Part 2

The prince's tutor now stepped up to them. He was a dignified, kind-looking man, in a plain dark suit of clothes. The little shepherd had not before observed him.

"Be not disobliging, my lad," said he. "The young gentleman here has never seen a bird's nest, although he has often read of them, and he wishes very much to see one. Pray, do him the kindness to lead him to the one you have mentioned, and let him see it. He will not take it away from you. He only wishes to look at it. He will not even touch it."

The shepherd-boy stood up respectfully, but said, "I must stick to what I have said. I cannot show the nest."

"That is very unfriendly," said the tutor. "It should give you great pleasure to be able to do anything to oblige our beloved prince Frederick."

"Is this young gentleman the prince?" cried the young shepherd, and again took off his hat; but this time he did not put it on again. "I am very much pleased to see the prince, but _that_ bird's nest I cannot show any one, no not even the king himself."

"Such a stiff-necked, obstinate boy I never saw in my life," said the prince, pettishly. "But we can easily find means to compel him to do what we wish."

"Leave it to me, if you please, my dear prince," said the tutor; "there must be some cause for this strange conduct." Then, turning to the boy, he said, "Pray tell us what is the reason you will not show us that nest, and then we will go away and leave you in peace. Your behaviour seems very rude and strange; but if you have any good reason for it, do let us know it."

"Hum!" said the boy; "that I can easily do. Michel tends goats there over the mountains. He first showed me the nest, and I promised him that I never would tell anybody where it was."

"This is quite another thing," said the tutor. He was much pleased with the honesty of the boy; but wished to put it to further proof. He took a piece of gold from his purse, and said--

"See here! this piece of gold shall be yours, if you will show us the way to the nest. You need not tell Michel that you have done it, and then he will know nothing about it."

"Eh! thank you all the same," said the boy. "Then I should be a false rogue, and that will I not be. Michel might know it or not. What would it help me, if the whole world knew nothing about it, if God in heaven and myself knew that I was a base, lying fellow? Fie!"

"Perhaps you do not know how much this piece of gold is worth," said the tutor. "If you should change it into coppers, you could not put them all into your straw hat, even if you should heap them up."

"Is that true?" said the boy, as he looked anxiously at the piece of gold. "Oh, how glad my poor old father would be, if I could earn so much!" He looked thoughtful a moment, and then cried out, "No--take it away!" Then, lowering his voice, he said, "The gentleman must forgive. He makes me think of the bad spirit in the wilderness, when he said, 'all this will I give thee.' Short and good, I gave Michel my hand on it, that I would not show the nest to any one. A promise is a promise, and herewith fare well."

He turned, and would have gone away, but the prince's huntsman, who stood near and listened to what passed, came up, and clapped him on the shoulder, said, in a deep bass voice, "Ill-mannered booby! is this the way you treat the prince, who is to be our king? Do you show more respect to the rude goat-herd over the mountains, than to him? Show the bird's nest, quick, or I will hew a wing out of your body." As he said this he drew his hanger.

The poor boy turned pale, and with a trembling voice cried out, "Oh, pardon! I pray for pardon!"

"Show the nest, booby," cried the hunter, "or I will hew!"

The boy held both hands before him, and looked with quivering eyes on the bright blade, but still he cried, in an agitated voice, "Oh, I cannot! I must not! I dare not do it!"

"Enough! enough!" cried the tutor. "Put up your sword and step back, Mr. Hunter. Be quiet, my brave boy. No harm shall be done you. You have well resisted temptation. You are a noble soul! Go, ask the permission of your young friend, and then come and show us the nest. You shall share the piece of gold between you!"

"Good! good!" said the boy, "this evening I will have an answer for you!"

The prince and tutor went back to the castle, to which they had come the day before, to enjoy the season of spring.

"The nobleness of that boy surprises me," said the tutor, as they went along. "He is a jewel which cannot be too much prized. He has in him the elements of a great character. So we may often find, under the thatched roof, truth and virtues which the palace does not often present to view."

After they returned, the tutor inquired of the steward if he knew anything about the shepherd-boy.

"He is a fine boy," said the steward. "His name is George. His father is poor, but is known all around for an honest, upright, sensible man."

After the prince's studies were ended for the day, he went to the window, and immediately said, "Aha, the little George is waiting for us. He tends his small flock of sheep by the wood, and often looks toward the castle."

"Then we will go and hear what answer he brings us," said the tutor.

They left the castle together and went to the place where George tended his sheep.

When he saw them moving he ran to meet them, and called out joyfully,--"It is all right with Michel; he called me a foolish boy, and scolded me for not showing you the nest at first, but, it is better that I should have asked his leave. I can now show it to you with pleasure. Come with me, quick, Mr. Prince."

