This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized

by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the

information in books and make it universally accessible.

https://books.google.com
 343
3987.f
5

e. 4x4
3987
 Constable's Educational Series .

THE FIFTH

ENGLISH READING BOOK.

EDINBURGH :

JAMES GORDON, 51, HANOVER STREET.

LONDON : HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO.
1860.
 CA

EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE,
PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY.
 PREFACE.

:
Ar that stage of the schoolboy's progress, to which this Volume
is adapted, it is desirable to give some more consecutive intellec-
tual training than is aimed at in the earlier books of the Reading
Series. With this object, a Course of Lessons on the Senses, and
on the more common objects which call into exercise the observing
faculties of the young (1.) in the Country, (2. ) in the Town,
and (3. ) by the Sea-shore, has been inserted. In addition to
these consecutive Lessons, many cognate topics are treated in other
portions of the book ;-the object being to take a general survey
of external nature, as it presents itself to the ordinary eye, and
to speak of it intelligently and accurately, but with the avoidance
of scientific language. The purpose kept steadily in view through-
out, and by which the selection of the instructive lessons has
been almost invariably regulated, is the cultivation of the observ-
ing and comparing faculties.
Technological lessons on the Vegetable kingdom found a place
in the Fourth Book. In this Volume both Mineral and Vegetable
technology are as fully treated as seems desirable, when we
consider the difficulty boys have in following the description of
processes. The lessons are constructed by Mr. Galletly of the
Industrial Museum, Edinburgh, and most of them were revised by
the late Dr. George Wilson, Professor of Technology.
iv PREFACE.

A large proportion of reading, which is simply interesting and

attractive to boyhood, characterizes this no less than the Reading
Books which precede and follow it, although an effort has always
been made to select such extracts as are to some extent instruc-
tive as well as amusing. Pieces which have long been school-
favourites are retained in this as in the Fourth Book : to the
pupil they are new, though to the master they may be familiar.
Geographical and Historical Lessons have been excluded, as
these subjects are best studied in separate Text-Books, unless we
except such generalized views of the earth and man as come
appropriately enough, after the pupils are to some extent familiar
with Geographical details. Lessons of this description enter into
the plan of The Sixth Reading Book.

EDINBURGH, September 1860.

 CONTENTS .

THE TITLES OF THE POETICAL EXTRACTS ARE Printed In Italics.

SECTION FIRST.
LESSONS ON THE SENSES AND OBSERVATION, WITH MISCELLANEOUS
LESSONS.
PAGE
Advice of a Father to his Son, John Sterling, 1
The Better Land,
The Better Land, Mrs . He ma ns,
A Wonderful Machine, Demarest,
Adventures of Little Daffydowndilly, Hawthorne, 8
The Battle ofthe League, Macaulay, 13
The Books of my Boyhood, Hugh Miller, 14
The Critic, 17
Account of a wonderful Skylark, 18
The Wreck ofthe Hesperus, Longfellow, 23
The Senses (Sight), 25
A curious Instrument, 28
Eyes, and no Eyes ; or, the Art of Seeing, Evenings at Home, 31
Do. do.- Continued, Do. 35
The Senses (Touch), 38
The Hand, George Wilson, 41
The Wind in a Frolic, William Howitt, 43
Manual Labour, From the German, 45
The Senses (Taste), 46
The Senses (Smell), 47
Doctor Nose and his Four Brothers, 48
The Senses (Sound, Hearing) , 50
The Deaf Man, From the German, 51
St. Philip Neri and the Youth, Dr. Byrom, 52
Who is the Bravest ? 53
The Defence ofthe Bridge against the Macaulay, 58
Tuscan Armу, }
The Soldier's Dream, Campbell, 64
Evil Company, From the German, 65
Toleration, 66
The Imitation of Christ, Bishop Beveridge, 66
vi CONTENTS.
PAGE
Give us this day our Daily Bread, • Hymns for Little Children, 68
An Altar for an Offering , 70
The Battle of Hastings , Charles Dickens, 70
The Battle ofHohenlinden, Campbell, 74
A Tour round my Garden, A. Karr, 75
The Waterfall and the Brier-rose, Wordsworth, 80
Account oftwo Tame Ravens, 81
The Three Black Crows, Byrom, 83
John Adams and his Latin, 84
Flax a History, Hans Andersen, 85

SECTION SECOND.
THINGS TO LOOK AT, AND HOW TO LOOK.¹
I. THINGS TO BE LOOKED AT BY THOSE WHO LIVE IN THE COUNTRY-
Plants-their Colour, Food, and Life, 92
Insects -Earwig, Gnat, May-fly, Flying-spider,. 97
Ladybird, Gall-fly, Carpenter-bee, Honey-bee, 100
Ants, • 105
II. THINGS TO BE LOOKED AT BY THOSE WHO LIVE ON THE SEA-SHORE—
Sea- Anemones, 108
The Beach- Sand, Eggs of Ray-fish and Whelk, Sponges, Jelly
fish, Coral Islands, 110
III. THINGS TO BE LOOKED AT BY THOSE WHO LIVE IN CITIES
Coal, 114
Insects and Birds-House-fly, Cricket, and Swallow, 116
The Sky and the Stars, 120
Earth's Voices, G. Massey, 125
The Atmosphere, Quarterly Review, 126
The Sower's Song, Carlyle, 127

SECTION THIRD.
MISCELLANEOUS.
An Adventure with a Bear, Mayne Reid, 129
An Adventure with a Bear - Continued, Do. 132
Lord Ullin's Daughter, Campbell, 135
Dew, Frost, and Snow, Mann , 137
The Battle of the Alma, Dr. Russell, 138
Love of Country, Scott, 141
The Burial ofSir John Moore, Wolfe, 142
1 Reprinted by permission of the Author, Mrs. Gordon (Miss Brewster. )
 CONTENTS . vii
PAGE
The Boaster, From the German, 143
Robinson Crusoe as a Farmer, Defoe, 143
Selfishness, Mrs. Gordon (Brewster), 145
Robinson Crusoe's Manufactures- • 148
Earthenware, Defoe, •
Music of Nature in Norway, Harriet Martine au, 150
The Brook, Tennyson, 151
On Clouds, Rain, Springs, Rivers, and Fountains-
Of the Ascent of Vapour and the Mrs. Marcet's Conversa-
Formation of Clouds ; the Forma- tions, . 153
tion and Fall of Rain, }
On Springs and Reservoirs, 155
On Rivers, Lakes, and Fountains, 159
A Thanksgiving for My House, Herrick, 160
The Ropemaker of Farfield, Auerbach, • 162
Evening Hymn, Keble, 166
The Weaver's Song, Barry Cornwall, 167
The Horse-shoe Nail, From the German ofGrimm, 168
Chevy Chase, • Old Ball ad, 169
Use of Trifles, Babbage, 176
African Monkeys on the March, M. Parkyns , 177
The Snow-Storm, John Wilson, 179
New- Year's Eve, Tennyson, 182
The Cadi's Decisions, 184
Causes ofthe Tides, Dr. Clyde, 190
Treasures of the Deep, Lyell, 192
Life of Valentine Duval, 193
Life of Valentine Duval- Continued, 195
The Death of the Flowers, Bryant, 198
The Story of the Turnip, . From the German , 198
Philosophy of Lamp-Lighting, Abbott, 199
Philosophy of Lamp- Lighting- Continued, Do. • 202
The Adventures of Commodore Byron, Storiesfrom History, 205
Do. do. Continued, Do. • 208
Where there's a will there's a way, From the French, • 211
Humility, • 214
The Inchcape Bell, or Retribution, Southey, • 214
Sayings of Poor Richard, Franklin, 216
Contentment, Old Poet, 218
Daily Life, Henry Vaughan, 218
Now is the Time, 219
Adventures on a Desert Island, 219
Adventures on a Desert Island- Continued, 224
Icebergs and Boulders, A. Geikie, 228
Icebergs and Boulders-Continued, · Do. 231
The Power of God, Moore, · 233
Filial Love, Dr. Dodd , · 234
To My Mother, H. K. White, • 235
viii CONTENTS.
PAGE
Travellers' Wonders, Evenings at Home, • 236
Travellers' Wonders - Continued, Do. 238
The Gold Repeater, Auerbach, 240
To the Grasshopper, Cowley, 243
Humanity, Beauties of History, 244
Delight in God only, Quarles, 245
Knowledge, 247
The Ambitious Weed, or the Danger of 248
Self-Confidence, * Jane Taylor,
Washington and his Mother, 250
The Homes of England, Mrs. Hemans , 253
The Savage and the Civilized Man, Sir H. Davy, 254
A Fox Story, · Mrs. Child, 255
The Fox and the Mask, 257
Letter from Thomas Hood to a Little Girl at the Sea-side, 257
The Lying Servant, 259
A Forest on Fire, Audubon, 263
A Scottish Cottage, Professor Wilson, 266
The Pebble and the Acorn, Miss Gould, · 268
The Schoolboy's Pilgrimage, 270
The World Revealed by the Microscope, Mantell, • 272
To-Day, 273

SECTION FOURTH.
LESSONS ON MINES AND MINERALS, QUARRIES AND STONES, TIMBER,
GAS, CORN-PLANTS (THRESHING-MILL, FLOUR-MILL), BY MR. GALLETLY,
INDUSTRIAL MUSEUM, EDINBURGH.

On Mining and the Produce of Mines, 274

Mining for Coal, 274
Mining for Ironstone, Metals, &c. , 277
On Iron-Smelting and Cast-Iron, 279
Malleable or Wrought-Iron, 282
Steel, 282
Pottery, 283
Building-Stones and Quarrying, 286
Gas-Light, 288
Wood and its Applications, 290
The Corn-Plants - Threshing-Mills, Flour-Mills, Baking, 293
 SECTION FIRST.

ADVICE OF A FATHER TO HIS SON.

WHEN you see how much more grown people know than you,
you ought to be anxious to learn all you can from those who
teach you ; and as there are so many wise and good things
written in books, you ought to try to read early and carefully,
that you may learn something of what God has made you able to
know. There are libraries containing very many thousands of
volumes ; and all that is written in any of these is, an account
of some part of the world which God has made, or of the
thoughts which He has enabled men to have in their minds.
Some books are descriptions of the earth itself, with its rocks and
ground and waters, and of the air and clouds, and the stars and
moon and sun, which shine so beautifully in the sky. Some tell
you about the things that grow upon the ground ; the many mil-
lions of plants, from little mosses and threads of grass up to great
trees and forests. Some also contain accounts of living things ;
flies, worms, fishes, birds, and four-legged beasts. But the most
are about men, and their thoughts and doings . These are the
most important of all ; for men are the best and most wonderful
creatures of God in the world, being the only ones able to know
Him and love Him, and to try of their own accord to do His
will. A
2 ADVICE OF A FATHER TO HIS SON.

These books about men are also the most important to us, be-
cause we ourselves are human beings, and may learn from such
books what we ought to think and to do and to try to be. Some
of them describe what sort of people have lived in old times, and
in other countries. By reading them, we know what is the differ-
ence between ourselves in England now, and the famous nations
which lived in former days. Such were the Egyptians who built
the Pyramids, which are the greatest structures upon the face of
the earth ; and the Babylonians, who had a city with huge walls
built of bricks, having writing on them that no one in our time
has been able to make out. There were also the Jews, who were
the only ancient people that knew how wonderful and how good
God is ; and the Greeks, who were the wisest of all in thinking
about men's lives and hearts, and who knew best how to make
fine statues and buildings, and to write wise books. By books
also we may learn what sort of people the old Romans were,
whose chief city was Rome ; and how brave and skilful they
were in war, and how well they could govern and teach many
nations which they had conquered. It is from books, too, that
you must learn what kind of men were our ancestors in the nor-
thern part of Europe, who belonged to the tribes that did most
towards pulling down the power of the Romans ; and you will
see, in the same way, how Christianity was sent among them by
God, to make them wiser and more peaceful, and more noble in
their minds ; and how all the nations that now are in Europe,
and especially the Italians and the Germans and the French and
the English, came to be what they now are. It is well worth
knowing how the Germans found out the printing of books, and
what great changes this has made in the world. And everybody
in England ought to try to understand how the English came to
have their parliaments and laws, and to have fleets that sail over
all the seas of the world.
Besides learning all these things, and a great many more about
different times and countries, you may learn from books what is
the truth of God's will, and what are the best and wisest thoughts,
and the most beautiful words ; and how men are able to lead very
right lives, and to do a great deal to better the world. I have
 THE BETTER LAND. 3

spent a great part of my life in reading ; and I hope you will

come to like it as much as I do, and to learn in this way all that
I know.
But it is a still more serious matter that you should try to be
obedient and gentle, and to command your temper ; and to think
of other people's pleasure rather than your own, and of what you
ought to do, rather than what you like. If you try to be better
for all you read as well as wiser, you will find books a great help
towards goodness as well as knowledge, and above all other
books, the Bible, which tells us of the will of God, and the love
of Jesus Christ towards God and men. - JOHN STERLING.

