
from Caonabo.
Pedro was ordered to explore that part of the country still farther,
and, during his absence, to leave the fortress to the care of Alonzo
de Ojeda. With this he complied. But, instead of exploring that part
of the country which he was required to do, he went into a different
region, where he and his men conducted themselves towards the Indians
most improperly.
This conduct, Don Diego Columbus, the brother of the admiral, who had
accompanied the latter in his voyage to the new world, and who now had
command of the colony during the absence of Columbus, heard of, and
sent a letter to Pedro, ordering him to conduct differently. This,
Pedro greatly resented, and, suddenly leaving the command of the men,
came to Isabella, and, seizing a ship, went on board of it, with other
enemies of Columbus, and sailed for Spain, with a design to do him
there all the injury in his power.
I said Ojeda now had the command of Fort Thomas. He was a bold, brave
man. He was small in stature, but he had nearly the strength of a
giant. When Caonabo found that Pedro had abandoned that part of the
country, and had taken off a large part of the garrison with him, he
assembled ten thousand men, well armed, and, secretly passing through
the forests, suddenly came upon Fort Thomas, with the hope of cutting
off Ojeda and his men at a single blow. Ojeda, however, was not to be
taken by surprise. He was ready for his enemy at all times. Caonabo
now besieged the place, and, for thirty days, watched it as a tiger
would watch for his prey. By this time, the men in the fort were
reduced to great want, but they were determined never to yield. They
often made sallies from the fort, and slew many of Caonabo’s bravest
warriors. At length, finding it impossible to take the fortress,
Caonabo and his men retired.
Not long after the return of Columbus, Ojeda proposed to him a plan by
which to seize Caonabo. To get possession of him was eminently
important for the peace and safety of the Spaniards. He was a mighty
chieftain, and their implacable foe,――bold, cruel and desperate.
Columbus listened to the plan of Ojeda, and, although he thought it
wild and dangerous, he at length consented to it.
At the head of a party of brave men, Ojeda took up his march through
the forests into the dominions of Caonabo. Having found him, he
proposed to him to accompany him to Isabella, there to enter into a
treaty of peace and friendship with Columbus.
Ojeda told him that, if he would go and enter into such a treaty, he
should have the bell upon the church of Isabella. This was a powerful
temptation; for nothing had struck the Indians with more wonder and
admiration than the sound of this bell. Caonabo himself had heard the
sound of it, in some of his secret prowlings around Isabella. He had
listened to it with rapture, and now the offer of it determined him to
accompany Ojeda. But, when the time came, Caonabo appeared at the head
of a large body of warriors.
“Why is this?” asked Ojeda. “Are you not going as a friend?”
“O yes,” replied Caonabo; “but, as I am a king, I must appear like
one.”
Finding Caonabo unwilling to go without his warriors, Ojeda consented
that they should accompany him. One day, while on their return, they
came to a river, on the banks of which they halted. Here Ojeda
proposed that Caonabo should bathe; after which, he should mount his
horse, and ride in state. To this, Caonabo consented, highly pleased
with the idea of riding so fine an animal. Ojeda, accompanied by
Caonabo and the Spaniards, now went a short distance, into a retired
spot, and bathed. On coming out of the water, Caonabo was assisted to
mount the horse behind Ojeda. When mounted, a set of beautifully
polished steel shackles were fastened round the feet of Caonabo. To
these he had no objection, not knowing for what they were intended,
but supposed they were designed to add honor to him as a prince.
Ojeda and the Spaniards now mounted, and, with Caonabo following, now
rode in among the warriors, making their horses prance and appear as
fine as they were able. With this manoeuvre, the Indians appeared to
be well pleased. Ojeda had made known his plan to his followers. So,
riding round and round, they at length went to a considerable distance
from the warriors. All at once, Ojeda gave the word of command, and
the whole party of horsemen fled with their prisoner.
It was a bold project; yet it succeeded. The Indians were unable to
equal the speed of the horses. Ojeda and his companions were soon out
of sight, and far off at a distance from the warriors of Caonabo. It
was in vain for him to attempt to escape. The shackles held him fast.
But, at length halting, they bound him tight, and thus he was
conducted in safety to Isabella.
Columbus was rejoiced to have him in his power. He was deemed to have
forfeited his life by killing the Spaniards belonging to Fort La
Navidad, and destroying that fortress. He was therefore detained as a
prisoner by Columbus, who intended, at a proper time, to have him
conveyed to Spain.
Caonabo was a proud chief. Even in confinement he carried himself
loftily. Towards Columbus, he appeared to bear the bitterest
hostility, while, to Ojeda, he gave much credit for his sagacity. We
shall here add, respecting the fate of Caonabo, that, some time after,
Columbus, on returning to Spain, took this haughty chief with him. But
he died during the voyage.
CHAPTER VIII.
_Columbus returns to Spain._
I have related how Pedro Margarite seized a ship, and, with some
others, fled to Spain. Here they found full exercise for their enmity
to Columbus. They accused him of many wicked acts, which, though
unfounded, obtained some credit, and served to lessen his
justly-acquired popularity.
The king and queen, thinking, perhaps, that all was not right,
despatched a man, by the name of Aguado, to see how matters stood, and
to assist in preserving the tranquillity of the colony.
No sooner had Aguado arrived at Isabella, than he began to assume a
tone of authority, and to treat Columbus as an inferior. Among other
things, he endeavored to hunt up accusations against him, which he
might present to the court of Spain on his return.