George led the way, on the run, to the oak wood, and the prince and tutor followed more slowly.

"Do you see that yellow bird on the alder twig, that sings so joyfully?" said George to the prince. "That is the manikin! the nest belongs to him. Now we must go softly."

In a part of the woods where the oak trees were scattering, stood a thicket of white thorns, with graceful, shining green leaves, thickly ornamented with clusters of fragrant blossoms, which glittered like snow in the rays of the setting sun.

Little George pointed with his finger into the thicket, and said, softly, to the prince, "There! peep in once, Mr. Prince! the lady bird is sitting on her eggs."

The prince looked, and had the satisfaction of seeing her on her nest. They stood quite still, but the bird soon flew away, and the prince, with the greatest pleasure, examined the neat, yellow straw nest, and the smooth, blue eggs. The tutor made many excellent remarks, and gave the prince some information in the meantime.

"Now come with us, and receive the money we promised you," said the tutor to George. "But the gold piece will not be so good for you as silver money."

He took out his purse and counted down on a stone, before the astonished George, the worth of the gold piece in bright new shillings.

"Now divide fairly with Michel!" said the prince.

"On honour!" answered George; and sprang, with the money, out of their sight.

The tutor afterwards inquired whether George had divided the money equally with Michel, and found he had not given him a piece too little. His own part, he carried to his father, and had not kept a penny to himself.

Prince Frederick went every day to the bird's nest. At first, the birds were a little afraid of him, but when they saw that he did not disturb them, they lost their fear, and went and came freely, before him.

The prince's delight was full when he saw how the little birds crept from their shells. How they all opened their yellow bills and piped loud, when the parents brought their food. How the young nestlings grew, were covered with soft down, and then with feathers; and at length, one day, amid the loud rejoicings of the parents, they ventured their first flight to the nearest twig of the thorn-tree, where the old birds fed them tenderly.

The prince and his tutor often met little George as he tended his sheep, while they strayed,--now here, now there. The tutor was much pleased to observe that he always had his book with him, and spent all his spare time in reading.

"You know how to amuse yourself in the best manner, George," said he to the boy. "I should be pleased to hear you read a little from that book which you love so well."

George read aloud, with great zeal, and although he now and then miscalled a word, he did his best, and the tutor was pleased.

"That is very well," said he. "In what school did you learn to read?"

"I have never been in any school," said George, sadly. "The school is too far off, and my father had no money to pay for it. Besides, I have not any time to go to school. In summer I tend the sheep, and in winter I spin at home. But my good friend, Michel, can read very well, and he has promised to tell me all he knows. He taught me all the letters, and the lines of spelling. This is the same book that Michel learnt from. He gave it to me, and I have read it through three times. To be sure, it is so worn out now, that you cannot see all the words, and it is not so easy to read as it was."

The next time the prince came to the woods, he showed George a beautiful book, bound, in gilded morocco.

"I will lend you this book, George," said the prince, "and as soon as you can read a whole page without one mistake, it shall be yours."

Little George was much delighted, and took it with the ends of his fingers, as carefully as if it had been made of a spider-web, and could be as easily torn.

The next time they met, George gave the book to the prince, and said, "I will try to read any page that you may please to choose from the first six leaves." The prince chose a page, and George read it without making a mistake. So the prince gave him the book for his own.

One morning the king came to the hunting castle on horseback, with only one attendant. He wished to see, by himself, what progress his son was making in his studies. At dinner, the prince gave him an account of the bird's nest, and the noble conduct of the little shepherd.

"In truth," said the tutor, "that boy is a precious jewel. He would make a most valuable servant for our beloved prince; and as God has endowed him with rare qualities, it is much to be wished that he should be educated. His father is too poor to do anything for him; but with all his talents and nobleness of character, it would be a pity, indeed, that he should be left here, to make nothing but a poor shepherd like his father."

The king arose from table, and called the tutor to a recess of one of the windows, where they talked long together. After it was ended, he sent to call George to the castle.

Great was the surprise of the poor shepherd-boy, when he was shewn into the rich saloon, and saw the dignified man, who stood there, with a glittering star on his breast. The tutor told him who the stranger was, and George bowed himself almost to the earth.

"My good boy," said the king in a friendly tone, "I hear you take great pleasure in reading your book. Should you like to study?"

"Ah!" said George, "if nothing was wanting but my liking it, I should be a student to-day. But my father has no money. That is what is wanting."

"Then we will try whether we can make a student of you," said the king. "The prince's tutor here has a friend, an excellent country curate, who takes well-disposed boys into his house to educate. To this curate I will recommend you; and will be answerable for the expenses of your education. How does the plan please you?"