THE BETTER LAND.

A FATHER and mother lived with their two children on a barren

and desolate island in the midst of the ocean, where they had
been driven by shipwreck. For food they had roots and herbs ;
a spring of water quenched their thirst, and their house was a
cave in the rock. Storms often raged on the island with tremen-
dous fury.
The children had no recollection of the way in which they
reached the island ; they had no knowledge of the extensive con-
tinent ; bread, milk, fruit, and the other luxuries produced there,
they had never seen.
One day, four Moors, in a little boat, landed on the island.
The parents felt great pleasure, and expected to be delivered from
their troubles ; but the boat was not large enough to carry them
all over together to the mainland, so the father resolved to brave
the dangers of the voyage first. The mother and children shed
tears as they saw him embark in the frail boat, and the four men
began to convey him away. But he said, " Weep not ! yonder is
a better land than this, and you will soon follow."
Presently after the little boat came back, and the mother em-
barked ; then the children wept still more bitterly. But she
4 THE BETTER LAND.

also said, " Do not weep ! we shall all meet again in the better
land."
The boat returned again, this time to take the two children
away. They were terrified at the thought of the dreadful sea
they had to cross. With fear and trembling they drew nigh the
land. But who can describe their joy when they saw their
parents on the shore, and placing their hands in their's, walked
beneath the shade of lofty palm trees, and regaled themselves
upon the flower-strewn grass with milk, honey, and sweet fruits.
" How foolish we were," said the children, " to be afraid ; we
ought to have rejoiced when the boat came to convey us to the
better land."

THE BETTER LAND .

“ I HEAR thee speak of the better land ;

Thou call'st its children a happy band ;
Mother ! oh where is that radiant shore ?-
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more ?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs ?"
“ Not there, not there, my child ! ”

" Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,

And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ?
Or ' midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?"
“ Not there, not there, my child ! ”

" Is it far away, in some region old,

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ?—
 A WONDERFUL MACHINE. 5

Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,

And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand ?——
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?"
" Not there, not there, my child !

" Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy !

Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,-
Sorrow and death may not enter there ;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child !"
MRS. HEMANS.

A WONDERFUL MACHINE.

I HAVE been in a cotton-mill where a quantity of raw cotton

was put into a machine, and, when it was finished, became a
piece of handsome, printed calico, ready to be made up into
beautiful dresses.
The machinery in the cotton-factory is wonderful ; but I know
of a machine more wonderful than any you will find there. It is
one that not only does more astonishing things, but it actually
made the mill and its contents.
I have read of a mill, into which was put a number of old
rags, and in a very short time they came out beautiful paper !
Wonderful, indeed, you say ; but there is a machine which does
greater things than this, and without which even that paper-mill
could not have been made !
I have been carried over roads of iron with astonishing speed
by the power of steam, and the same immense force has often
borne me swiftly over the waters, in spite of high wind or heavy
tide ; but the machine of machines is one which surpasses the
railroad, or the steamboat, in wonders. It is that machine by
6 A WONDERFUL MACHINE.

which iron is dug out of the earth, and transformed into smooth
rails on a level road, and which is the father of the steam-engine !
Have you ever been into a large city ? What numerous houses
of all descriptions do you find ! Dwellings, churches, markets,
court-houses, stores, workshops, -all were made by this machine
I speak of.
The great aqueducts which convey water from the distant river
or hill, and pour it into every house, were made by this machine.
I will attempt to describe some of its qualities.
It is a locomotive ; that is, it moves from place to place. It
differs from a railroad locomotive in this, that the latter must
move on iron rails in one direction only, while the former can
move in any direction. It moves by means of a very singular
contrivance of cords, hinges, and levers, by which the instruments
of motion are raised, advanced, and allowed to fall ; and thus the
machine is removed by itself from place to place, according to the
will of the owner.
The railroad locomotive must be stopped before it arrives at
the end of the rails, or it will be much injured itself, and do
serious damage to other things and persons. It cannot of itself
lay down other rails so as to go farther on, nor can it go on
without rails ; neither has it any apparatus by which it can sup-
port itself in the water. If it should fall into a river, it would
certainly sink. But the great machine of which I have spoken
has been so contrived, that if the owner understands its use, and
it falls into the water with him, it can be made to float on the
surface, and even to cross the stream, if it is not too large, and
reach dry land.
Nay, more ; if the owner wishes, the machine can manage so
as to cross rivers without wetting a particle, either by a con-
trivance arranged a little way up in the air, or by apparatus
constructed by itself, floating on the water.
This astonishing machine is provided with a sort of looking-
glass, by which the owner perceives what is going on about him,
and some things even at the distance of a vast number of miles.
It can also reveal what other people think ; and I know of some
cases where it actually shows what was going on thousands of
 A WONDERFUL MACHINE.

years ago ! Sometimes the appearances in this looking-glass are

very beautiful indeed, and give the owner much delight.
The machine has also a drum, on which, if the people beat in
a certain way, the owner understands and enjoys many things
which he cannot get within the range of this looking-glass. Many
persons experience a great deal of pleasure in having this drum
beaten. I do myself. There is an organ by which the owner
sometimes makes known his wants, and sometimes discloses what
has appeared in the looking-glass, or struck the drum. This
organ, if properly used by the owner of the machine, can give
much pleasure to other people ; and frequently it has made per-
sons weep as if their hearts would break, and others laugh with
excessive delight.
No one ever heard of a paper-machine that made anything but
paper ; or of a pin-machine that made anything but pins ; of a
printing-machine that did anything but print ; or of a sawing-
machine that did anything but saw. But this wonderful machine
can work at all trades. It can make paper or paper-machines,
pins or pin-machines, printing-machines, sawing-machines, or
machines of any other kind that can be thought of.
It can print and bind books, saw, sew, cook, make tables,
lamps, chains, clocks, mirrors, crockery, or anything else. Indeed,
if I were to make a catalogue of the various kinds of work which
this machine can do, there would be no room for any other matter
in this book, however small the type might be.
The way this machine is kept in operation is very curious.
The substances necessary for this purpose, though of various
kinds, are obtained by the machine itself, and put into a mill,
where they are torn to pieces and ground very finely. After this
they pass into a reservoir, where they remain till they are softened
and moistened. They then go into other parts, where, by some
means, after undergoing certain processes, they are thrust into
numerous pipes , through which they pass into all parts of the
machine ; and so long as these substances are kept in motion,
and renewed from time to time, so long does the machine have
the power of action.
This machine must be kept still for some hours every day, or
8 ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY.

it will very soon wear out. It sometimes gets out of order on

account of the improper substances put into it, and sometimes on
account of violence done to it. Instances are known, however,
where it has lasted more than a hundred years before it ceased to
be of use, and yet, on the other hand, it has frequently been known
to stop its action in a few hours.

I have a machine like that which I have imperfectly described,

and so have you. It is the BODY. Do you take care of it properly ?
Do you use it aright ? Are you sufficiently thankful to the great
Maker who gave you such a marvellous gift ? The great Maker is
God. Do you love Him for His goodness ? Do you thank Him
for His favours ?
The best thanks you can give Him are obedience, mercy, purity,
peace, honesty, gentleness, and goodness. Then determine that
you will henceforth love and serve Him as your Father and
Friend.-DEMAREST .

ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY.

DAFFYDOWNDILLY was so called because in his nature he re-

sembled a flower, and loved to do only what was beautiful and
agreeable, and took no delight in labour of any kind. But, while
Daffydowndilly was yet a little boy, he was sent away from home,
and put under the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who went by
the name of Mr. Toil. Those who knew him best affirmed that
this Mr. Toil was a very worthy character, and that he had done
more good, both to children and grown people, than anybody else
in the world. He had certainly, however, a severe and ugly
countenance ; his voice was harsh ; and all his ways and customs
were disagreeable to our friend Daffydowndilly. The whole day
long this terrible old schoolmaster stalked about among his scho-
lars with a certain awful cane in his hand ; and unless a lad chose
 ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY. 9

to attend constantly and quietly to his book, he had no chance of

enjoying a single quiet moment.
" This will never do for me," thought Daffydowndilly ; " I'll
run away, and try to find my way home to my dear mother."
So the very next morning off he started, with only some bread
and cheese for his breakfast, and very little pocket-money to pay
his expenses. He had gone but a short distance when he over-
took a man of grave and sedate appearance, trudging at a moderate
pace along the road.
" Good morning, my fine lad !" said the stranger ; and his voice
seemed hard and severe, but yet had a sort of kindness in it ;
" whence do you come so early, and whither are you going ? "
Littly Daffydowndilly was a boy of very ingenuous disposition,
and had never been known to tell a lie all his life. Nor did he
tell one now, but confessed that he had run away from school
on account of his great dislike to Mr. Toil.
66' Oh, very well, my little
friend ! " answered the stranger,
"then we will go together ; for I likewise have had a good deal
to do with Mr. Toil, and should be glad to find some place where
he was never heard of." So the two walked on very sociably side
by side.
By and by their road led them past a field where some hay-
makers were at work. Daffydowndilly could not help thinking
how much pleasanter it must be to make hay in the sunshine,
under the blue sky, than to learn lessons all day long, shut up in
a dismal schoolroom, and continually scolded by Mr. Toil. But in
the midst of these thoughts, while he was stopping to peep over
the stone wall, he started back and caught hold of his companion's
hand.
" Quick, quick ! " cried he ; "let us run away, or he will catch
us ! "
"Who will catch us ? " asked the stranger.
"Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster," answered Daffydowndilly ;
" don't you see him among the haymakers ? ”
And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, who seemed to
be the owner of the field. He was busily at work in his shirt
sleeves. The drops of sweat stood upon his brow ; and he kept
10 ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY.

constantly crying out to his work-people to make hay while the

sun shone. Strange to say, the features of the old farmer were
precisely the same as those of Mr. Toil, who at that very moment
must have been just entering the schoolroom.
“ Don't be afraid, " said the stranger, " this is not Mr. Toil, the
schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer. He
won't trouble you, unless you become a labourer on his farm ."
Little Daffydowndilly believed what his companion said, but was
glad, nevertheless, when they were out of sight of the old farmer,
who bore such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. Soon the two
travellers came to a spot where some carpenters were erecting a
house. Daffydowndilly begged his companion to stop a while
here, for it was a pretty sight to see how neatly the carpenters did
their work with their saws, and planes, and hammers, and he was
beginning to think he too should like to use the saw, and the
plane, and the hammer, and be a carpenter himself. But sud-
denly he caught sight of something that made him lay hold of his
friend's hand all in a fright.
" Make haste ! quick, quick ! " cried he ; " there's old Mr. Toil
again."
The stranger cast his eyes where Daffydowndilly pointed his
finger ; and he saw an elderly man, who seemed to be overseeing
the carpenters, as he went to and fro about the unfinished house,
marking out the work to be done, and exhorting the men to be
diligent ; and wherever he turned his hard and wrinkled visage,
they sawed, and hammered, and planed, as if for dear life.
" Oh no ! this is not Toil, the schoolmaster," said the stranger,
"it is another brother of his, who follows the trade of car-
penter."
" I am very glad to hear it," quoth Daffydowndilly ; " but, if
you please, sir, I should like to get out of his way as soon as
possible. "
They had not gone much farther when they met a company of
soldiers, gaily dressed, with feathers in their caps, and glittering
muskets on their shoulders. In front marched the drummers and
fifers, making such merry music that little Daffydowndilly would
gladly have followed them to the end of the world. If he were
 ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY. 11

only a soldier, he said to himself, old Mr. Toil would never ven-
ture to look him in the face.
" Quick step forward ! march ! " shouted a gruff voice.
Little Daffydowndilly started in great dismay ; for this voice
sounded precisely the same as that which he had heard every day
in Mr. Toil's schoolroom, out of Mr. Toil's own mouth. And,
turning his eyes to the captain of the company, what should he
see but the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, in an officer's dress
to be sure, but looking as ugly and disagreeable as ever.
"This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, in a
trembling voice. " Let us away, for fear he should make us enlist
in his company."
" You are mistaken again, my little friend," replied the
stranger very composedly. " This is only a brother of Mr. Toil's,
who has served in the army all his life. You and I need not be
afraid of him."
"Well, well," said Little Daffydowndilly, " but, if you please,
sir, I don't want to see the soldiers any more."
So the child and the stranger resumed their journey ; and, after
awhile, they came to a house by the roadside, where a number
of young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with smiles on their faces,
were dancing to the sound of a fiddle.
"Oh, let us stop here," cried Daffydowndilly ; " Mr. Toil will
never dare to show his face where there is a fiddler, and where
""
people are dancing and making merry.'
But the words had scarcely died away on the little boy's tongue,
when, happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should he
behold again but the likeness of Mr. Toil, armed with a fiddle-bow
this time, and flourishing it with as much ease and dexterity, as if
he had been a fiddler all his life.
" Oh, dear me ! " whispered he, turning pale; " it seems as if
there were nobody but Mr. Toil in the world."
" This is not your old schoolmaster," observed the stranger,
"but another brother of his, who has learned to be a fiddler. He
is ashamed of his family, and generally calls himself Master
Pleasure ; but his real name is Toil, and those who know him
best, think him still more disagreeable than his brothers."
12 ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY.