Perceiving what was going forward, and what was intended against him,
Columbus determined to return to Spain at the same time that Aguado
did. On the 10th of March, 1496, both embarked in different vessels.
After a fatiguing voyage of three months, they landed at Cadiz.
On his arrival in Spain, Columbus found that his enemies had been at
work in good earnest. They had spread various injurious reports about
his management. Although these reports had doubtless reached the king
and queen, they received him with great kindness, and treated him with
attention.
In the autumn of that year, a large sum of money was ordered to be
advanced to Columbus, in order to fit out another expedition under his
command. Various circumstances occurred, however, to delay the sailing
of the vessels, and it was not until the 30th of May, 1498, that
Columbus was enabled to leave Spain on his third voyage for the new
world.
CHAPTER IX.
_Third voyage of Columbus――Fresh troubles._
Columbus left Spain, on his third voyage, in May, 1498. During this
voyage, he and his men suffered greatly in being becalmed, in the
middle of summer, within the tropics. For eight days, they could make
no progress, but lay motionless upon the water, under the heat of a
scorching sun. So intense was the heat that they could scarcely
breathe. Their meat spoiled, and they lost nearly all their wine and
water.
At length, they were enabled to proceed, and, on the 31st of July, to
their inexpressible joy, they discovered the island of Trinidad. At
this time, they had but one cask of water remaining in the ship. On
the 30th of August, Columbus arrived at Hispaniola. During this
voyage, he had suffered greatly from watching and fatigue, from fever
and gout. Yet he indulged the hope that his constitution, which had
been uncommonly good, would recover itself after his arrival. But
Columbus was destined to new toils and new trials. He found the colony
in a sad state. The Spaniards had experienced troubles during his
absence. They had had wars with the natives, difficulties with one
another, indolence had prevailed, and a famine had almost ensued.
We must pass over many interesting particulars, and content ourselves
with letting our readers know, in general, that, after the return of
Columbus, affairs proceeded still very badly. Many of the Spaniards in
the new world were hostile to Columbus, resisted his authority, formed
conspiracies against his government, and continued to send home
complaints against him to Spain.
It was unfortunate for Columbus that the expectations of the people in
Spain had been raised so high, respecting the wealth of the new world.
They expected, from the accounts which had been received about the
gold found there, that Spain would become rich in consequence of this
discovery.
Even Ferdinand and Isabella had their hopes greatly raised. But, at
length, they found that they were obliged to be at continual expense
for the support of the Spaniards in the new world. This tended to
lessen their gratification at the discovery, and prepared them to
listen, with less reluctance, to complaints against Columbus.
For a time, they continued to regard him with kindness, and were
unwilling to admit the truth of complaints which were made against
him. But they were so numerous, so often repeated, so confidently
asserted, that, at length, they began to doubt whether all was right
on the part of Columbus.
His enemies were now about triumphant. The king and queen appointed a
man, by the name of Bobadilla, to repair to Hispaniola; as governor,
to assume the administration; and, at the same time, they required
Columbus to surrender everything into his hands. Having made an
examination, if Columbus and his brothers were found to have abused
their authority, their power was to be taken from them altogether.
CHAPTER X.
_Columbus arrested, and sent home in chains――His fourth voyage――His
sufferings and death._
Bobadilla arrived at Isabella in July, 1500. Columbus, at this time,
was in another part of the island. No sooner was the former landed,
than it was apparent to the friends of Columbus, especially to his
brothers, what he intended. He began to issue his commands as chief of
the island, and took possession of the house of Columbus and
everything in it.
Soon after, this arrogant man summoned Columbus to appear before him.
This was truly humbling to the exalted mind of Columbus, conscious, as
he was, of no wrong. Yet he judged it wise to suppress his feelings
and comply with the command.
But little did Columbus expect such a reception as he met with. Little
did he imagine that it was in the power, even of enemies, to treat him
with so much injustice and indignity as he now experienced. No sooner
did he appear at Isabella, than he was seized, loaded with irons, and
confined to the fortress. His brothers, Diego and Bartholomew, shared
a similar fate. They were separated from each other, and Bobadilla,
himself, did not condescend even to see them.
Soon after, orders were issued for the departure of a vessel for
Spain; and in that vessel went the noble Columbus and his brothers as
prisoners and in irons. What a reverse of fortune! How often have the
benefactors of mankind met with unkindness from those from whom they
had a right to expect gratitude! How often have they met with
injustice, where they ought to have experienced honor and reward!
It was, doubtless, trying to Columbus to be thus seized, imprisoned,
and loaded with chains, and sent home apparently disgraced; but it
must have been most trying of all to him to have met with insults and
hoots from the multitude who had assembled to witness his departure.
The voyage was short. The master of the vessel treated Columbus with
kindness and respect, which served to soften the troubles which now
preyed upon his wounded spirit.
When Columbus arrived in Spain, and in chains, there was a general
burst of indignation, throughout the country, that he should have been
thus treated. The king, therefore, pretended that he had no share in
this treatment of the discoverer of the new world, and ordered him to
be set at liberty. It seems, however, that the heart of the monarch
was turned from him; for, during nine long months, Columbus remained
in neglect, and, finally, the king appointed Nicholas Ovando governor
of Hispaniola.
It was at last decided that Columbus should proceed on a fourth
voyage, which was commenced May 9th, 1502. His powers were indeed
restricted, and his constitution shattered; but still he panted for
new adventures and discoveries. He had this time four small ships and
one hundred and fifty men.