The king expected that George would be very much delighted, and seize his grace with both hands. And, indeed, he began to smile at first, with much seeming pleasure, but immediately after, a troubled expression came over his face, and he looked down in silence.

"What is the matter?" said the king; "you look more like crying than being pleased with my offer, let us hear what it is?"

"Ah! sir," said George, "my father is so poor what I earn in summer by tending sheep, and in winter by spinning, is the most that he has to live on. To be sure it is little, but he cannot do without it."

"You are a good child," said the king, very kindly. "Your dutiful love for your father is more precious than the finest pearl in my casket. What your father loses by your changing the shepherd's crook and spinning-wheel, for the book and pen, I will make up with him. Will that do?"

George was almost out of his senses for joy. He kissed the king's hand, and wet it with tears of gratitude, then darted out to carry the joyful news to his father. Soon, father and son both returned, with their eyes full of tears, for they could only express their thanks by weeping. When George's education was completed, the king took him into his service, and after the king's death, he became counsellor to the prince--his successor.

His father's last days were easy and happy, by the comforts which the integrity of the poor shepherd-boy had procured him.

Michel, the firm friend, and first teacher of the prince's favourite, was appointed to the place of forester, and fulfilled all his duties well and _faithfully_.

THE GREAT MAN.

WRITTEN FOR VERY YOUNG READERS.

I will tell you a tale of a great man who loved _justice_.

He had two sons whom he also loved.

Now, he had himself made a law, that whoever sought to harm the peace of the country where he lived, should die.

There was a sad cabal against the peace of the country soon after the law was made:

And the great man's two dear sons were at the head of this wicked party. Their names were in the list of bad men.

This great man loved justice more than he loved his two sons.

He, therefore, made firm his heart, and sat upon his rich throne, and gave the word that his two sons should be brought before him;

And he passed sentence on them, as he would have done on strangers:

For, he thought, why should they not suffer for their faults?

We punish the poor and ignorant for their crimes:

So, it is just that we should punish the rich and those who know better, too.

And this great man gave orders that his sons should be beaten with rods; and that then their heads should be cut off.

And there he sat upon his seat, as judge,--pale and cold, but firm and brave.

And when all was past--when both his sons were dead, and their warm blood lay shed on the ground before him:

Then, when the _judge_ had done his _duty_, but not before, he gave way to the love of the father.

He arose and left his seat;

He went to his own house, and there wept and mourned many days.

The name of this great man was Brutus.

Think upon his name, but think more of the true love of _justice_ and judgment.

This little tale is a fact that happened at Rome.

You have heard of Rome, I dare say; and you will know more of it as you grow up.

PHILOSOPHY AT HOME.

THE AIR THERMOMETER.

It is a very good amusement for ingenious boys at home, in the long winter evenings, to construct such philosophical instruments, or perform such experiments, as are practicable, with such materials and means as are within their reach. It is true, that this may sometimes make parents or an older sister some trouble, but with proper care on the part of the young philosophers, this trouble will not be great, and parents will generally be willing to submit to it for the sake of having their children engaged in an entertaining and instructive employment. We shall, therefore, give our readers such lessons in practical philosophy, as we suppose may be of use. In this article we will show them how they may, with few materials and ordinary ingenuity, construct an _Air thermometer_.

The materials which will be wanted are these:--a glass phial,--one that is broad at the base in proportion to its height, so as to stand firm, is desirable,--a glass tube of small bore, six or eight inches long,--a cork to fit the mouth of the phial,--a little sealing-wax, a lamp, and a small pitcher of water. The work may be safely done upon the parlour-table, provided that the materials are all placed upon a large tea-tray, with an old newspaper, or a sheet of wrapping-paper spread over it. The paper will then intercept any drops of hot sealing-wax which may chance to fall, and which might otherwise injure the tray, and the tray itself will receive whatever may be spilt.

The only article of the above materials in regard to which the reader will have any difficulty, is the tube. Such a tube, however, can usually be procured at an apothecary's, at a very trifling expense. One about the dimensions of a pipe-stem will be best. In constructing the instrument, this tube is to be passed down through the cord, which is to be placed in the neck of the phial, the lower end to go below the surface of a little water, which is to be put in the bottom of the phial.

The appearance of the instrument, when completed and fitted with a scale, as will be explained hereafter, is represented in the annexed wood-cut. In constructing the instrument, the operations, or the _manipulations_, as the philosophers call them, are,

First, to bore a hole through the cork, to receive the tube.

Second, to cement the tube into the cork.

Third, to cement the cork into the phial.

