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.

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.

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.

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.

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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._

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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!

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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?

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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_.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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In one of the western newspapers, the editor puts his marriages under the general head of anecdotes.

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.

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!

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.”

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!”

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.”

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.

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_.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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?

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._

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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.

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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!

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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.”

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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._

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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.

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.”

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._

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.

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!”

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.

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.”

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.”

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.

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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._

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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.”

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.

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.

Inquisitive Jack.