His particular object now was to discover a passage to India through
the Gulf of Mexico. After coasting along the shores of this gulf, and
making various discoveries, he was forced, by the crazy state of his
ships, to return to Hispaniola. He stopped at Jamaica, and finally
arrived at Santo Domingo. After experiencing a great variety of
sufferings, he departed for Spain, where he arrived in November. On
reaching Seville, he heard of the death of his friend and patron,
queen Isabella.
The sun of prosperity had now set upon Columbus. He was suffered to
linger in neglect and poverty. He was also attacked with sickness, and
detained till 1505, at which time, weary and exhausted, he arrived at
Segovia, the seat of the Spanish court. Here he applied to the king
for redress, but this was denied him. He lingered a year longer in
obscurity and poverty, till death gave him relief. He died at
Valladolid, on the 20th of May, 1506.
Thus ended a noble and glorious career, and one which teaches us a sad
lesson of the wrongs, injustice and cruelty of kings. As if to make
some amends for the sufferings of Columbus, his remains received a
pompous funeral,――a circumstance, however, which shows that his merit
was known, and that those who had injured him were conscious of the
wrongs they had done him.
* * * * *
THE CAT AND THE MOUSE.――A mouse, ranging about a brewery, happening to
fall into one of the vats, was in imminent danger of drowning, and
called to a cat to take him out. “It is a foolish request,” replied
the cat; “for, as soon as I get you, I shall eat you.” The mouse
piteously replied that that fate would be better than to be drowned in
beer. The cat lifted him out; but the fumes of the beer caused pussy
to sneeze, and the mouse took refuge in his hole. The cat called upon
mousey to come out: “You rascal, did you not promise I should eat
you?” “Ah!” replied mousey, “but you know I was _in liquor_ at the
time.”
* * * * *
FABLE OF THE HUMMING-BIRD AND BUTTERFLY.――A humming-bird once met a
butterfly, and, being pleased with the beauty of its person and the
glory of its wings, made an offer of perpetual friendship.
“I cannot think of it,” was the reply, “as you once spurned at me, and
called me a crawling dolt!”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the humming-bird. “I always entertained the
highest respect for such beautiful creatures as you.”
“Perhaps you do now,” said the other; “but, when you insulted me, I
was a caterpillar. So let me give you this piece of advice: Never
insult the humble, as they may one day become your superiors.”
* * * * *
Some time since, some men took twenty-one geese from a farm-yard in
Kent, England, belonging to a Mr. White. A gander, which belonged to
the flock, was left behind, with a bag tied round its neck, containing
twenty-one pence, and the following poetic excuse written on a slip of
paper:
“Dear Mister White,
We wish you good night,
We are sorry we cannot stay longer;
We have taken twenty-one geese,
At a penny a piece,
And left the amount with the gander.”
[Illustration: _Washington Irving’s cottage._]
Washington Irving’s Cottage.
It is curious to observe the interest attached to everything connected
with a great man. We love especially to visit the residences of those
who have excited our admiration either by their writings or their
actions. It may be pleasant to our readers, therefore, to see the
picture, on the opposite page, of the cottage of Washington Irving, a
pleasant and amusing writer, who has acquired great reputation. There
are very few persons, in this country, who have not read some of his
books.
The cottage, of which we have given a picture, is situated in a
secluded spot, on the eastern bank of the Hudson river, a considerable
distance above New York. The place is called Sleepy Hollow, and is the
scene of one of Mr. Irving’s best stories. The building is a curious
one, seeming to partake partly of the English and partly of the Dutch
style of architecture.
The place is remarkable for the quiet and tranquillity that reign
around. The whistle of the quail and the tapping of the woodpecker are
almost the only sounds that are heard.
In this delightful spot Mr. Irving fixed his residence some years ago.
But, about two years since, he was appointed minister to Spain, and in
this capacity he is now living at Madrid.
Jumping Rabbit’s Story.
CHAPTER VI.
If I were to give a minute account of all that happened while I was
with the Indians, it would fill a large book. Perhaps I may, some time
or other, give a more particular account of my adventures; but I must
now condense my narrative, and give only the leading events of my life
with the Indians.
I continued for nearly six years with the tribe of Kickapoos, who
first made me their captive. During this period these Indians
frequently shifted their abode, partly with a view to the acquisition
of game, and partly to escape the neighborhood of troublesome enemies.
We had occasional skirmishes with other tribes, and once a serious war
with the Osages.
Small companies of white hunters and fur traders sometimes visited our
camp, taking our furs, and giving us powder, ball and trinkets in
return. The trade in furs became more and more an object to the tribe,
and, finally, it was a part of their system to despatch some of the
men every winter to the mountainous country at the west, for the
purpose of killing foxes, wild-cats, and other animals, in order to
obtain their skins.
I accompanied one of these parties, which consisted of eleven men. We
proceeded, early in the autumn, to the Rocky Mountains, and, hearing
that game was very abundant on the other side, we traversed that
immense range, and found ourselves upon its western slope. We came to
a river, which, it was said, emptied its waters into a great salt
lake. Impelled by curiosity, we continued our ramble to the westward,
and, at last, reached the shores of the Pacific.
Novelty strikes even the imagination of the savage. Our party were,
therefore, not a little excited when they gazed at the boundless sea,
and noticed the greenish tinge of its waters. When they tasted it, and
perceived its salt and bitter flavor, they spit violently, and uttered
a great many exclamations of astonishment. It was here that I first
saw a ship. This was one of the American vessels, going to trade with
the Indians on the north-west coast, and obtain their furs. She passed
near us, and I could easily distinguish her sails, her ropes, and some
of the men. I had often heard of the white people, since I had been
with the Indians, but nothing I had ever seen had given me such an
idea of their skill and power as did this vessel.