" Pray, let us go on," said Daffydowndilly.

Well, thus the two went wandering along the highway, and in
shady lanes, and through pleasant villages, and whithersoever they
went, behold ! there was the image of old Mr. Toil. If they
entered a house, he sat in the parlour ; if they peeped into the
kitchen, he was there ! He made himself at home in every cottage,
and stole, under one disguise or another, into the most splendid
mansions. Everywhere they stumbled on some of the old school-
master's innumerable brethren.
At length Little Daffydowndilly found himself completely worn
out with running away from Mr. Toil. " Take me back ! take me
back ! " cried the poor fellow, bursting into tears. " If there is
nothing but Toil all the world over, I may just as well go back to
the schoolhouse."
" Yonder it is, there is the schoolhouse ! " said the stranger ;
for though he and little Daffydowndilly had taken a great many
steps, they had travelled in a circle instead of a straight line.
"Come, we will go back to the school together."
There was something in his companion's voice that Daffydown-
dilly now remembered ; and it is strange that he had not remem-
bered it sooner. Looking up into his face, behold ! there again
was the likeness of old Mr. Toil, so that the poor child had been in
company with Toil all day, even while he was doing his best to
run away from him.
Little Daffydowndilly, however, had learned a good lesson, and
from that time forward was diligent at his task, because he now
knew that diligence is not a whit more toilsome than sport or
idleness. And when he became better acquainted with Mr. Toil,
he began to think that his ways were not so disagreeable, and that
the old schoolmaster's smile of approbation made his face almost
as pleasant as even that of Daffydowndilly's mother.- Abridged
from N. Hawthorne.
 THE BATTLE OF THE LEAGUE. 13

THE BATTLE OF THE LEAGUE.

THE King is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest,

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.
He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye :
He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing,
Down all our line a deafening shout, " God save our lord the
King !"
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may,
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day, the helmet of Navarre. "

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin !
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
"Now by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the Golden Lilies, -upon them with the lance !"
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ;
And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned

his rein.
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain.
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale,
The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van,
" Remember St. Bartholomew !" was pass'd from man to man :
But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe ;
Down, down with every foreigner ! but let your brethren go."
14 THE BOOKS OF MY BOYHOOD.

Oh, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,

As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; ho ! matrons of Lucerne ;

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.
Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, the Mexican pistols,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's
souls.
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ;
Ho burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ;
For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised the
slave,
And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave.
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre !—
MACAULAY.

THE BOOKS OF MY BOYHOOD.

I HAD been sent, previous to my father's death, to a dame's

school, where I was taught to pronounce my letters to such effect,
in the old Scottish mode, that still, when I attempt spelling a
word aloud, which is not often-for I find the process a perilous
one--the aa's and ee's, and uhs and vaus, return upon me, and I
have to translate them, with no little hesitation as I go along, into
the more modish sounds. A knowledge of the letters themselves
I had already acquired, by studying the sign-posts of the place,
rare works of art, that excited my utmost admiration, with jugs,
and glasses, and bottles, and ships, and loaves of bread upon
them—all of which could, as the artists had intended, be actually
recognised. During my sixth year I spelt my way, under the
dame, through the Shorter Catechism, the Proverbs, and the New
Testament, and then entered upon her highest form, as a member
of the Bible class ; but all the while the process of acquiring
 THE BOOKS OF MY BOYHOOD. 15

learning had been a dark one, which I slowly mastered, in humble

confidence in the awful wisdom of the schoolmistress, not knowing
whither it tended, when at once, my mind awoke to the meaning
of that most delightful of all narratives, the story of Joseph.
Was there ever such a discovery made before ! I actually found
out for myself, that the art of reading is the art of finding stories
in books, and from that moment reading became one of the most
delightful of my amusements. I began by getting into a corner
at the dismissal of the school, and there conning over to myself
the new-found story of Joseph ; nor did one perusal serve ; the
other Scripture stories followed, in especial, the story of Samson
and the Philistines, of David and Goliath, of the prophets Elijah
and Elisha, and after these came the New Testament stories and
parables. Assisted by my uncles, I began to collect a library in
a box of birch bark about nine inches square, which I found quite
large enough to contain a great many immortal works- Jack the
Giant-Killer, and Jack and the Bean-Stalk, and the Yellow Dwarf,
and Blue Beard, and Sinbad the Sailor, and Beauty and the
Beast, and Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp, with several others
of resembling character. Those intolerable nuisances, the useful
knowledge books, had not yet arisen, like tenebrious stars on the
educational horizon, to darken the world, and shed their blighting
influence on the opening intellect of the " youthhood ; " and so,
from my rudimental books, books that made themselves truly such
by their thorough assimilation with the rudimental mind, I
passed on, without being conscious of break or line of division, to
books on which the learned are content to write commentaries
and dissertations, but which I found to be quite as nice children's
books as any of the others. Old Homer wrote admirably for
little folks, especially in the Odyssey, a copy of which- in the only
true translation extant, for, judging from its surpassing interest,
and the wrath of critics, such I hold that of Pope to be-I
found in the house of a neighbour. Next came the Iliad ; not,
however, in a complete copy, but represented by four of the six
volumes of Bernard Lintol. With what power, and at how early
an age, true genius impresses ! I saw, even at this immature
period, that no writer could cast a javelin with half the force of
16 THE BOOKS OF MY BOYHOOD .

Homer. The missiles went whizzing athwart his pages, and I

could see the momentary gleam of the steel, ere it buried itself
deep in brass and bull hide. I next succeeded in discovering for
myself a child's book, of not less interest than even the Iliad,
which might, I was told, be read on Sabbaths, in a magnificent
old edition of the " Pilgrim's Progress," printed on coarse whity-
brown paper, and charged with numerous woodcuts, each of which
occupied an entire page, that, on principles of economy, bore
letterpress on the other side. And such delightful prints , as these
were ! It must have been some such volume that sat for its
portrait to Wordsworth, and which he so exquisitely describes as :

"Profuse in garniture of wooden cuts,

Strange and uncouth ; dire faces ; figures dire,
Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbow'd, and lean-ankled too,
With long and ghastly shanks ; forms which, once seen,
Could never be forgotten."

In process of time I had devoured, besides these genial works,

Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver's Travels, Ambrose on Angels, the
Judgment Chapter in Howie's Scotch Worthies, Byron's Narrative,
and the Adventures of Philip Quarll, with a good many other
adventures and voyages, real and fictitious, part of a very mis-
cellaneous collection of books made by my father. It was a
melancholy little library to which I had fallen heir. Most of the
missing volumes had been with the master aboard the vessel when
he perished. Of an early edition of Cook's Voyages, all the
volumes were now absent save the first ; and a very tantalizing
romance, in four volumes, Mrs. Ratcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho,
was represented by only the earlier two. Of the works of fact
and incident which it contained, those of the voyagers were my
especial favourites. I perused with avidity the voyages of Anson,
Drake, Raleigh, Dampier, and Captain Woods Rogers ; and my
mind became so filled with conceptions of what was to be seen
and done in foreign parts, that I wished myself big enough to be
a sailor, that I might go and see coral islands and burning
mountians, and hunt wild beasts and fight battles.
HUGH MILLER.
 THE CRITIC. 17

THE CRITIC.

ONCE on a time the nightingale, whose singing

Had with her praises set the forest ringing,
Consented at a concert to appear.
Of course, her friends all flocked to hear,
And with them many a critic, wide awake
To pick a flaw, or carp at a mistake.
She sang as only nightingales can sing ;
And when she'd ended,
There was a general cry of " Bravo ! splendid !”
While she, poor thing,
Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated,
Quite terrified to be so warmly greeted.
The turkeys gobbled their delight ; the geese,
Who had been known to hiss at many a trial,
Gave this one no denial :
It seemed as if the applause would never cease.

But ' mong the critics on the ground,

An ass was present, pompous and profound,
Who said, " My friends, I'll not dispute the honour
That you would do our little prima donna ;
Although her upper notes are very shrill,
And she defies all method in her trill,
She has some talent, and, upon the whole,
With study, may some cleverness attain.
Then, her friends tell me, she's a virtuous soul ;
But-but-"
" But"-growled the lion, "by my mane,
I never knew an ass, who did not strain
To qualify a good thing with a but!"
" Nay," said the goose, approaching with a strut,
"Don't interrupt him, sir ; pray let it pass ;
The ass is honest, if he is an ass ! "
B
18 ACCOUNT OF A WONDERFUL SKY-LARK.

" I was about," said Long Ear, “ to remark,

That there is something lacking in her whistle ;
Something magnetic,
To waken chords and feelings sympathetic ,
And kindle in the breast a spark
Like-like, for instance, a good juicy thistle. "

The assembly tittered, but the fox, with gravity,

Said, at the lion winking,
"Our learned friend, with his accustomed suavity,
Has given his opinion without shrinking ;
But, to do justice to the nightingale,
He should inform us, as no doubt he will,
What sort of music ' tis, that does not fail
His sensibilities to rouse and thrill."

"Why," said the critic, with a look potential,

And pricking up his ears, delighted much
-
At Reynard's tone and manner deferential, —
"Why, sir, there's nothing can so deeply touch
My feelings, and so carry me away
As a fine, mellow, ear-inspiring bray."

" I thought so," said the fox, without a pause ;

" As far as you're concerned, your judgment's true ;
You do not like the nightingale, because
The nightingale is not an ass like you !"
Translated by Epes Sargent.

ACCOUNT OF A WONDERFUL SKY-LARK.

