Chapter 9

So it appears that ambergris means simply gray amber. Like the fossil gum, pieces of it were found now and then on the seashore, where they had been cast up by the waves; hence, doubtless, the giving of the same name to both.

The substance has been used for centuries in sacerdotal rites of the church, and with fragrant gums was formerly burned in the apartments of royalty. To some extent it was employed as a medicine and to flavor certain dishes. Nowadays it is utilized almost exclusively by perfumers, in the preparation of fine scents, being first converted into a tincture by dissolving it in alcohol.

ORIGIN OF HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.

ANCIENT PARALLEL OF OUR JINGLE.

"A Kid! A Kid!" Sang the Hebrew Children in Lieu of Our Parable from the Pages of Mother Goose.

The sources of our nursery rhymes are many, and slowly to be traced out. Many of them have a lineage with serious historical meaning; others seem to have been suggested by the forms of more serious verses or parables.

Take "The House That Jack Built"; many sources and parallels have been dug out. The Kafirs of South Africa tell a story like it in form and substance. The most interesting parallel, however, is an ancient Hebrew parable called "The Two Zuzim," the summation of which is as follows:

[This is] the kid that my father bought for two zuzim. [This is] the cat that ate the kid, etc. [This is] the dog that bit the cat, etc. [This is] the stick that beat the dog, etc. [This is] the fire that burned the stick, etc. [This is] the water that quenched the fire, etc. [This is] the ox that drank the water, etc. [This is] the butcher that slew the ox, etc. [This is] the angel of death that killed the butcher, etc. [This is] Yaveh, that vanquished the angel of death, etc.

Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua.

BY ELIJAH KELLOGG.

It is Friday afternoon. The "scholars" of School Number Nine, having droned through a week of lessons, are beginning the "weekly exercises." Come visitors--Freddy Jones's mother and aunt, and William Groso's father, and the minister, and old Mrs. Huggins, who never misses the occasion, though she has no children of her own. Teacher, working into her voice an unwonted note of encouragement, calls the first name on the program, and Freddy Jones, his legs very stiff, marches to the platform, jerks his head toward teacher, and faces his mates. His legs are no longer stiff; on the contrary, his knee-joints seem to be made of whalebone. His mouth is dry and his forehead is clammy.

Freddy is not the biggest or strongest of the boys; he is not a leader among them. He has even been known to play with the girls. He is sandy as to hair and complexion, and stubby as to hands and feet and nose. Yet he begins: "Ye call me chief----"

How often, while practising the lines up in the attic, he has attained to an exalted sense of his leadership! How often he has leaned metaphorically upon his sword and surveyed with scornful contempt the fawning groundlings, the Roman Adonises, the shouting rabble! He was Spartacus then. But now--now he is a small boy with a doubtful memory; and mother, from the front row of benches, has to prompt him twice.

This thrilling old piece of declamation, this address of Spartacus to the Gladiators, was written by the Rev. Elijah Kellogg, who also wrote a great many books for boys--"The Elm Island Series," the "Pleasant Cove Series," the "Whispering Pine Series," and others which are still read. He was born in Portland, Maine, May 20, 1813; went to Bowdoin College and Andover Theological Seminary; served as a minister and chaplain from 1843 to 1865, and thereafter devoted himself almost exclusively to writing until his death, at Harpswell, Maine, March 17, 1901.

Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus--a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella.

My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army.

I did not then know what war was; but my cheeks burned, I know not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse--the bleeding body of my father flung amid the blazing rafters of our dwelling! To-day I killed a man in the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died--the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph!

I told the prætor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Aye! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay! And the prætor drew back as if I were pollution, and sternly said, "Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans." And so, fellow gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs.

O, Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Aye! thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe--to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled!

Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he has tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours--and a dainty meal for him ye will be! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife! If ye are men, follow me!

Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old Thermopylæ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades! Warriors! Thracians! If we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle!

THE AVERAGE AGES OF ANIMALS.

The Elephant and the Whale Dispute the Record for Longevity, With the Camel Third.

Elephants are perhaps the longest-lived members of the animal kingdom, averaging between one hundred and two hundred years.

It is said that when Alexander conquered India he took one of King Porus's largest elephants, named Ajax, and turned him loose with this inscription, "Alexander, the son of Jupiter, dedicated Ajax to the sun," and that this elephant, bearing this inscription, was captured three hundred and fifty years later.

Most naturalists allow the whale about the same length of life as the elephant--from a century to two centuries; but Cuvier declared that some whales, at least, attain the age of a thousand years.

The average ages of other animals are as follows:

YEARS. Ass 30 Bear 20 Camel 75 Cat 15 Cow 15 Deer 20 Dog 14 Fox 14 Goat 12 Guinea-pig 4 Hare 8 Hippopotamus 20 Horse 25 Hyena 25 Jaguar 25 Leopard 25 Lion 40 Monkey 17 Mouse 6 Ox 30 Pig 15 Rabbit 7 Rat 7 Rhinoceros 20 Sheep 10 Squirrel 8 Tiger 25 Wolf 20

LINES ON A SKELETON.