We lingered along the shores of the Pacific for some weeks, and here
we met with various tribes of Indians. Some of these were called
Flat-heads, the upper part of their heads being flattened, by placing
them in infancy between two boards. It may seem difficult to account
for the prevalence of such a painful and unnatural custom; but we must
remember that fashion governs the Indians as well as the white people.
Some of the savages bore holes through their ears and noses, for the
purpose of suspending jewels therein. Some submit to a burning of the
flesh, in order to tattoo the skin; and those we have just mentioned
compress the skull between two boards. These things are all done in
compliance with fashion.
We at last returned to the Rocky Mountains, and spent the winter in
the pursuit of game. We killed a number of wild sheep and wild goats,
and several beautiful little antelopes. These creatures we found in
small herds at the eastern foot of the mountains. They were
exceedingly agile, with gentle, black eyes and mild countenances, and
seemed to speed over the ground almost as swiftly as a bird could fly.
Loaded with furs of various kinds, we set out for our return. One
night, as we were encamped upon the banks of a small river, we were
attacked by a party of about twenty Pawnees. Two of our Indians were
killed, and the rest escaped. I was myself taken prisoner, and nearly
the whole of our furs fell into the hands of the assailants.
I was now taken with my new captors to the encampment of the Pawnees,
a distance of five days’ journey. I submitted with apparent
satisfaction to my captivity, and, making myself useful, soon acquired
the favor of the people among whom I was now adopted. I had, however,
no real attachment to them, and determined to seize the first
favorable opportunity for my escape. Several months passed, and I
began to be more reconciled to my lot, particularly as I was now
regarded as a leader among the hunters of the tribe.
A plan was now set on foot for a marauding expedition against the
Indians dwelling far to the eastward of our present position. We had
plenty of horses, and thirty of us, well mounted and equipped, set
forth upon the proposed adventures. We proceeded eastward, and
traversed a large extent of country, and, at last, came within the
vicinity of some scattered settlements of white men.
I now discovered that it was the purpose of my companions to attack
these settlements,――a circumstance which they had before concealed
from me. This concealment probably arose from their knowledge that I
was of white descent, and they were, perhaps, afraid that I would not
join them heartily in plundering my own kindred.
At last, however, they told me their scheme. Though I had been long
with the Indians, and had adopted their customs and feelings, yet I
was by no means pleased with the idea of attacking these white
settlements. I knew it was unsafe for me, however, to avow my
scruples; for, if their suspicion was excited, they would not hesitate
to send a bullet through my heart. I therefore received their
proposition with apparent unconcern. Perceiving, however, the keen
eyes of an old chief bent suspiciously upon me, I thought it necessary
to profess an interest in the enterprise which I did not feel.
The intention of escaping from the tribe, which I had formerly
cherished, now revived, and an opportunity was only wanting for me to
take leave of them forever. While I was in this state of mind, we came
into the vicinity of a small white settlement, consisting of four or
five houses. One of our party had been in this quarter before, and
knew the situation of these dwellings. They were all scattered, and
one of them he described as apart from the rest, and as likely to
afford considerable plunder.
It was thought best, however, before making the attack, to gain more
exact information of the present state of things among the settlers;
and, with this view, it was proposed that four of us should paint and
dress ourselves as Osages, and pay a visit to these white people under
pretence of selling them furs. We halted in the thick forest, and made
our preparations. Our party of spies then set out on foot, and
proceeded to visit the houses of the white men. We found five or six
log-houses built upon the borders of the White river, each of them
having some cleared and cultivated lands around them.
A little higher up the stream, we came to the other house which has
been before mentioned. It was larger than those we have described, and
had the appearance of considerable comfort and thrift on the part of
the inhabitants.
When we entered the house, we saw two women; one of them about middle
age, the other about sixteen. It was now several years since I had
been with the Indians, during which period I had not seen a white
woman. The moment I looked on those now before me, my former
associations and trains of thought revived. We addressed the oldest of
the females, and asked for a cup of water. She replied in tones of
kindness and courtesy, but I thought I could perceive something of
trepidation and anxiety in her manner. Her voice, also, awakened
indescribable emotions in my breast.
The young lady soon brought us a pitcher of water, and, when I looked
upon her, it seemed to me that I had never beheld a creature so
lovely. As the man of the house was not at home, we soon departed,
and, as our business was now accomplished, we proceeded straight to
our companions, whose lurking-place we reached late in the evening. We
communicated the information we had acquired, and it was soon resolved
to make an attack upon the last house we had visited, the very next
night.
The situation in which I now found myself was most painful. The
deepest interest had been excited in my breast toward those whom the
savages had resolved to sacrifice. The forms of the mother and
daughter continually haunted my mind; and a strange fancy that it was
my mother and sister whom I had seen, seized upon me. Improbable,
impossible, indeed, as this seemed when I considered it calmly, there
was still a conviction resting upon my heart that I was about to
engage in assailing the dwelling-place of my parents, with every
chance of sacrificing the lives of my kindred.
I was not long in resolving to take no part in this murderous scheme,
except to baffle it. But what could be done? To escape from the
savages, forever on the watch, and, doubtless, in some degree
suspicious of me, was a thing by no means easily achieved. I
determined, however, to make the attempt, even if it cost me my life.