WE are much opposed to the practice of depriving poor little

animals of their natural liberty, and incarcerating them in cages
and suchlike portable prisons, for the mere selfish gratification of
vacant minds ; and we cannot realize, without horror, Sterne's
 ACCOUNT OF A WONDERFUL SKY-LARK. 19

picture of the captive, shut up in his solitary dungeon, counting

the weary moments as they steal sluggishly along, and, at the
close of an almost interminable day, adding it to the number of
the past on his wooden calendar.
These remarks, however, are not called forth by anything en-
dured by our remarkable sky-lark, for the little creature seemed
almost as happy as if he had enjoyed his natural liberty. He was
brought from the nest before he was old enough to know what
liberty was ; and yet he was sufficiently old no longer to require
the fostering care of the parent bird. A few hours more and he
would have stretched far away into the blue expanse of heaven,
carolling that beautiful hymn of glory to the Creator, which thrills
through the heart, while it dies away on the ear, as the soaring
bird disappears in the distance.
But if this was not Tommy's lot, he at least fell into kind
hands ; and he soon began to repay the tender and judicious care
which was shown him, by a docility and tameness truly astonish-
ing. He became familiarized to the presence of many people by
his cage being placed every day, near the morning work-table of
the young ladies of the family, and to that of strangers, by the
daily call of visitors. At length the eldest of the young ladies
ventured one day to let him out of his place of confinement ; and
it would appear as if the little creature was alive to the feeling
of gratitude ; for he seemed to recognise her in a peculiar way as
his friend, and ever after treated her as if he held her in the
deepest veneration and regard. Indeed, though evidently attached
to every member of the family, which he showed by a thousand
little endearing ways, he yet exhibited towards each a different
mode of behaviour.
When the family were assembled at breakfast, he would fly
upon the table, and walk round, picking up small pieces of egg,
or crumbs of bread, and sometimes he would hop up on a loaf,
and actually allow a slice to be cut under his feet before he would
change his position. In the course of the morning, if the ladies
sat at their work, Tommy was again permitted to leave his domi-
cile ; and on these occasions he always paid a visit to their work-
table, where he delighted to play sundry droll and mischievous
20 ACCOUNT OF A WONDERFUL SKY-LARK.

tricks. It was curious to see him watching the operation of

threading a needle. When the thread was put ever so little into
the eye, he would seize the thread and dexterously pull it through.
Sometimes, when the young lady had fastened her thread to her
work, and continued sewing, he would make a sudden plunge at
it, and pull it out of the needle again, to her great pretended
vexation, while he would instantly fly out of reach, and chuckle
over the mischief. Sometimes he would hop on her open work-
box, and seizing the end of a cotton thread, would fly with it to
the other side of the apartment, unwinding yards upon yards from
the revolving spool. The second of the young ladies to whom we
allude was remarkable for the elegance and neatness with which
her hair was always braided. This did not escape Tommy's ob-
servation, and he frequently made an attack upon it, by taking the
end of each ringlet in his bill, and, fluttering before her face, would
leave it in the most admired disorder. He would then . again
chuckle as we have heard a magpie do after any act of mischief.
With the youngest of the three ladies his practice was, if pos-
sible, to perch on the top of her head, and sing his beautiful song
till the music would pierce through her ears, and she was obliged
to shake him off ; but he never made an attack upon her hair,
though it was always becomingly arranged. From the opportu-
nity we had of watching the development of the little bird's intel-
lect, we are quite convinced he understood everything that was
said to him. There was a gentleman, an intimate friend of the
family, who, in his repeated visits, had made himself familiar
with Tommy. Whenever he made a morning call, he would say,
" Ha ! Tommy ! good-morning to you : are you ready for a game
at shuttlecock ?" The little creature would instantly fly to his
extended hand, and suffer itself to be thrown into the air like that
toy, and fall again into his hand ; and so the game would con-
tinue for several minutes, until at length Tommy would fly to the
ceiling, and with his wings almost touching it, would dart with
almost inconceivable rapidity from end to end of the apartment,
singing, at the utmost pitch of his voice, that splendid melody
which, in his natural state, the lark pours forth as he ascends
above the clouds.
 ACCOUNT OF A WONDERFUL SKY-LARK. 21

Another game which Tommy perfectly understood was " hide-

and-go-seek ;" and for this he preferred, as his companion, the
second of the three sisters. She would say, " Now, Tommy, I'm
going to hide," and then, drawing the room door open, she would
place herself behind it, and cry, " Whoop." Tommy would im-
mediately commence strutting up and down the floor, and stretch-
ing out his neck, would peer under this, and behind that, as if he
were seeking for her. At length, coming opposite to where she
stood , he would give a loud scream, and fly up to attack her hair.
When this was over, and he had again become quiet, she would
say, " Now, Tommy, it is your time to hide." Immediately the
bird would stand still under a table, and she would commence a
diligent search. "Where is Tommy ? Did any one see Tommy ?"
In the meantime he would never give, by sound or movement, the
least indication that he was in the room ; but the moment she
thought proper to find him he would again scream, and fly up
to her.
Were we to recount only the twentieth part of the many enter-
taining little tricks and gambols he used to exhibit, we should
trespass too much on the space allotted to our biography, and,
perhaps, too, on the patience of our readers. Perching sometimes
on the head of the lady who first gave him his liberty, he would
walk down her face as she held it up, with outspread wings, and
give her a kiss. At other times he would walk round and round
her, with his tail in the shape of a fan, and his wings trailing on
the ground, just like a turkey cock in miniature, warbling all the
time a beautiful, gentle melody in a subdued tone, and quite dif-
ferent from his song of the skies.
The mistress of the house, a little advanced in life, wore spec-
tacles, which he would frequently pull off in his flights, and
immediately let fall, as they were too heavy for him to carry ;
and after every feat of this kind he would chuckle at his success.
When the dinner things were removed, and the dessert set on the
table, in the long days of summer, it was his practice to come
upon the table, and going round it, to do something amusing
to each person. He would bite the fingers of the master of the
house, and give an exulting chuckle when he pretended to be hurt.
22 ACCOUNT OF A WONDERFUL SKY-LARK.

At another gentleman's knuckles he would strike like a game cock,

and seem to be in a wonderful passion. Then he would take a
sudden flight at a lady's cap, and catching the end of a ribbon,
would gracefully flutter before her face, carolling a snatch of a
song ; and again he would visit his fair friend with the beautiful
hair, and, plucking out her combs, would speedily demolish her
glossy curls.
There remains, however, one trait of sagacity which those who
recollect the entertaining little creature would scarcely pardon us
if we omitted. The youngest of the three ladies was accustomed
each night, before she retired, to take her candle over to Tommy's
cage to bid him " good-night. " He would instantly bring out
his head from under his wing, and standing up, sing one of the
most beautiful little songs you could conceive it possible for a little
throat like his to warble-a song, too, that he never gave forth
on any other occasion. And if she attempted to go out of the
room without thus coming in to bid him " good-night," although
his head was under his wing, and you thought him asleep, he
would instantly scream out to put her in mind. To this may be
added the singular fact, that he would not sing the same song for
any one else who might take a candle to his cage, though he would
respond, by a chirp, to their " good-night."
What the duration of a lark's age usually is, we cannot say.
It is probable that in the natural state they do not live as long
as when well taken care of in a tame condition. The frosts of
winter, want of food, and other circumstances, must cut off large
numbers of the older and more weakly birds. However this may
be, Tommy himself lived a happy life for thirteen years. As he
grew old a curious complaint affected him. He cast the upper
chap of his bill every season for a few years before he died . At
those periods more than usual care was necessary ; he required to
be fed with soft food, and he seemed in some degree to languish
while the process was going on ; but when the new portion of the
bill had grown, and the old part was thrown off, he soon recovered
his spirits, and became as entertaining as ever.
But, alas ! larks must die as well as men. At length Tommy
fell sick ; and now, indeed, he lost all his energy and power of
 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 23

entertaining. His feathers ruffled, his head drooped, his wings

hung, and his eyes grew dim. Every one suffered with poor
Tommy, and there were as many messages to inquire how he did,
as if it were indeed some dear friend. A humane and skilful
surgeon, who was intimate with the family, and who regarded
Tommy with unbounded admiration , did not disdain to visit him
several times a day, and contrived to administer medicine in
homœopathic doses. But all would not do ; the sympathy of
attached friends and the skill of human science were alike un-
availing. Tommy was wrapped in cotton and placed near the
genial warmth of a moderate fire ; yet still he languished, and
took but little notice of those around him. His young friend, for
whom he used to sing his sweet " good-night," approached him
with her candle ; he lifted his little head, and as the dying swan
is said to sing, he attempted to warble his last " good-night."
She burst into tears and retired. In the morning Tommy was
dead !

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

IT was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea ;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

Down came the storm, and smote amain,

The vessel in its strength :
She shudder'd and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.
24 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

"Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so,
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat

Against the stinging blast ;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

" O father ! I hear the church bells ring,

O say, what may it be ?"
""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast !"
And he steered for the open sea.

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns,

O say, what may it be ?"
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea !"

" O father ! I see a gleaming light,

O say, what may it be ?"
But the father answered never a word-
A frozen corpse was he.

Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed

That savéd she might be ;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave
On the lake of Galilee.

And fast, through the midnight dark and drear,

Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

To the rocks and breakers right ahead

She drifted, a dreary wreck,
 SIGHT- THE EYE. 25

And a whooping billow swept the crew

Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves

Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks they gored her side,
Like the horns of an angry bull.

At daybreak on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes ;
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow !
Christ save us from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe !
LONGFELLOW.

THE SENSES :-SIGHT-THE EYE.

WE see objects by means of the light which is reflected from

them ; for every object which receives light from the sun, or any
luminous body, must give back or reflect some portion of that
light, before it can become visible. Some objects reflect more light
than others, and these are what we term bright objects. You will
see a piece of polished metal, when it is so dark that you cannot
see a piece of black cloth, and this for the reason that the metal
throws back upon the eye the few faint rays of light that it re-
ceives, while the black cloth absorbs all that falls upon it. Now,
26 SIGHT- THE EYE.

just as the ear is an instrument adapted for being affected by the

vibrations diffused from bodies through the air, so the eye is an
instrument intended to be affected by the rays of light which ob-
jects either give out from themselves, or give back after they have
received them from luminous bodies.
If the apparatus of vision is less intricate than that of hearing,
it is no less curious and interesting. First of all, we observe that
the eye lies sheltered in a hollow formed by the projection of the
cheek below, and the overhanging eyebrow above ; and if we wish
to bestow upon the tender organ all the protection that the hairy
eaves of the eyebrows can afford, we have the power of drawing
them close down over the eyelids, as we are sure to do if dust is
blown in our faces. But the protection furnished by the penthouse
of the eyebrow would clearly be very insufficient, and accordingly
we next have the pair of moveable shutters called the eyelids,
which we can completely close at pleasure, and which supply a
pretty effectual safeguard even when not quite closed, because they
are furnished with fringes of hair, crossing like lattice-bars the
little chink that we leave open between the eyelids, when we wish
to see and at the same time expose the eye as little as possible.
The eyeball itself is correctly termed a ball, as it is rounded in
form, and thus rolls easily and smoothly in its socket upwards and
downwards, or from side to side, as we continually require it to
do. The front portion of the eyeball, however, is not quite round.
Looking at the profile or side-face of a person, you may see a very
decided prominence rising from the white of the eye, not unlike
the convex glass of an old-fashioned watch. Unlike the white of
the eye, this prominence, which is called the cornea, is quite clear
and transparent. It is the real window of the eye, and its pur-
pose is precisely that of the window of a house, to admit light to
the chamber within. The soft inner coat of the eyelids, kept
moist from the same fountains which supply the tears, passes per-
petually up and down over this window in winking, and thus pre-
serves it always clean and clear. Behind the pellucid and colour-
less cornea, separated from it by a watery humour, is stretched a
flat, circular partition, forming the coloured part of the eye, or
iris. The word iris means rainbow. That round, black spot in the
 SIGHT- THE EYE. 27

middle of the eye, which we call the pupil, is simply an opening

in the coloured iris ; and the nature of the iris is such, that it
contracts when a bright light falls upon the eye, and expands as
the light is withdrawn, thus making the pupil or central opening
at one time large, at another time small. A very brilliant light
gives us pain, and we also need a smaller quantity of it to see by ;
the iris, therefore, with its contractions and expansions, serves as
a convenient curtain to the window before it, allowing the cornea
only to let in as much or as little light as we require. The use
of the iris is familiar to us in the eyes of the cat. When a cat
sits basking in the sun, the pupil is contracted to a very narrow
slit ; the eye is almost all iris, and the light which the animal
does not need is effectually curtained out. But if you mark the
same cat in the dusk, just before candles are lit, when she needs
all the light she can possibly get, you will find her eyes, on the
contrary, almost all pupil, with a ring of iris so narrow as to be
scarcely visible. For the cat was made to be independent of
candles, and with the widely expanding pupils of her eyes she
collects light, when to the human eye all is dark.
The rays of light, on passing through the pupil, traverse a por-
tion of the same watery humour which was mentioned as lying
before the iris, and then strike upon a transparent body, shaped
like a lens, or magnifying glass, and called, indeed, the crystalline
lens. This little crystalline lens is set, much as a clear round
stone is set in a ring, in a substance which has the appearance of
a transparent, elastic jelly, and which fills the rest of the interior
of the eyeball, that is, three-fourths of the entire space. The rays
of light, transmitted through the lens, and crossing this substance,
which is termed the vitreous, or glassy humour, fall upon the back
of the eye, or retina, and here they find the innumerable branches
of a particular nerve spread out to receive them. The nerve is
that of sight, and is usually called the optic nerve.
What is the purpose of all this apparatus through which the
light must pass, before it reaches the retina, the network of the
optic nerve ?
Every visible point in an object reflects, as was said at the be-
ginning of this lesson, rays of light. Now the final result of the
28 A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT.

entire arrangement that has been described- of the cornea, the

watery humour, the iris with its pupil, the crystalline lens, and
the vitreous humour-is to collect these rays into a single corre-
sponding point upon the retina. Each point, therefore, of an
object that throws its rays upon the eye, forms its own image in
light upon the retina, and the combination of all the points
makes up the complete image of the object. A little picture of
everything that we see, is painted upon the back of the eye, and,
curiously enough, it is painted upside down, though, by some un-
explained means, we see it in its natural position. We are quite
unconscious of the picture on our own retina, but a similar picture
can be brought under direct observation elsewhere. If the outer
coats be removed, as skilful dissectors can remove them, from the
back part of the eye of an ox, or other large quadruped, so that
only the retina is left, and if the eye so prepared be placed in an
aperture in a window-shutter, in a darkened room, with the cornea
on the outside, so that the rays of light proceeding from objects on
the outside may fall upon it, then all the illuminated objects of
the external scene will be beautifully depicted in an inverted posi-
tion on the retina.