A reward of two hundred and fifty dollars, offered more than three-quarters of a century ago, for the discovery of the identity of the author of "Lines on a Skeleton" was as unsuccessful in attaining its object as had been the search made by the literary world of Great Britain, and it now seems scarcely likely that the person who wrote this remarkable poem will ever be known as its author.

The story of the finding of the manuscript is to the effect that in the year 1820 an attendant in the Museum of the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons, in London, came upon a couple of sheets of paper lying near a human skeleton. Glancing at the sheets, he saw that they contained verses. The ink with which they had been written was scarcely dry, and the idea occurred to the finder that they might have been penned by some official of the institution. Accordingly he took the sheets to one of his superiors, and in the course of the next few days the manuscript passed through the hands of several well-known medical men who were wont to visit the college. One of these gentlemen copied the verses and sent them to the _Morning Chronicle_, which promptly printed them.

The poem made a marked impression on the public mind, and earnest efforts were made by several prominent literary people to discover the identity of the author.

ANONYMOUS.

BEHOLD this ruin! 'Twas a skull Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was Life's retreat, This space was Thought's mysterious seat, What beauteous visions filled this spot, What dreams of pleasure long forgot, Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, Have left one trace of record here.

Beneath this moldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye, But start not at the dismal void-- If social love that eye employed, If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed, That eye shall be forever bright When stars and sun are sunk in night.

Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; If Falsehood's honey it disdained, And when it could not praise was chained; If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke-- This silent tongue shall plead for thee When Time unveils Eternity!

Say, did these fingers delve the mine? Or with the envied rubies shine? To hew the rock or wear a gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of Truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame.

Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod? If from the bowers of ease they fled, To seek Affliction's humble shed; If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, And home to Virtue's cot returned-- These feet with angel wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky!

THE BEGINNINGS OF THINGS.

EVOLUTION OF THE PIANO.

The pianoforte was directly evolved from the clavichord and the harpsichord. In 1711, Scipione Maffei gave a detailed account of the first four instruments, which were built by Bartolommeo Cristofori, named by him pianoforte, and exhibited in 1709.

Marius, in France, exhibited harpsichords, with hammer action, in 1716; and Schroter, in Germany, claimed to have invented the pianoforte between 1717 and 1721.

Marius at first was generally credited with the invention, for it was not until 1738, when Cristofori's instruments had become famous, that the Italian advanced his claim, and it was in 1763 that he brought forward the proof of his contention.

Pianos of that period were shaped like the modern grand, the first square piano being built by Freiderica, an organ builder of Saxony, in 1758. The first genuine upright was patented in England and the United States by John Isaac Hawkins, an Englishman, in 1800.

THE FIRST LIGHTHOUSE.

There is excellent authority for stating that the first lighthouse ever erected for the benefit of mariners was that built by the famous architect Sostratus, by command of Ptolemy Philadelphus, King of Egypt, between 285-247 B.C. It was built near Alexandria, on an island called Pharos, and there was expended upon it about eight hundred talents, or over a million of dollars.

Ptolemy has been much commended by some ancient writers for his liberality in allowing the architect to inscribe his name instead of his own. The inscription reads: "Sostratus, son of Dexiphanes, to the protecting deities, for the use of seafaring people." This tower was deemed one of the seven wonders of the world and was thought of sufficient grandeur to immortalize the builder.

It appears from Lucian, however, that Ptolemy does not deserve any praise for disinterestedness on this score, or Sostratus any great credit for his honesty, as it is stated that the latter, to engross in after times the glory of the structure, caused the inscription with his own name to be carved in the marble, which he afterward covered with lime and thereon put the king's name.

In process of time the lime decayed, and the inscription on the marble alone remained.

ORIGIN OF THE TYPEWRITER.

Many persons will be surprised to learn that the typewriter is not, as they imagined, a distinctly modern invention. So long ago as 1714 a patent was taken out in England by Henry Mill for a "machine for impressing letters singly and progressively as in writing, whereby all writings may be ingrossed in paper so exact as not to be distinguished from print."

His machine was very clumsy and practically useless, however. It was not until more than a century later (1829) that anything more was attempted. Then the first American typewriter, called a "typographer," was patented by W.A. Burt.

In 1833 a machine was produced in France having a separate key lever for each letter, and between the years 1840 and 1860 Sir Charles Wheatstone invented several machines which are now preserved in the South Kensington Museum, London.

In 1873, C.L. Sholes, an American, after five or six years' work, succeeded in producing a machine sufficiently perfect to warrant extensive manufacture. He interested E. Remington & Son, the gun-manufacturers, in it, and in 1874 the first model of the modern typewriter was put upon the market.

THE FIRST PRINTED BOOK.

The first book printed with type, according to Pettigrew, was the Latin Bible printed by John Gutenberg, at Mayence, about 1455; but Haydn is inclined to assign a somewhat later date to this, making the Book of Psalms, by Faust and Scheffer, printed on August 14, 1457, the first book.

The Gutenberg book is called the Mazarin Bible, having first been found in the library of Cardinal Mazarin.

There are only twenty copies of this first edition known to exist, and the workmanship in type, ink, and paper far exceed any of the subsequent editions for two hundred years.