It was the plan of the Indians to remain where they were till about
midnight, then to proceed on horseback to the vicinity of the
settlements, and, having tied the horses in some sheltered spot, to go
on foot to the assault they meditated. Early the next evening, the
whole party laid down for the purpose of obtaining some repose, their
horses having been fastened, so as to be at command. I had taken care
that my own horse should be imperfectly tied, so that I knew he would
soon get loose.
In the course of an hour, and after most of the company were asleep, I
heard the animal moving about. I then rose up, expressed some
surprise, and remarked that my horse was loose, and that I must go and
take care of him. One or two Indians, who were still awake, heard what
I said, and, seeing nothing suspicious in my conduct, I was permitted
to depart without interruption. I soon caught my horse, and cautiously
led him away from the slumbering party. When I had gone to the
distance of fifty rods, I mounted his back and plunged into the woods.
For more than a mile I took a direction opposite to the houses of the
settlers. Then, making a wide circuit, I turned and pursued my way
toward them. Coming to the bank of the river, I was guided in my
course, and ere long reached the first of those settlements which I
had visited with my Indian companions. I now woke up the people in the
several houses, and, in the imperfect English I was able to command,
told them of the attack that was meditated.
Four men, well armed, immediately started with me for the house which
was to be the first object of attack. It was nearly midnight when we
arrived and roused the inmates of the house. There was no time to be
lost, and immediate preparations to receive the enemy were made. In
about an hour we saw their dark forms gliding out from the edge of the
forest, and approaching the house. With a soft and stealthy tread they
approached. Two of them seized upon a large stick of timber, and were
advancing to the door, for the purpose of beating it in, when I thrust
my head out of the window and uttered the war-whoop. The astonished
Indians started back, and for a short time concealed themselves in an
adjacent thicket.
I knew that they would recognize my voice, and understand that their
plot was detected, and that preparations were made to repel it. I
hoped, therefore, that they would retire and give up their enterprise.
Such, however, was not their determination. In a short time they
rallied, and, setting up the war-cry, advanced with rapid steps toward
the house.
I marked the leader of the band, whom I knew to be the bravest man of
the party, and, presenting my rifle, I fired. The Indian fell with a
terrific scream. The rest of the party halted. There was a momentary
bustle, and the savages disappeared. We continued on the watch till
morning, and were then happy to discover that the enemy had carried
off their wounded leader, and abandoned the enterprise that had
brought them hither.
I had been too intently occupied, during the night, to think of much
beside the immediate business in hand, but I now turned my eyes upon
the inmates of the house. These consisted of four persons,――a husband
and wife of middle age, and a son and daughter now in the flower of
youth. The thought again crossed my mind that here were my parents, my
brother and my sister. At last, in the conviction that this was so, I
placed myself before the matron, and said, as well as I knew how, “Did
you ever lose a son?”
“Yes, yes! why do you ask?” said she, looking at me with intense
curiosity.
“He is here,” said I.
“You my son?” said she.
But I cannot describe the scene. It will be sufficient for the reader
to know that I had the happiness this day of being restored to my
family and saving them from the perils of an Indian assault.
* * * * *
“Where have you been this week?” “Me? I’ve been fishing.” “Catch
anything?” “Yes, a cold.” “Where were you last night?” “Ducking.” “Get
any?” “Yes, one.” “Where?” “In the river.” “How?” “Tumbled in.”
Inquisitive Jack.
CHAPTER XI.
_About Butterflies._
Our readers must not suppose that our little hero had no interest in
anything but insects. It is true that his mind being once engaged upon
this subject, his curiosity increased with his knowledge, and for a
time he preferred the study of insects to that of anything else. At
one period, as I have told you, he was greatly interested in beetles;
then in spiders; and then in bees. Finally he turned his attention to
butterflies. You may be tired of my story, but you must hear about
this.
One beautiful summer day, he saw a large butterfly seated upon a
flower――its wings were splendidly marked with figures of brown, black
and gold. They were almost as large as the palm of his hand. As the
insect sat upon the flower, he waved them up and down, seeming to fan
the blossom upon which it was resting.
Jack’s first idea was to rush upon the butterfly, and seize it. But he
had now acquired a habit of investigation. He had lost that instinct
which leads little, thoughtless children to snatch at every new and
pleasing object. He was no longer a mere child, but a thinking boy.
His mind was awake, and the pleasure he derived from its exercise was
a very great pleasure.
So Jack, having approached near to the butterfly, paused and examined
it carefully. He found that it had four wings, two large and two small
ones, and that it had six legs, four only of which seemed to be used.
While Jack was thus pursuing his observations, he gradually drew
nearer, until the alarmed insect took to flight, and, with a wavering
motion, swept across an adjacent meadow, until it was lost in the
distance. As Jack was in the habit of thinking about what he had seen,
he mused upon the little butterfly, and then he asked his Aunt Betsey
about it. She was ever ready to gratify his curiosity, and so she
proceeded to tell him about butterflies, pretty much as follows:
“You must know, my dear Jack,” said she, “that the family of
butterflies is very numerous; this consists not only of those which
pass under the name of butterfly, and which go abroad in the daylight,
but of those which are called moths, and which fly about at night.
“The butterflies have ever been regarded as among the most beautiful
objects in nature. They seem almost like flowers or gems, which have
become endowed with life, and, taking wings, soar away upon the
breeze. Thus the poet Moore speaks of them, as creatures
‘Which flutter round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers, or flying gems.’