A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT.

A GENTLEMAN, just returned from a journey to London, was

surrounded by his children, who were eager, after the first saluta-
tions were over, to hear the news ; and still more eager to see the
contents of a small portmanteau, which were, one by one, care-
fully unfolded and displayed to view.
After distributing among them a few small presents, the father
took his seat again, saying that he had brought from town, for
his own use, something far more curious and valuable than any of
the little gifts which they had received. It was, he said, too
good to present to any of them ; but he would, if they pleased,
 A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT. 29

first give them a brief description of it, and then, perhaps, they
might be allowed to inspect it.
The children were, accordingly, all attention, while the father
thus proceeded : - " This small instrument displays the most per-
fect ingenuity of construction, and exquisite nicety and beauty of
workmanship ; from its extreme delicacy, it is so liable to injury,
that a sort of light curtain, adorned with a beautiful fringe, is
always provided, and so placed as to fall, in a moment, on the
approach of the slightest danger.
" Its external appearance is always more or less beautiful ; yet in
this respect there is a great diversity in the different sorts. The
internal contrivance is the same in all of them, and is so extremely
curious, and its powers so truly astonishing, that no one who con-
siders it can suppress his surprise and admiration.
66
‘ By a slight and momentary movement, which is easily effected
by the person to whom it belongs, you can ascertain with con-
siderable accuracy the size, colour, shape, weight, and value of
any article whatever.
" A person possessed of one, is thus saved from the necessity of
asking a thousand questions, and trying a variety of troublesome
experiments, which would otherwise be necessary ; and so slow
and laborious a process would, after all, not succeed half so well
as a single application of this admirable instrument. "
George. Ifthey are such very useful things, I wonder that every-
body, that can at all afford it, does not haye one.
Father. They are not so uncommon as you may suppose ; I
myself happen to know several individuals who are possessed of
one or two of them.
Charles. How large is it, father ? Could I hold it in my
hand?
Father. You might ; but I should be very sorry to trust mine
with you !
George. You will be obliged to take very great care of it then ?
Father. Indeed I must. I intend every night to enclose it
within the small screen I mentioned ; and it should, besides, occa-
sionally be washed in a certain colourless fluid kept for the pur-
pose ; but this is so delicate an operation, that persons, I find,
30 A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT.

are generally reluctant to perform it. But, notwithstanding the

tenderness of this instrument, you will be surprised to hear that
it may be darted to a great distance, without the least injury,
and without any danger of losing it.
Charles. Indeed ! and how high can you dart it ?
Father. I should be afraid of telling you to what a distance it
will reach, lest you should think that I am jesting with you.
George. Higher than this house, I suppose ?
Father. Much higher.
Charles. Then how do you get it again?
Father. It is easily cast down by a gentle movement, that does
it no injury.
George. But who can do this ?
Father. The person whose business it is to take care of it.
Charles. Well, I cannot understand you at all ; but do tell us,
father, what it is chiefly used for.
Father. Its uses are so various that I know not which to
specify. It has been found very serviceable in deciphering old
manuscripts ; and, indeed, it has its use in modern prints. It
will assist us greatly in acquiring all kinds of knowledge ; and
without it, some of the most sublime parts of creation would have
been matters of mere conjecture. It must be confessed, however,
that much depends on a proper application of it, for it is possessed
by many persons who appear to have no adequate sense of its
value ; and who employ it only for the most low and common
purposes, without even thinking, apparently, of the noble uses for
which it is designed, or of the exquisite gratifications which it is
capable of affording. It is, indeed, in order to excite in your
minds some higher sense of its value than you might otherwise
entertain, that I am giving you this previous description.
George. Well, then, tell us something more about it.
Father. It is of a very penetrating quality ; and can often dis-
cover secrets which could be detected by no other means. It
must be owned, however, that it is equally prone to reveal them.
Charles. What ! can it speak, then ?
Father. It is sometimes said to do so, especially when it hap-
pens to meet with one of its own species.
 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING. 31

George. Of what colour is it ?

Father. They vary considerably in this respect.
George. Of what colour is yours ?
Father. I believe, of a darkish colour, but, to confess the truth,
I never saw it in my life.
Both. Never saw it in your life!
Father. No, nor do I wish to see it ; but I have seen a repre-
sentation of it, which is so exact that my curiosity is quite satis-
fied.
George. But why don't you look at the thing itself?
Father. I should be in danger of losing it if I did.
Charles. Then you could buy another.
Father. Nay, I believe that I could not prevail on anybody to
part with such a thing.
George. Then how did you get this one ?
Father. I am so fortunate as to be possessed of more than one ;
but how I got them, I really cannot recollect.
Charles. Not recollect ! why, you said that you brought them
from London to-night.
Father. So I did ; I should be sorry if I had left them behind
me.
Charles. Tell, father, do tell us the name of this curious instru-
ment.
Father. It is called - an EYE.

EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING.

“ WELL, Robert, where have you been walking this afternoon ? "
said Mr. Andrews to one of his pupils at the close of a holiday.
R. I have been, sir, to Broom-heath, and so round by the wind-
mill upon Camp-mount, and home through the meadows by the
river side.
Mr. A. Well, that's a pleasant round.
R. I thought it very dull, sir ; I scarcely met with a single
person. I had rather by half have gone along the turnpike road.
32 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING.

Mr. A. Why, if seeing men and horses is your object, you would,
indeed, be better entertained on the high road. But did you see
William ?
R. We set out together, but he lagged behind in the lane, so I
walked on and left him.
Mr. A. That was a pity. He would have been company for
you.
R. Oh, he is so tedious, always stopping to look at this thing
and that ! I had rather walk alone. I daresay he is not home yet.
Mr. A. Here he comes. Well, William, where have you been ?
W. Oh, sir, the pleasantest walk ! I went all over Broom-heath,
and so up to the mill at the top of the hill, and then down among
the green meadows by the side of the river.
Mr. A. Why, that is just the round Robert has been taking,
and he complains of its dulness, and prefers the high road.
W. I wonder at that. I am sure I hardly took a step that did
not delight me, and I have brought home my handkerchief full of
curiosities.
Mr. A. Suppose, then, you give us some account of what amused
you so much. I fancy it will be as new to Robert as to me.
W. I will, sir. The lane leading to the heath, you know, is
close and sandy, so I did not mind it much, but made the best of
my way. However, I spied a curious thing enough in the hedge.
It was an old crab-tree, out of which grew a great bunch of some-
thing green, quite different from the tree itself. Here is a branch
of it.
Mr. A. Ah ! this is mistletoe, a plant of great fame for the use
made of it by the Druids of old in their religious rites and incan-
tations. It bears a very slimy white berry, of which birdlime may
be made, whence its Latin name of Viscus. It is one of those
plants which do not grow in the ground by a root of their own,
but fix themselves upon other plants ; whence they have been
humorously styled parasitical, as being hangers-on, or dependants.
It was the mistletoe of the oak that the Druids particularly hon-
oured.
W. A little farther on I saw a green woodpecker fly to a tree,
and run up the trunk like a cat.
 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING. 33

Mr. A. That was to seek for insects in the bark, on which they
live. They bore holes with their strong bills for that purpose, and
do much damage to the trees by it.
W. What beautiful birds they are !
Mr. A. Yes ; they have been called, from their colour and size,
the English parrot.
W. When I got upon the open heath, how charming it was !
The air seemed so fresh, and the prospect on every side so free and
unbounded ! Then it was all covered with gay flowers, many of
which I had never observed before. There were at least three
kinds of heath (I have got them in my handkerchief here), and
gorse, and broom, and bell-flower, and many others of all colours,
that I will beg you presently to tell me the names of.
Mr. A. That I will, readily.
W. I saw, too, several birds that were new to me. There was
a pretty greyish one, of the size of a lark, that was hopping about
some great stones ; and when he flew, he showed a great deal of
white above his tail.
Mr. A. That was a wheat-ear. They are reckoned very delicious
birds to eat, and frequent the open downs in Sussex, and some
other counties, in great numbers.
W. There was a flock of lapwings upon a marshy part of the
heath, that amused me much. As I came near them, some of
them kept flying round and round just over my head, and crying
pewit so distinctly, one might almost fancy they spoke. I thought
I should have caught one of them, for he flew as if one of his
wings was broken, and often tumbled close to the ground ; but as
I came near, he always made shift to get away.
Mr. A. Ha, ha ! you were finely taken in then ! This was all
an artifice of the bird's to entice you away from its nest ; for they
build upon the bare ground, and their nests would easily be ob-
served, did they not draw off the attention of intruders by their
loud cries and counterfeit lameness.
W. I wish I had known that, for he led me a long chase, often
over shoes in water. However, it was the cause of my falling in
with an old man and a boy who were cutting and piling up turf
for fuel, and I had a good deal of talk with them about the manner
34 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING.

of preparing the turf, and the price it sells at. They gave me,
too, a creature I never saw before-a young viper, which they
had just killed, together with its dam. I have seen several common
snakes, but this is thicker in proportion, and of a darker colour
than they are.
Mr. A. True. Vipers frequent those turfy boggy grounds pretty
much, and I have known several turf-cutters bitten by them.
W. They are very venomous, are they not ?
Mr. A. Enough so to make their wounds painful and dangerous,
though they seldom prove fatal.
W. Well- I then took my course up to the windmill on the
mount. I climbed up the steps of the mill in order to get a better
view of the country round. What an extensive prospect ! I counted
fifteen church-steeples ; and I saw several gentlemen's houses
peeping out from the midst of green woods and plantations ; and
I could trace the windings of the river all along the low grounds,
till it was lost behind a ridge of hills. But I'll tell you what I
mean to do, sir, if you will give me leave.
Mr. A. What is that ?
W. I will go again, and take with me Carey's county map, by
which I shall probably be able to make out most of the places.
Mr. A. You shall have it, and I will go with you, and take my
pocket spying-glass.
W. I shall be very glad of that. Well-a thought struck me,
that as the hill is called Camp-mount, there might probably be
some remains of ditches and mounds with which I have read that
camps were surrounded . And I really believe I discovered some-
thing of that sort running round one side of the mount.
Mr. A. Very likely you might. I know antiquaries have de-
scribed such remains as existing there, which some suppose to be
Roman, others Danish. We will examine them further, when
we go.
 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING. 35

EYES, AND NO EYES-(continued.)