Christopher Sower (or Saur) made the first punches and matrices and cast the first type in America at Germantown, Pennsylvania, about 1735. The anvil on which he hammered them out is still preserved. They were for a German Bible which Sower published.

"The price of our newly finished Bible, in plain binding, with a clasp, will be eighteen shillings," he said, "but to the poor and needy we have no price."

THE INVENTION OF MATCHES.

Friction matches are a comparatively modern invention. They were first made by John Walker in England, in 1827, but were rather crude affairs; he improved them somewhat in 1833 by using phosphorus. But the first really practical friction match was made in the United States in 1836 by L.C. Allin, of Springfield, Massachusetts. Before this time a clumsy form of match was imported from France, which had to be dipped into a bottle of sulphuric acid before it was lighted.

This took a great deal of time and trouble, and Allin, seeing the necessity for friction matches, set about to make them, and succeeded. He neglected to patent them, however, and on finally applying for a patent found that a man named Alonzo Phillips, who was a peddler, had discovered through a third person the secret of making the matches and had already obtained a patent. Allin, though the real inventor, was forced to become a mere manufacturer under another man's patent.

THE FIRST HORSE-CARS.

The modern street-railway for passenger service is distinctly an American invention. The first in the world was operated in New York in 1831-1832, when a horse-car, much like an old English stage-coach, was run on wooden rails from Prince Street and the Bowery to Yorkville and Harlem, following, for some distance, the route now taken by the present Madison Avenue line, which still operates under the original charter of 1831.

This remained the only line in the world until 1852, when charters were granted for the Second, Third, Sixth, and Eighth Avenue lines.

In 1856 a line was built in Boston, Massachusetts, and Philadelphia established one in 1857.

In 1860, through the efforts of George Francis Train, the first line was started in Birkenhead, England, but it was not until 1868 that one was laid in Liverpool and in 1869-1871 in London.

The first line in Paris was built in 1875, though there had been one from St. Cloud to Paris since 1856.

BEAUX AND GALLANTS OF FORMER DAYS.

How the Splendid Sir Walter Raleigh and Later the Duke of Buckingham Sought to Dazzle Envious Eyes in the English Court.

At the present time, when so much is said about ostentatious display, when the luxury of the rich is compared with the luxury of Rome in her decline, we may be partly reassured by looking back only one or two or three hundred years. It is but a century since the time of Beau Brummel, the exquisiteness of whose toilet could hardly be the aim of a modern gentleman. And the glories of the Pump Room at Bath in the eighteenth century, when Beau Nash held sway over social England, would not be emulated by modern dressers. Looking a little farther back we see gallants in whose effulgence the brilliance of all their successors would pale.

Sir Walter Raleigh wore a white satin pinked vest, close-sleeved to the wrist; over the body a brown doublet, finely flowered and embroidered with pearl. In the feather of his hat a large ruby, and a pearl-drop at the bottom of the sprig, in place of a button; his trunk of breeches, with his stockings and ribbon garters, fringed at the end, all white; and buff shoes with white ribbon.

On great court days his shoes were so gorgeously covered with precious stones as to have exceeded the value of six thousand pounds sterling; and he had a suit of armor of solid silver, with sword and belt blazing with diamonds, rubies, and pearls.

King James's favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, had twenty-seven suits of clothes, the richest that embroidery, lace, silk, velvet, gold, and gems could contribute. One was of white uncut velvet, set all over, both suit and cloak, with diamonds valued at eighty thousand pounds, besides a great feather stuck all over with diamonds, as were his sword, girdle, hat, and spurs.

Considering how much greater was the value of money at that period, the cost of the clothing of the Elizabethan and Jacobean gallants was simply enormous.

CASEY'S REVENGE.

By JAMES WILSON.

Being a Reply to the Famous Baseball Classic "Casey at the Bat."

There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more; There were muttered oaths and curses--every fan in town was sore. "Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat! And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that."

All his past fame was forgotten; he was now a hopeless "shine." They called him "Strike-out Casey" from the mayor down the line, And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh, While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.

The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again. And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men. And Casey smiled--his rugged face no longer wore a frown. The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.

All Mudville had assembled; ten thousand fans had come To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum; And when he stepped into the box the multitude went wild. He doffed his cap in proud disdain--but Casey only smiled.

"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began; But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan Who thought Mudville had a chance; and with the setting sun Their hopes sank low--the rival team was leading "four to one."

The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score; But when the first man up hit safe the crowd began to roar. The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.

Three men on base--nobody out--three runs to tie the game! A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame; But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" And the fifth "flew out to right."

A dismal groan in chorus came--a scowl was on each face-- When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place; His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed; his teeth were clinched in hate; He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.

But fame is fleeting as the wind, and glory fades away; There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day. They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored, "Strike him out!" But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.

The pitcher smiled and cut one loose; across the plate it sped; Another hiss, another groan--"Strike one!" the umpire said. Zip! Like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee-- "Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.

No roasting for the umpire now--his was an easy lot. But here the pitcher whirled again--was that a rifle shot? A whack! a crack! and out through space the leather pellet flew-- A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.