“Who, indeed, has not observed these little creatures flying from
flower to flower, sipping the nectar from each, and seeming only to
think of the present happy moment? And who has not thought how like to
happy, heedless, children are these pretty butterflies?
“It is natural that the poets, who were always looking out for
beautiful things, should seize upon such a subject as the butterflies,
and we therefore find them often alluded to in poetry. Spencer, an old
English poet, thus describes one of these insects,――and it is a very
good description too:
‘The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,
The silken down with which his back is dight,
His broad, outstretched horns, his airy thighs,
His glorious colors, and his glistening eyes.’
“The moths have also attracted the attention of the poet; and as they
are dazzled by a lamp at night, and frequently fly into it and scorch
themselves to death, they have been often compared to giddy youth, who
rush thoughtlessly into dangerous pleasures, and are thus lost
forever.
“The butterflies and moths have not only four wings and six legs, and
two horns or feelers, but they have a little tube or proboscis, with
which they suck in the juice of flowers. When this is not in use, it
is nicely rolled up, and packed beneath the head of the animal, under
a hairy cover made for the purpose.
“When examined with a glass, the body of the insect appears to be
covered with hair, and the fine brilliant dust upon the wings is found
to consist of minute scales.
“But the eyes of butterflies, are, perhaps, their most remarkable
quality. Some of these are simple, while others are composed of a
collection of magnifying lenses. It is said that in some butterflies
the eye consists of sixteen thousand lenses. If so, it would seem that
when a butterfly of this sort looks at a person, he sees sixteen
thousand images of him! Of the butterfly tribe, some live upon the
honey of flowers, others upon the leaves of plants, and others upon
dead wood. Some of them subsist upon animal substances, and are very
destructive to woollen cloths, furs and feathers. The honey-comb moth
we have already mentioned as often infesting the bee-hive, and preying
upon wax.
“While the butterflies, in their perfect state, have always attracted
the attention and excited the interest of mankind, the wonderful steps
by which they reach their perfect state have not formed a less
interesting subject of observation. Most insects have three states of
existence; they are first eggs, then worms, and then the winged and
perfect insect.
“But the transformations of the butterfly have ever been regarded as
very wonderful. The female deposits her eggs upon such plants as are
proper to nourish the little caterpillars which are to proceed from
them. The common white butterfly places hers upon cabbages. The
tortoise-shell and peacock butterflies place theirs upon nettles, &c.
These are generally attached by a kind of glue to the surface of the
plant. The moths are usually more careful, for they generally deposit
their eggs in some concealed place, and wrap them up carefully in a
downy substance.
“Butterflies do not enshroud themselves in a silken case, or cocoon,
spun from the mouth, as is done by many other insects; but their
process is more wonderful. When the butterfly egg is hatched, it
produces a caterpillar. This is a kind of heavy worm, usually
furnished with sixteen feet.
“It grows rapidly after changing its skin, which process lasts three
or four minutes, and frequently proves fatal. It is now furnished with
twelve round eyes, and feeds voraciously upon leaves. Having reached
its full size, it ceases to eat, and retires to some solitary place to
undergo its wonderful transformation.
“Here it proceeds to form a mass of silken threads, which it spins
from its mouth. This is attached to a proper place, and the
caterpillar is soon seen suspended by the tail. It now raises its head
a little, giving a curve to its back. This motion is repeated until a
slit is formed, first behind the head, and then along the back. At
length the skin of the larva disappears, and the chrysalis is formed.
This consists of a smooth, shining mass, speckled with gold.
“The newly-formed chrysalis of a butterfly, when opened, is found to
contain only a mass of pap, in which no trace of the limbs of the
future butterfly can be observed, yet the outer covering is marked
with all the external organs of the future butterfly in a very short
time after the skin of the caterpillar has been cast off. On opening
the chrysalis, indeed, after a proper space, we shall find, encased in
separate parts, the wings, eyes and other organs of the future
butterfly.
“When the insect has remained in this pulpy or chrysalis state for a
proper time, a motion may be perceived within. The skin, which is now
thin and dry, gives way, and bursting into four distinct and regular
pieces, liberates its little prisoner. This now emits a reddish
colored liquid, which superstitious people have called bloody rain;
its wings rapidly assume their proper size, and it joins its
companions in the air. The old poet Spencer thus happily describes the
new-born insect:
‘When he arriving, round about doth fly
From bed to bed, from one to other border;
And takes survey, with curious, busy eye,
Of every flower and herb there set in order;
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly,
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder;
Nor with his feet, their silken leaves deface,
But pastures on the pleasures of each place.’”
CHAPTER XII.
_About insects in general._
I will now give my readers a short chapter upon insects in general,
extracted from Aunt Betsey Piper’s talk to her inquisitive nephew.
Insects are so called because they appear to be divided into two
parts, and the word _insect_ means _cut apart_. The insect tribe are
divided by naturalists into several orders. The first consists of
those that never have wings, as the spider, flea, louse, &c.; the
second consists of those which have wings, but so cased up as not to
appear when first produced, such as the grasshopper, earwig,
dragon-fly, &c.; the third is of the moth and butterfly kind; the
fourth such as come from a worm instead of a caterpillar, as the
beetle, bee, fly, gnat, &c.