William. From the hill I went straight down to the meadows

below, and walked on the side of a brook that runs into the river.
It was all bordered with reeds and flags and tall flowering plants,
quite different from those I had seen on the heath. As I was get-
ting down the bank to reach one of them, I heard something plunge
into the water near me. It was a large water-rat, and I saw it
swim over to the other side, and go into its hole. There were a
great many large dragon-flies all about the stream. I caught one
of the finest, and have got him here in a leaf. But how I longed
to catch a bird that I saw hovering over the water, and every now
and then darted down into it ! It was all over a mixture of the
most beautiful green and blue, with some orange colour. It was
somewhat less than a thrush, and had a large head and bill, and
a short tail.
Mr. A. I can tell you what that bird was—a king-fisher, the
celebrated halcyon of the ancients, about which so many tales are
told. It lives on fish, which it catches in the manner you saw.
It builds in holes in the bank, and is a shy retiring bird, never to
be seen far from the stream where it inhabits.
W. I must try to get another sight of him, for I never saw a
bird that pleased me so much. Well I followed this little brook
till it entered the river, and then took the path that runs along
the bank. On the opposite side I observed several little birds
running along the shore, and making a piping noise. They were
brown and white, and about as big as a snipe.
Mr. A. I suppose they were sand-pipers, one of the numerous
family of birds that get their living by wading among the shallows,
and picking up worms and insects.
W. There were a great many swallows, too, sporting upon the
surface of the water, that entertained me with their motions.
Sometimes they dashed into the stream ; sometimes they pursued
one another so quick, that the eye could scarcely follow them. In
one place, where a high steep sand-bank rose directly above the
36 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING.

river, I observed many of them go in and out of holes with which

the bank was bored full.
Mr. A. Those were sand-martins, the smallest of our species of
swallows. They are of a mouse colour above and white beneath.
They make their nests and bring up their young in these holes,
which run a great depth, and by their situation are secure from all
plunderers.
W. A little farther I saw a man in a boat, who was catching
eels in an odd way. He had a long pole with broad iron prongs
at the end, just like Neptune's trident, only there were five instead
of three. This he pushed straight down among the mud in the
deepest parts of the river, and fetched up the eels sticking between
the prongs.
Mr. A. I have seen this method. It is called spearing of eels.
W. While I was looking at him, a heron came flying over my
head, with his large flapping wings . He lit at the next turn of
the river, and I crept softly behind the bank to watch his motions.
He had waded into the water as far as his long legs would carry
him, and was standing with his neck drawn in, looking intently on
the stream. Presently he darted his long bill as quick as light-
ning into the water, and drew out a fish, which he swallowed. I
saw him catch another in the same manner. He then took alarm
at some noise I made, and flew away slowly to a wood at some
distance, where he settled.
Mr. A. Probably his nest was there, for herons build upon the
loftiest trees they can find, and sometimes in society together, like
rooks. Formerly, when these birds were valued for the amuse-
ment of hawking, many gentlemen had their heronries, and a few
are still remaining.
W. I think they are the largest wild birds we have.
Mr. A. They are of a great length and spread of wing, but
their bodies are comparatively small.
W. I then turned homeward across the meadows, where I
stopped awhile to look at a large flock of starlings which kept
flying about at no great distance. I could not tell at first what
to make of them ; for they rose altogether from the ground as thick
as a swarm of bees, and formed themselves into a kind of black
 EYES, AND NO EYES ; OR, THE ART OF SEEING. 37

cloud, hovering over the field. After taking a short round, they
settled again, and presently rose again in the same manner. I
daresay there were hundreds of them.
Mr. A. Perhaps so ; for in the fenny countries their flocks are
so numerous, as to break down whole acres of reeds by settling on
them. This disposition of starlings to fly in close swarms was
remarked even by Homer, who compares the foe flying from one
of his heroes, to a cloud of these birds retiring dismayed at the
approach of the hawk.
W. After I had left the meadows, I crossed the corn-fields in
the way to our house, and passed close by a deep marl-pit.
Looking into it, I saw in one of the sides a cluster of what I took
to be shells ; and upon going down, I picked up a clod of marl,
which was quite full of them ; but how sea-shells could get there,
I cannot imagine.
Mr. A. I do not wonder at your surprise, since philosophers
used to be much perplexed to account for the same appearance.
It is not uncommon to find great quantities of shells and relics
of marine animals even in the bowels of high mountains, very
remote from the sea. They afford proof that the rocks in which
they are found were once covered by the sea.
W. I got to the high field next our house just as the sun was
setting, and I stood looking at it till it was quite lost. What a
glorious sight ! The clouds were tinged purple and crimson and
yellow of all shades and hues, and the clear sky varied from blue
to a fine green at the horizon. But how large the sun appears
just as it sets ! I think it seems twice as big as when it is over-
head.
Mr. A. It does so ; and you may probably have observed the
same apparent enlargement of the moon at its rising.
W. I have ; but pray, what is the reason of this ?
Mr. A. It is an optical deception, depending upon principles
which I cannot well explain to you till you know more of that
branch of science. But what a number of new ideas this after-
noon's walk has afforded you ! I do not wonder that you found
it amusing : it has been very instructive too. Did you see nothing
of all these sights, Robert ?
38 THE SENSES -TOUCH .

R. I saw some of them, but I did not take particular notice of

them.
Mr. A. Why not ?
R. I don't know. I did not care about them, and I made the
best of my way home.
Mr. A. That would have been right if you had been sent a mes-
sage ; but as you only walked for amusement, it would have been
wiser to have sought out as many sources of it as possible. But so
it is—one man walks throughthe world with his eyes open, and
another with them shut ; and upon this difference depends all the
superiority of knowledge the one acquires above the other. I
have known sailors, who had been in all the quarters of the world,
and could tell you nothing but the signs of the tippling-houses
they frequented in different ports, and the price and quality of the
liquor. On the other hand, .a Franklin could not cross the chan-
nel without making some observations useful to mankind. While
many a vacant thoughtless youth is whirled throughout Europe
without gaining a single idea worth crossing a street for, the ob-
serving eye and inquiring mind find matter of improvement and
delight in every ramble in town or country. Do you, then,
William, continue to make use of your eyes ; and you, Robert,
learn that eyes were given you to use.

THE SENSES :-TOUCH.

IN a general way it may be said that the entire skin is the

organ of touch ; for any part of the body, brought into contact
with an object exterior to it, is sensible of an impression. But
we usually say that the hand is the organ of touch, and with
justice, for that part of our frame possesses a greater sensibility to
contact than any other. The tips of the fingers are not covered
with the softest and tenderest skin, yet nevertheless a more delicate
perception resides in them than in those parts of the body where
the covering of skin is more easily cut or lacerated. If we take
 THE SENSES -TOUCH . 39

two pins, and apply their points nearly close together to the end of
the forefinger, we shall find that we are perfectly sensible that two
distinct points are touching the finger tip. But if these pins are
applied, with their points the same small distance apart, to the
skin of the back between the shoulders, we shall find that we are
no longer sensible of being touched with two distinct points ; it
will seem as if only a single pin were employed, even when the
points are nearly a quarter of an inch separate. We much more
readily feel the pricking pain in the back, but the skin there does
not give such an accurate account of the matter. Nor was it in-
tended to do so ; when we wish to ascertain the nature of any
surface by touch, we apply the hand.
If we have not examined the subject very minutely, it seems
a little astonishing that the hand, which has constantly to endure
so much rough usage, in grasping, carrying, pushing, and rubbing,
should retain such a capability of accurate perception as it really
has. Let us see if this can be explained. We have first to re-
member that the reason why the skin is sensible to contact at all,
is because it is plentifully supplied with nerves which convey
sensations to the brain. We must next attend to the peculiar
structure of the skin itself. The skin is in reality double, and is
composed of the cuticle or epidermis on the outside, and the true
skin beneath. Just under the cuticle, and spread in numberless
minute branches all along the surface of the true skin, lie the ex-
tremities of the nerves. They are thus brought close to the
surface of the body, so as to be ready for their office of conveying
impressions, and yet they are protected by the cuticle, which, how-
ever, is so thin and fine, that the nerves can feel through it. When
you push a needle-point under the skin of the hand without feel-
ing pain, as you may easily do, you have only raised the cuticle,
and have not touched a nerve. Had you come in contact with a
nerve, it would instantly have complained. When you burn your-
self, the cuticle rises in a blister, and you may by and by pierce
the loose skin without inflicting pain on yourself, because here
again the cuticle is detached from the nerves. You cannot pos-
sibly, however, penetrate down to the true skin without coming
in contact with the nerves, so thickly do their extremities lie
 40 THE SENSES :-TOUCH .

everywhere immediately under the cuticle. Hence we say, when

you have pierced to the true skin, you have gone into the " quick."
Now this same cuticle which rises in a blister when the true skin
beneath it is suddenly irritated by extreme heat, or rapid frictions,
also undergoes a change when the irritation is moderate and
gradual. You have only to look at your hands to see that the
skin upon them is not everywhere of the same thickness. Where-
ever the hand presses hardest against the tools we use, or the
objects we grasp and carry, there the cuticle becomes hard and
thick, and thus the hand is best protected at the points where it
most needs protection. If, however, the cuticle, by becoming
thicker, hindered impressions from without from arriving at the
nerves, here would be a disadvantage. But the all-wise Creator
has provided against this. The skin of the hand requires to be
at one and the same time very strong and very sensitive ; and it
has been made so. If we examine the inner side of the finger- ends,
where the cuticle is much stronger than on the backs of the fingers,
we observe distinctly great numbers of fine spiral lines. These
lines correspond to little grooves or hollows on the inside surface
of the cuticle, in which hollows are lodged prolongations of the
nerves,―fine threads wrapt up in delicate membrane, and sur-
rounded with a pulpy matter, which, along with the cuticle, serves
to shield them from injury. Wherever the outer skin is hardest
and thickest, there we find the spiral ridges most strongly marked,
indicating that, underneath, there is a sufficient supply of sensitive
filaments. By means of this arrangement it is managed that the
hand of the worker in iron, though it may have become hard, and,
as we say, callous with swinging the heavy sledge hammer, never-
theless wields lighter tools with as much precision as ever. The
smith knows when his fingers are pressing hard, and when they are
pressing lightly, just as well as the lady who never handled any
tool heavier than a needle knows about hers ; but he could not
have this accurate knowledge if his fingers became insensible to
touch and pressure, in the same measure that they became better
protected against pain. His hand becomes callous indeed to pain,
but its sense of touch remains unimpaired.
 THE HAND. 41

THE HAND .

In many respects the organ of touch, as embodied in the hand,

is the most wonderful of the senses. The organs of the other
senses are passive : the organ of touch alone is active. The eye,
the ear, and the nostril stand simply open : light, sound, and
fragrance enter, and we are compelled to see, to hear, and to smell ;
but the hand selects what it shall touch, and touches what it
pleases. It puts away from it the things which it hates, and
beckons towards it the things which it desires ; unlike the eye,
which must often gaze transfixed at horrible sights from which
it cannot turn ; and the ear, which cannot escape from the torture
of discordant sounds ; and the nostril, which cannot protect itself
from hateful odours.
Moreover, the hand cares not only for its own wants, but, when
the other organs of the senses are rendered useless, takes their
duties upon it. The hand of the blind man goes with him as an
eye through the streets, and safely threads for him all the devious
way it looks for him at the faces of his friends, and tells him
whose kindly features are gazing on him ; it peruses books for
him, and quickens the long hours by its silent readings.
It ministers as willingly to the deaf ; and when the tongue is
dumb and the ear stopped, its fingers speak eloquently to the eye,
and enable it to discharge the unwonted office of a listener.
The organs of all the other senses, also, even in their greatest
perfection, are beholden to the hand for the enhancement and the
exaltation of their powers. It constructs for the eye a copy of
itself, and thus gives it a telescope with which to range among
the stars ; and by another copy on a slightly different plan, fur-
nishes it with a microscope, and introduces it into a new world of
wonders. It constructs for the ear the instruments by which it is
educated, and sounds them in its hearing till its powers are trained
to the full. It plucks for the nostril the flower which it longs to
smell, and distils for it the fragrance which it covets. As for the
tongue, if it had not the hand to serve it, it might abdicate its
throne as the Lord of Taste. In short, the organ of touch is the
42 THE HAND.

minister of its sister senses, and, without any play of words, is the
handmaid of them all.
And if the hand thus munificently serves the body, not less
amply does it give expression to the genius and the wit, the
courage and the affection, the will and the power of man. Put a
sword into it, and it will fight for him ; put a plough into it, and
it will till for him ; put a harp into it, and it will play for him ;
put a pencil into it, and it will paint for him ; put a pen into it,
and it will speak for him, plead for him, pray for him. What
I
will it not do ? What has it not done ? A steam-engine is but
a larger hand, made to extend its powers by the little hand of
man ! An electric telegraph is but a long pen for that little hand
to write with ! All our huge cannons and other weapons of war,
with which we so effectually slay our brethren, are only Cain's
haud made bigger, and stronger, and bloodier ! What, moreover,
is a ship, a railway, a lighthouse, or a palace, -what, indeed, is a
whole city, a whole continent of cities, all the cities of the globe,
nay, the very globe itself, in so far as man has changed it, but the
work of that giant hand, with which the human race, acting as
one mighty man, has executed its will !
When I think of all that man and woman's hand has wrought,
from the day when Eve put forth her erring hand to pluck the
fruit of the forbidden tree, to that dark hour when the pierced
hands of the Saviour of the world were nailed to the predicted
tree of shame, and of all that human hands have done of good
and evil since, Ilift up my hand and gaze upon it with wonder
and awe. What an instrument for good it is ! What an instru-
ment for evil ! and all the day long it never is idle. There is no
implement which it cannot wield, and it should never in working
hours be without one. We unwisely restrict the term handicrafts-
man, or hand-worker, to the more laborious callings, but it be-
longs to all honest, earnest men and women, and is a title which
each should covet. For the queen's hand there is the sceptre,
and for the soldier's hand the sword ; for the carpenter's hand
the saw, and for the smith's hand the hammer ; for the farmer's
hand the plough ; for the miner's hand the spade ; for the sailor's
hand the oar ; for the painter's hand the brush ; for the sculptor's
 THE WIND IN A FROLIC. 43

hand the chisel ; for the poet's hand the pen ; and for the woman's
band the needle. If none of these or the like will fit us, the
felon's chain should be round our wrist, and our hand on the
prisoner's crank. But for each willing man and woman there is
a tool they may learn to handle ; for all there is the command,
" Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might. "
GEORGE WILSON.