1. The first thing is to bore a hole through the cork, and this must be just large enough to admit the glass tube.--After turning in the gimlet a little way, it should be drawn out straight, by which means the chips will be drawn out, and then it should be put in again. For a gimlet will not clear its own way in cork, as it will in wood. By drawing it out, however, in the manner above described, taking care to operate gently, so as not to split the cork, and to guide the gimlet straight through the centre of the cork, the hole may be bored without much difficulty. If the hole is not quite large enough, it may be widened by a penknife which has a narrow blade, or it may be burnt out to a proper size with a hot knitting-needle, or a piece of iron wire. And thus the hole is bored through the cork.

2. The next thing is to cement the tube to the cork. In order to do this, the water is first to be poured into the phial. About one quarter or one fifth as much as the phial will contain, will be sufficient. When this is done, the neck of the phial inside should be wiped dry, for the cork is to be sealed into it, and unless the glass is dry, the sealing-wax will not adhere. Then the tube is to be passed through the cork, and the cork put into its place, and the tube slipped down until the lower end reaches below the surface of the water, and nearly touches the bottom of the phial. Observe, then, at what part of the tube the cork comes, for this part is to be heated, and covered with sealing-wax, in order to seal it into the cork. It may be marked with a touch of ink from a pen, at a point just above where it issues from the cork. Then take out the cork with the tube from the phial, and slip the cork along down towards the lower end of the tube, so that you can put the wax upon the glass.

In order to cover the part of the tube, which is to pass through the cork, with sealing-wax, it must be heated; for sealing-wax will not adhere to glass, or any other smooth or hard substance, if it is cold. To heat glass requires some care. It must be heated gradually, and one part must not be made very hot, while the adjoining parts remain cold; for glass will not bear sudden changes of temperature, or a great difference of temperature in contiguous parts. Therefore, in heating the glass, you must proceed gradually. Hold the part over the flame of a lamp, but not so as to touch the flame, and move it backward and forward, so as to warm a portion of one or two inches in length, equally. Then you can hold it more steadily, in such a manner as to heat the central portion. As you do this, hold a stick of sealing-wax, so as to touch the hottest part of the glass with it occasionally, that is, the part immediately below the ink mark. When the glass is hot enough to melt the sealing-wax, the glass will coat itself with the wax. After holding it a moment over the flame, turning it round and round, so as to melt all parts of the wax equally, the cork is to be slipped back again over it into its place, where it will become firmly fixed, as the work cools. Thus the tube will be cemented into the cork.

3. Nothing now remains but to cement the cork into the neck of the phial. The cork ought to be of such a size, that it will go well down into the neck of the phial, so as to have the top of it a little below the upper part of the neck. For the whole of the upper part of the cork ought to be covered with sealing wax, in order to make it air tight, and this can be best done if the glass rises a little above the top of the cork. If necessary, therefore, the upper part of the cork must be carefully removed with a penknife, and then, when it is properly fitted, the sides may be covered with sealing wax, by heating the wax in the lamp and rubbing it on all around. When it is covered with a thin coat of wax, it should be held over the lamp a moment, turning it round and round, until it is melted in every part; and the neck of the phial should be heated in the same gradual and cautious manner recommended in the case of the tube. When both are of the proper temperature, the cork must be pressed down into its place. Before the wax cools, see that the bottom of the tube does not quite touch the bottom of the phial, and observe also that the tube stands perpendicular. If it does not, it may be gently pressed to one side or the other, as may be required, and held so until the wax has cooled, when it will retain its position. The top of the cork must then be covered with sealing wax, and the surface smoothed by holding it over a lamp until its inequalities run together. Thus the cork will be cemented into the phial, and the air thermometer completed, with the exception of the scale. And the following experiments can be performed with it:--

Exp. 1. On examining the instrument, it will be observed that there is a portion of air closely confined in the upper part of the phial. It cannot escape up the tube, for the water covers the lower end of the tube. If now the instrument is put into a warm place, so as to expand this body of air within the phial, the force of the expansion will press against the water, and cause a portion of it to rise in the tube. When so much water has thus ascended as is necessary to allow such a degree of additional space within, as will enable the expansive force of the air within exactly to balance the pressure in the top of the tube from without, the water will remain at rest. If now the air is warmed still more, the expansion will cause the water to rise still higher, until the two forces are again in equilibrium.

Exp. 2. When the water has been forced into the tube as high as it will rise under the greatest heat to which it is safe to expose it, it may be carried again into a cool place. The heat which was in the air and the glass will now pass off, and the air within will lose some of its expansive force, and will evince a tendency to return to its former dimensions. This will be shown by the subsidence of the water in the tube. Thus by carrying the instrument successively into warm and cold places, the surface of the water in the tube will be found to rise and fall, thus indicating, by the level at which it stands, the temperature of the air around it, at its several places of exposure. A scale for this thermometer may be formed of pasteboard, and fastened to the tube by threads or slits in the pasteboard, or, in any other convenient manner.