We are very apt to conceive that insects, from their extreme
littleness, are very insignificant. But this is a wrong view of the
subject. In the first place, they are exceedingly ingenious in their
structure, and wonderful in their habits and instincts. A writer on
natural history says, that if we compare insects with the higher ranks
of nature, such as quadrupeds, birds, &c., we shall perceive in the
former all the peculiarities which belong to the latter; the piercing
eye of the lynx and the falcon, the hard shield of the armadillo, the
splendid tail of the peacock, the imposing horns of the stag, the
swiftness of the antelope, the fecundity of the hare, the
architectural powers of the beaver, the climbing powers of the
squirrel, the gambols of the monkey, the swimming of the frog, the
burrowing of the mole, and the leaping of the kangaroo; all these
things are found amongst insects, and often, indeed, in a redoubled
degree. The eye of the fly, with its thousand lenses, the scales of
the diamond beetle, the wonderful works of the hive, the ingenuity of
the spider, the transformation of the butterfly,――these and many other
interesting circumstances show that this class of animated nature
possesses strong claims upon our attention.
The amazing extent of the insect tribes also increases the interest of
this subject. In the royal collection at Berlin, in Prussia, there are
no less than twenty-eight thousand species or kinds of beetle.
Celebrated naturalists have calculated that there are, in the world,
five hundred thousand different kinds of insects, and countless
myriads of each kind. It is said that one single insect of the aphis
or louse tribe may be the living parent of six thousand millions of
descendants. If all the insects in the world were collected into one
heap, it would doubtless rise ten times as high as the top of
Bunker-Hill monument, near Boston.
The importance of insects may be gathered from another consideration.――
Some of them are very useful. The bee we have already noticed. We may
also mention the cochineal insect, which exists in great numbers in
the East Indies and in South America. It is a minute creature, of the
aphis tribe, one of which is hardly so large as a peppercorn. Yet it
is produced in such quantities, that many thousands of pounds are sent
every year, in a dried state, to America and Europe. They contain a
coloring principle, called carmine, which produces an intensely red
color. These insects are chiefly used for dying scarlet. In Brazil,
large estates are devoted to the cultivation of plants, for the
purpose of breeding them. Great quantities are also produced in
different parts of Spain.
Among the useful insects, we may notice the Spanish fly, which is
about three fourths of an inch in length, with brilliant green wings.
These are shaken down from the trees, it being their habit to feign
death when disturbed. They are called _cantharides_, and are used in
medicine, especially for producing blisters.
We might notice many other useful insects, but must pass them by. We
might speak, also, of the beautiful fireflies, which appear in
myriads, during the night, over our meadows and amid the forests; of
the glow-worms, which seem to burn with a mild and steady blaze, to
illuminate the darkness; and the great lantern moth of South America,
which is sometimes used to decorate the heads of females, and several
of which will answer the purpose of a torch.
But we must pass over these wonderful things, and consider that the
surface of the earth, the waves of the sea, and the very atmosphere
around the whole globe, are all the abodes of countless insects. Even
the stalks and leaves of plants are filled with them. If you will take
a microscope and look into the stalks of certain plants, you will see
thousands of little busy, bustling insects there, all of them seeming
to be in the full enjoyment of existence. Nay, if you will apply the
microscope to a tumbler of pure water, you will see that this also is
filled with living things. Thus the poet says:
“Full nature swarms with life; one wondrous mass
Of animals, creatures organized.
Through subterranean cells,
Where searching sunbeams scarce can find a way,
Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf
Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure,
Within its winding citadel, the stone
Holds multitudes. But chief the forest boughs,
That dance unnumbered to the playful breeze,
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed
Of evanescent insects. Where the pool
Stands mantled o’er with green, invisible,
Amid the floating verdure, millions stray:
* * * * Nor is the stream
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air,
Though one transparent vacancy it seems,
Void of their unseen people.”
CHAPTER XIII.
_Conclusion._
I hope my readers are satisfied, by this time, that Inquisitive Jack,
in pursuing the study of insects, was not wasting his time. It not
only gave him a great deal of pleasure, but he obtained from it much
useful information. He went on, from one step to another, until he
understood the whole science of insects, which is called _Entomology_.
But I have told you the story of our curious little friend, not so
much to recommend the particular study of insects, as to show the
utility of habits of observation and investigation. You have seen, by
the story I have told you, that, by means of these habits, Jack not
only enjoyed a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction, but that he
became a very learned man; but I must tell you, what I have before
intimated, that his whole attention was not confined to insects. He
observed and investigated plants and flowers, and thus became a
botanist. He studied into the habits and nature of birds, and thus
became an ornithologist; and, in short, he mastered the whole field of
natural history. Perhaps I shall, some time or other, give you an
account of his proceedings in relation to some of these matters.
[Illustration]
The Close of the Year.
Look at the picture! It is winter――and the old man is toiling through
the deep, deep snow. A heavy burthen is on his back; the sky is dark
and gloomy; the scene around is desolate and chill. We can easily
fancy that the heart of the aged traveller is heavy; that his limbs
are weary; that a damp, cold moisture is upon his brow, and an
expression of bitterness and sorrow around his lips; yet he plods
stoutly on――and why should he not? If he were to despair, he would but
make the snow his pillow, and the sleety drift his winding-sheet.
Beside, he is not alone. A cheerful friend is with him; a humble one
indeed, yet one that will not desert him, whether in sunshine or
storm, in summer’s joy or winter’s sorrow.
There is something of truth and nature in this scene, and old Bob
Merry feels that it may be properly placed at the head of his annual
goodby. I cannot but entertain the idea that the old man in the cut,
may stand for my representative. He has his burthen, and I my cares;
he is making his way through the heavy drift, and I too am stumping it
on, amid obstacles and difficulties. He has his cheerful friend,
beckoning him on, and I, old and decrepit, am attended by the angel of
Hope, which ministers to me, even when all beside have deserted me.