THE WIND IN A FROLIC.

THE wind one morning sprang up from sleep,

Saying, " Now for a frolic ! now for a leap !
Now for a mad-cap galloping chase !
I'll make a commotion in every place !"

So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,

Cracking the signs and scattering down
Shutters ; and whisking, with merciless squalls,
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls.
There never was heard a much lustier shout,
As the apples and oranges trundled about ;
And the urchins that stand with their thievish eyes
For ever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

Then away to the field it went, blustering and humming,

And the cattle all wondered what monster was coming ;
It plucked by the tails the grave matronly cows,
And tossed the colts' manes all over their brows ;
Till, offended at such an unusual salute,
They all turned their backs, and stood sulky and mute.

So on it went capering and playing its pranks,

Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks,
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveller grave on the king's highway.
44 THE WIND IN A FROLIC.

It was not too nice to hustle the bags

Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags ;
'Twas so bold, that it feared not to play its joke
With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak.
Through the forest it roared, and cried, gaily, " Now,
You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow !"
And it made them bow without more ado,
Or it cracked their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm ,

Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm ;
And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm ;
There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps ;
The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud,
And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd ;
There was rearing of ladders, and logs were laid on,
Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.

But the wind had swept on, and had met in a lane
With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain ;
For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stood
With his hat in a pool and his shoes in the mud.

Then away went the wind in its holiday glee,

And now it was far on the billowy sea,
And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow,
And the little boats darted to and fro.
But lo ! it was night, and it sank to rest
On the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming west,
Laughing to think, in its frolicsome fun,
How little of mischief it had done.
WILLIAM HOWITT.
 MANUAL LABOUR. 45

MANUAL LABOUR.

A LABORIOUS nail-maker worked all day at his forge, and under

his strong, quick blows, thousands of sparks arose round him and
filled his workshop. The son of his rich neighbour, Mr. Von Berg,
came to see him almost every day, and would watch him with
delight for hours.
One day the busy nail-maker said to him in joke, “ Would you
not like to make some nails ? Just try, my young master, if it be
only to pass time away. It may be useful to you some day."
The young gentleman, having nothing else to do, consented. He
placed himself before the anvil, and laughing as he sat down began
to hammer. Before very long he was able to finish off a good
shoe-nail.
Some years after, the misfortunes of war deprived this young
man of all his wealth, and forced him to emigrate to a foreign
country. Far from his native land, stripped of all resources, he
halted at a large village, where the majority of the people were
shoemakers. He ascertained that they expended yearly a large
sum of money in the purchase of shoe-nails from a neighbouring
town, and that often they could not obtain the quantity they
needed, because so many were required for the shoes of the army,
most of which were made in that district.
The young Von Berg, who already saw himself threatened with
starvation, remembered that he knew perfectly the art of making
shoe-nails. He offered to supply the shoemakers of the village
with as large a quantity of nails as they required, if they would
only establish a workshop, and to this they cheerfully consented.
He began to work with enthusiasm, and soon found himself in
easy circumstances.
" It is always good," he used often to say to himself, " to learn
something, if it be only to make a shoe-nail. There are positions
in life where head-learning cannot be called into play, and when
want may threaten even those who have been wealthy. It is well
to provide for such exigencies by having some useful trade at our
finger ends."
46 THE SENSES :-TASTE.

THE SENSES :-TASTE.

THE sense of taste resides mainly in the tip and fore part of
the upper surface of the tongue ; that is to say, these portions of
the tongue are supplied with nerves, which have the power of
conveying to the brain, besides the mere sensation of touch, also
that peculiar sensation which we style Taste. That we taste with
the fore part, and not with the middle, of the tongue, can be
easily proved by carefully placing a small piece of sugar a little
farther back than usual, towards the centre of the organ. When
this is done, we shall find that we are not conscious of the
slightest sweet taste. We may even lay a ginger or a cayenne
lozenge on the middle of the tongue with complete impunity ; it
burns no more than in the palm of the hand ; until perhaps a
little of it is dissolved, and the pungent particles are carried
towards the tongue-tip, or back to the throat, where we again
feel the burning. Neither do we taste with the front and middle
portions of the roof of the mouth. We are certainly apt to sup-
pose that we do so, because as soon as food is laid upon the
tongue, we naturally press with it against the roof of the mouth,
and at the moment the pressure takes place we are unable to dis-
tinguish that the tongue alone tastes the food. If, however,
withholding the tongue from its accustomed pressure, we apply
with the forefinger a pinch of moist sugar or of salt to the upper
region of the mouth, we shall only have the sensation of rough-
ness, and no sweet or salt taste. It is not till we push the finger
as far back as possible, to the entrance of the throat, that we ex-
perience any taste apart from the tongue. Immediately before
the throat there is what may be called a second gate of taste,
which all our food must pass, and it will be observed the taste of
the sugar or salt lingers a little while in that quarter after the
act of swallowing. The reason why we press the tongue upon
the roof of the mouth is, that the substance which we wish to
taste may be pushed and rubbed against the tasting nerves about
the tongue-tip, and so excite them to act more strongly ; for we
taste much more fully and decidedly when we thus allow the
 THE SENSES :-SMELL. 47

tongue and the roof of the mouth to press together, with the
substance between them, than if we merely let the food lie upon
the tongue ; just as we learn the nature of the surface of an
object much better if it is pushed and rubbed against the hand,
than if it merely rests upon the palm.

THE SENSES :-SMELL.

It is very obvious that the sense of taste is intimately con-

nected with that of touch. It is not, however, so immediately
evident that an equally close connexion subsists between touch
and smell ; for, though we usually touch the nostrils with a flower
when we wish to feel its perfume, we are still conscious of the
perfume if the flower is held a little way off, so that its petals
are not actually in contact with the nose. And again, when the
atmosphere of a room is tainted with gas, we become aware of the
fact without any distinct consciousness that something has touched
the organ of smell. It is, nevertheless, the case that, just as we
do not experience taste unless the substance tasted touches the
palate, so also we do not smell, unless particles of the odorous
substance come into contact with the nerve of smell, called the
olfactory nerve, which, descending from the brain, spreads its fine
network of branches over the sides of the nostrils. The air we
breathe is seldom or never free from minute particles of matter
floating about in it unseen. Every one has noticed that a beam
of light, pouring into a room through the window, discloses all
along its path, an infinite multitude of tiny motes dancing in the
radiance, which instantly become invisible if the brilliant light
which revealed them be withdrawn. Now, such motes as these,
or rather particles much smaller than these, so minute indeed that
no light, however strong, nor any magnifying power of the micro-
scope, would reveal them, are given off from every odorous sub-
stance, and when we breathe air charged with them, they strike
against the branches of the olfactory nerve in passing up the
nostrils, and give rise to the sensation we call Smell. The won-
48 DOCTOR NOSE AND HIS FOUR BROTHERS.

derful minuteness of the odorous particles is illustrated by the

fact that, if a small quantity of musk be put into a gold box, and
kept there only for a few hours, and if the box be afterwards
carefully rinsed with soap and water, it will nevertheless retain
the smell of musk for years. There must remain musk in the
box, else it would not smell of musk, yet the particles are so
small that the most careful washing cannot remove them, and,
at the same time, the nicest balance does not show that the box
is any heavier.
The organ of smell has been placed at the entrance of the
breathing passages, not only that we may inhale sweet odours in
drawing in the breath, but also that we may instantly receive
warning when we are taking in bad air. When the air we breathe
is even slightly unpleasant to the smell, we may be certain that
it is loaded with matter which, if taken into the lungs through
the nostrils, will be more or less hurtful. If people were as
obedient as they should be to the hints which the sense of smell
always gives, till it has grown dull and tired with never being
attended to, they would be much more anxious than they fre-
quently are to seek constant supplies of pure and fresh air, and
would thus protect themselves from infection and disease.

DOCTOR NOSE AND HIS FOUR BROTHERS.

THE senses of Hearing, of Taste, and of Sight,

With Feeling as chairman, a council convened,
In which Nose was indicted for taking delight
In antics, by which the whole face was demeaned,
Under pretext of cleanliness, air, ventilation,
Things with which these four senses could have no relation.

" It is not," said the Eyes, " as if he were needed,

For though he talks much about plants and their scent,
By all persons of sense, I believe, ' tis conceded
That plants, not for smelling, but seeing were meant,
 DOCTOR NOSE AND HIS FOUR BROTHERS. 49

Since some have no scent, while all can be seen ;

And pray, can Nose tell you a blue from a green ? ”

" Then," said Ears, " he dins me with demands for inspection,
And proclaims a mile off the faintest of whiffs,
declare I would rather run risk of infection
Than owe my escape to his fanciful sniffs ;
Why can't he be quiet, the troublesome elf,
Or if he must smell, keep the smell to himself ? "

Taste declared Nose was guilty of picking and stealing,-

For, of odours, pray, was not his palate the judge ?
And the Hands, who have always shown sensitive feeling,
Said Nose made them work like the veriest drudge.
So the case being proved, these wise senses decreed
That the body of Nose stood no longer in need.

Now at first it appeared that their judgment was right,

For matters went on pretty much as before ;
"We never," said Ears, " slept so soundly at night,
As now when we've banished that horrible snore."
And if it was true no sweet odours they had,
At least they detected not those that were bad.

But a change for the worse ensued after a while ;

The eyes, once so brilliant, looked hollow and dim,
The hearing was dull, and the taste had grown vile,
And heavy and listless was every limb.
Common sense was called in with a rather bad grace,
And asked to prescribe for the poor body's case.

Common sense in a moment saw through the whole matter,

And said, " I've one course and but one to propose ;
You have been very foolish, —you know I don't flatter,-
In short, you must send for your old brother Nose."
They yielded at last-felt they all condescended,
But hoped his bad manners at least he'd amended.
D
50 SOUND- HEARING.

Not at all-for the moment that Nose came in sight,

He turned up with disgust, gave a sniff loud and long ;
66
Ill, indeed !" he exclaimed, " you will perish outright—
Was ever an odour so nasty and strong ?
Hands ! open that window and clear out that drain,
Feet ! run for fresh air to revive our poor brain.”

Doctor Nose the poor body to health soon restored,

And has ever since held his own prominent place ;
Yet in school and in cottage this fact is ignored,
That a private physician each has on his face,
Who warns him betimes, and whose fame must endure
As long as " prevention is better than cure."

THE SENSES :-SOUND- HEARING.

BEFORE we can hear a sound, some substance must have beeu

caused to vibrate. A vibration means an undulating or wave-like
motion, in the course of which the particles composing a body are
moved a certain distance- sometimes very minute out of their
places, and then return to them again, after communicating the
movement to the particles next them. Undulating motion on a
pretty large scale may be seen any summer's day on a field of long
grass or growing corn, if there is sufficient wind blowing. You
may notice the same undulation or wave pass without interruption
from one end of the field to the other, while, of course, the corn-
stalks that form it only move back and forward within a very
limited space. The wave is made up of different corn- stalks all
along its course. The waves of water are of a precisely similar
kind ; and air also can be agitated in the same way. Now, when-
ever a body is struck, say a table, the particles of the wood vibrate,
and they not only vibrate among themselves, but they set the ai
which surrounds them vibrating too. The vibrations of the air
spread on every side, like waves of water when a stone is pitched
 THE DEAF MAN. 51

into a pool, and when they reach a human ear and penetrate
within it, they act upon certain fine chords which they find there ;
and the moment these chords, the filaments of the auditory nerve,
are affected by the vibrations, we hear sound.
The ear is a very intricate piece of mechanism, composed of a
great many different parts, each serving a particular purpose.
These parts are mostly hidden within the skull, and what we see
outside is the least important portion. The external ear is in-
tended to collect sonorous or sounding vibrations from the atmo-
sphere. These vibrations are poured along its winding groves
into a tube, at the end of which, and stretching quite across it, is
a membrane called the ear-drum . The ear-drum does not stop
the vibrations, but, being itself set in motion, passes them farther
inward, along passages filled with air or with liquid, till they
reach the delicate chambers which are the habitation of the audi-
tory nerve.
That thick oily fluid which we call the wax of the ear, is pro-
bably intended to prevent the intrusion of insects, which may
either dislike its acrid taste, or be detained by its gluey quality ;
and the entrance of the ear is still further protected by fine hairs
which grow across the passage.