That hound in the picture may seem to tell the weary and wayworn
traveller of the home that is at hand, of the bright hearth that burns
for him, of the warm hearts that are ready to receive him. And Hope,
the comforter, tells me too, that there are some bright firesides
where Bob Merry is a welcome guest; where his monthly visits are not a
tax, but a pleasure; where to him the latch of the door is free and
the string never pulled in.
These are my fancies――and though they may be but the dreams of a
conceited old man, I will still cherish them. Real or fantastic, they
lighten my heart, cheer my steps, and give me courage to pursue my
journey.
And now, my gentle readers, we are at the close of the old year! May
it find you good and happy. We are at the threshold of the new year;
may this, too, find you good and happy. What better wish can I utter?
And will you continue for twelve months more, the acquaintance which
we have so long sustained? Come! Black Eyes, Blue Eyes, and Grey
Eyes――one and all――let as pursue our rambles, and I promise still to
exert myself for your pleasure and profit! I have some of Bill
Keeler’s stories, which I have picked up, and which I intend to give
you. I have some curious adventures in South America; some stories of
the Old Man in the Corner, and other nuts to crack for you. So, girls
and boys, come along!
Our Correspondence.
The following letter we insert with much pleasure:――
RINDGE, N. H., Oct. 27, 1843.
MR. MERRY:
I have taken your Museum the past year, and like it very
much. I should like to have you put in another anecdote
about Bill Keeler. Will you be so kind as to put in the
following Riddles, if you please, to gratify a boy ten
years old?
1.
It is in the bolster, but not in the bed;
It is in the grave, but not in the dead;
It is in the rock, but not in the stone;
It is in the marrow, but not in the bone.
2.
I’m captain of a company
That counts full twenty-six;
And also with a party five
I deign to intermix;
With Adam I was seen to stay,
But Eve I do not like;
I’m always found throughout the day,
But never in the night.
Your affectionate friend,
SAMUEL B――――.
We have received answers from Mary G. D., F. W. B., J. F. T., and
some others, to our Twenty Questions about Animals, in the October
number of the Museum. Most of them are correct. As a specimen of the
letters on this subject, we insert the following, adding a few notes of
correction:――
BRISTOL, Oct. 25th, 1843.
MY DEAR MR. MERRY:
In the last number of your Museum, you wished your little
readers to send you the answers to twenty questions given
to us. I am quite a small boy, but I thought I would try
to answer them; and those that I may answer wrong I should
like to have you correct in your next number, and oblige a
little friend and subscriber, who is yet too young to write
for himself.
_1st question._ The five most remarkable quadrupeds in
Africa are the Lion, Zebra, Hippopotamus, Camelopard,
Hyena.(1)
_2d._ The three most famous animals in Asia are the
Elephant, Rhinoceros, and Lion.
_3d._ The Elephant is the largest quadruped, and is a
native of Asia.
_4th._ The Giraffe is the tallest animal in the world, and
found in Asia(2) and Africa.
_5th._ The Ostrich is the largest bird, and found in Asia
and Africa.
_6th._ The largest kind of serpent is the Boa Constrictor,
and found in Asia.
_7th._ The smallest bird is the Humming-Bird, and found in
America.
_8th._ The largest animal is the Elephant,(3) and lives in
Asia.
_9th._ The Orang-Outang most resembles man, and is found in
Borneo, one of the East India Islands.
_10th._ The Horse is the most useful animal to man.
_11th._ The Bison is the largest quadruped found wild in
America.
_12th._ The Grizzly Bear is the most fierce and formidable
wild quadruped in the United States.
_13th._ The Rattlesnake is the celebrated poisonous serpent
that belongs to the United States.
_14th._ I think the largest bird of prey in the world is
the Eagle.(4)
_15th._ To the question, what are the two most remarkable
animals of New Holland? I don’t know but one; that is the
Kangaroo.(5)
_16th._ The Eagle is the king of birds.
_17th._ The Butterfly is the most beautiful of insects.
_18th._ The Bee is the most useful insect to man.
_19th._ The Dog seems most attached to man.
_20th._ The Lion is the most powerful known quadruped.
Now, Mr. Merry, I have got through, and I should like very
much to know if I have answered them right, and especially
to know the other remarkable animal of New Holland.
Your little friend and subscriber,
E. M. G.
(1) Not _Hyena_, but _Rhinoceros_, of which there are two kinds in
Africa, the one-horned and the two-horned.
(2) The _Giraffe_ is not a native of Asia.
(3) The largest animal is the _Whale_.
(4) The _Condor_ is the largest bird of prey.
(5) The other most remarkable animal of New Holland is the _Duck-billed
Platypus_, a small quadruped, with fur like a beaver, and a bill like a
duck, living chiefly around the water.
Transcriber’s Note:
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. One footnote was moved to the end of the article.
Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation
in the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated below.
Obsolete and alternative spellings were retained. Misspelled words were
corrected. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, or
partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops
missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added.
The following items were changed:
Added word “to” … to throw my hat off my head.…
The article “Truth Triumphant” was moved to the end of the May issue
so as not to interrupt the preceding dialogue between Ann and Lucy.
“Kitty” changed to “Nancy” ... But Nancy is a rational creature ...
Added missing page number to entry for Eccentric Characters in the
Table of Contents, Volume 6.
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