THE DEAF MAN.

A NAVAL officer embarked in his ship and commenced his

homeward voyage. He had with him a young savage, who during
the voyage lost his hearing entirely by a dangerous illness. One
evening after their arrival at home, some friends were at the
young
house of this officer enjoying a musical entertainment. The
savage, who had no idea of musical instruments, saw the agility
and vehemence of the persons who were playing, but as he heard
nothing, began to laugh. " They are fools," he said, " I cannot
imagine any work more useless ; with all their movements, there
is not the least result."
52 ST. PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH.

Some time after, through the efforts of a skilful doctor, the

young savage recovered his hearing. How was he astonished, when
on going into the concert-hall, he found that all the movements of
the musicians had their particular sounds, and that combined
they produced the most delightful harmony. " Oh, how foolish I
was," he cried, " to ridicule these men ! What pleasure they
give me now !”
We resemble this savage when, in our ignorance, we attempt
to judge the ways of Divine Providence. We shall one day
know what now we cannot learn ; and then we shall be convinced
that in all the events of this world there is the same harmony as
there is in the execution of the most perfect music.

ST. PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH.

ST. Philip Neri,¹ as old readings say,

Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day ;
And being ever courteously inclined
To give young folks a sober turn of mind,
He fell into discourse with him ; and thus
The dialogue they held comes down to us.
St. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Rome ?
Y. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come.
St. And, when you are one, what do you intend ?
Y. To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end.
St. Suppose it so -what have you next in view ?
Y. That I may get to be a canon too.
St. Well ; and how then?
Y. Why, then, for aught I know,
I may be made a bishop.
St. Be it so-
What then?
1 Philip Neri, a Florentine of the sixteenth century, was remarkable for his piety.
 WHO IS THE BRAVEST ? 53

Y. Why, cardinal's a high degree--

And yet my lot it possibly may be.
St. Suppose it was, what then ?
Y. Why, who can say
But I've a chance of being pope one day?
St. Well, having worn the mitre and red hat,
And triple crown, what follows after that ?
Y. Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure,
Upon this earth that wishing can procure :
When I've enjoyed a dignity so high,
As long as God shall please, then I must die.
St. What ! must you die ? fond youth ! and at the best
But wish, and hope, and may be, all the rest !
Take my advice- whatever may betide,
For that which must be, first of all provide ;
Then think of that which may be, and indeed,
When well prepared, who knows what may succeed,
But you may be, as you are pleased to hope,
Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope ?
DR. BYROM.

WHO IS THE BRAVEST ?

TWELVE o'clock by the old church-tower- five minutes past by

the railway time-but railways are always fast. The sun and the
church clock agreed to a minute, at least so the old clerk said,
who always wound it up, and declared that never, man or boy,
had he known it get out of order. The town was a little divided
on the subject- some went by the station time and some by the
church- but it was generally agreed that the church had the best
of it, for the mellow sound of its deep-toned bell could be heard
everywhere, and the school went with the church. Therefore it
was that the school-doors were closed, and all was silent in the
sunny play-ground that bright June morning till the very last
54 WHO IS THE BRAVEST ?

stroke had struck ; but then, long before it had died away, the
doors flew open, and out burst the happy boys, tumbling one over
the other, and all talking at once. Not a moment was lost in
getting to play jackets were heaped in a corner, cricket-stumps
were pitched, balls thrown and caught by the elder boys, while
the little ones retired to corners of the play-ground with marbles,
tops, and other small diversions suited to their age. Two only of
that merry crew stood apart from the games, and shook their
heads when called upon to join.
66
Come, Bob- come, Harry," cried the boys, who wanted them
to make up the number for cricket on either side.
" I tell you I won't," said Harry, rather angrily, for he wanted
to join the game all the time.
Bob laughed. " Let us go at once, Harry, " he said, turning
off to the gate. " The longer we stay the harder it is ; and we
promised Willie , you know."
Harry moved towards the gate, then looked again. " It is
hard though," he said, as he turned for one more look.
66 Yes, but what must it be for Willie ? " said Bob. " Think
of his lying there day after day with that horrid leg.99 Upon my
word, I think I'd rather have it cut off at once
" And be a cripple for life !" said Harry.
" Well, that would be bad certainly ; but, you see, he may have
to come to that after all."
" Poor Will ! I hope not," said Harry. " Let us run, Bob ;
he'll be sure to be looking out for us."
Yes, indeed, Willie was looking out. The old church clock
had told him that school was over, and every minute since had
been as long as five to the sick boy. They found him in the
garden on a couch, under a large shady tree. The two boys
threw themselves down on the grass by his side, and asked if he
was better.
" No !"
" And yet you never look dull and miserable," said Harry.
" You have always a pleasant word for us.”
" I should think so," said Willie, " when you give up cricket
to come and see me ;" and his pale face flushed as he spoke. It
 WHO IS THE BRAVEST ? 55
55

was all the thanks he gave his two friends, but it was all they
needed, too. Boys are shy of speaking their feelings, but they
understand one another.
""
" When we were reading about the Spartans this morning,'
said Harry, " I thought of Willie. I thought he would have
made a first-rate Spartan."
The three boys laughed in chorus at the idea, but when the
laugh was over, Harry still kept to his point, and affirmed, " Well,
I do."
“ Did you have any good stories about brave people ?" asked
Willie.
" Yes, capital ones ; and a great deal about different kinds of
courage moral courage and physical courage- but I remember
the stories best."
66
Well," said Bob, " there was one thing that surprised us all.
The master said any one who made up his mind to do what was
right all his life, required more courage than soldiers in the day
of battle."
" Only a different sort," interrupted Harry.
" Did he mean to keep on doing right when you were made
fun of, or tempted to do wrong ?" asked Will.
" Yes ; only Mr. Ellis put it so clear, as he always does : and,
above all, he said it was hard to do right when it prevented our
getting on in life. I thought of our prize, Harry."
" So did I, Bob. "
" What was that ?" asked Willie.
66 Oh, not much ; only the other day there was a prize given
by some gentleman for the best theme on loyalty. "
" I never heard of it," said Willie.
" No ; it was when you were first ill. Well, you know, we all
""
tried for it in our class, and Harry and I found out
" No names, you know, Bob, " said Harry.
66
No, of course not. I was only going to say, we found out
that several of the boys had taken some old themes from the
schoolroom cupboard and copied them, and they were better than
we could do."
" So you both lost the prize ?"
 56 WHO IS THE BRAVEST ?

" Yes ; they wanted us to join in the cheat, but we would

not. "
" I'm sure Mr. Ellis would have called that courage," said
Willie. " You were resisting temptation then ; but tell me some
of the stories."
66
Well, there was one, which, I daresay, you know, about the
Emperor Napoleon calling a soldier out of the ranks to write a
letter for him. He rested the paper on a wall, and, just when
he had done, came a cannon-ball close by and battered down some
of the wall and covered them with dust. So the soldier just
shook the dust off his paper and said, ' That will serve to dry the
ink, sire !' The emperor took notice of him after that, and he
was a great general before long."
" Ah !" said Harry, " they had some brave fellows in those
days. I don't believe any of our soldiers can come up to them."
"Gently, gently," said Bob. "What do you say to the Crimea
and the charge at Balaklava ?"
" Did you hear of that ?" asked Willie .
" Oh yes," said Harry, " and it was all as plain as possible.
There was a valley, a long valley ; let me make it in this spare
flower-bed." The four busy hands went to work, and had soon
excavated a long narrow valley with hiiis on either side, and hills
at the end. Willie watched them with much interest. " Now,
look here, Willie, this is the valley, and the Russians have pos-
session of all these hills, and they have cannon on them, and our
English army is at this end.99 Well, they get an order, six hundred
of the light cavalry
“ There was some mistake about that order," said Bob.
63 Well, mistake
or no mistake," said Harry, " they never
stopped to ask. The order was to ride up this valley, guarded
with cannons, and stop the firing."
66
Spike the cannons," said Bob.
" So off they dashed at once, straight through the red-hot
hail. The whole six hundred, horses and men, not one coward,
cut through a Russian regiment, and as many as were alive cut
their way back again. And they did their work ; they stopped
the cannon, but not one-half of them returned. "
 WHO IS THE BRAVEST ? 57

" Glorious fellows !" said Bob. " Have we no heroes now-a-
days, Harry ?"
"Ah !" said Harry, still breathless with his tale, " I forgot them."
" Did you hear any more about the Crimea ?" asked Willie.
“ Oh yes, of the other sort of courage,—the courageous endur-
ance, the patient suffering in the trenches. It was enough to
make your heart ache. Wasn't it, Harry ?"
Harry shook his head. " Don't tell Willie about that, Bob ;
it isn't good for him."
" Yes it is, Harry," said Willie. " It makes me more patient.
I lie awake of a night, and think of things of that sort, and I
feel as if these men were brothers. Then I can bear pain better.
The only thing is, they suffered for something-to gain some good.
I only suffer, as it were, for myself."
" Ah ! but Mr. Belford talked about that, too," said Bob.
" The most beautiful story he told at all was about that. Pa-
tient suffering when no one was by to praise us -when we
couldn't see the good of it. He said that was highest of all.”
" Did he though !" said Willie, with a bright look in his eyes.
" And what was the story ?"
“ About a ship, full of troops, sent out to India at the time
of the Crimean war. The ship sprung a leak, and they worked
hard, but couldn't save her. There were only boats for a very
few ; so the captain and officers called up the soldiers and the
crew . ' Put the women and the children into the boats,' said the
captain ; and they put them in. Then they formed on the deck,
man to man, shoulder to shoulder, calm and quiet as if they were
on parade, and down they went, ship and all, into the sea, with-
out a cry."
Willie brushed his hand across his eyes, and Harry sprang to
his feet, leaped in the air, and shouted " Hooray !" half a dozen
times, before he could feel fit to join in the talk again. " You
may say what you like, Bob," he gasped out, when he sank down
again breathless, " but there are no people like the British.”
At this moment the church clock chimed the half hour.
" Come, Harry, we must go, " said Bob, rising, " there's the
half hour."
58 DEFENCE OF BRIDGE AGAINST TUSCAN ARMY .

The two boys, always sorrowful on leaving Willie lying there,

shook hands with him in silence, went to the gate, then turned
back with one accord and shook hands with him again. Willie
knew what they meant as well as if they had spoken volumes ;
and if a quiet tear stole down his pale cheek when they were
gone, his courage waxed stronger as he thought how well they
loved him , and how brave they thought him.

THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDGE AGAINST THE

TUSCAN ARMY.

Now the Consul's brow was sad,

And the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe.
" Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down ;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town ?"

Then out spake brave Horatius,

The captain of the gate-
" To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods.

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,

With all the speed ye may ;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
 DEFENCE OF BRIDGE AGAINST TUSCAN ARMY. 59

In yon strait path a thousand

May well be stopped by three ;
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me ?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius,

A Roman proud was he,
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee."
And out spake strong Herminius,
Of Titian blood was he,
" I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee.'
"6
Horatius," quoth the Consul,
"As thou sayest, so let it be,"
And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son, nor wife, nor limb, nor life,
In the brave days of old.

Now, while the three were tightening

Their harness on their backs,
The Consul was the foremost man
To take in hand an axe.
And fathers mixed with commons,
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,

Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light.
Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold.
60 DEFENCE OF BRIDGE AGAINST TUSCAN ARMY.

Four hundred trumpets sounded

A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread,
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.

The Three stood calm and silent,

And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose.
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array.
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew
And lifted high their shields, and flew
To win the narrow way.

Stout Lartius hurled down Aruns

Into the stream beneath ;
Herminius struck at Senis,
And clove him to the teeth.
At Picus brave Horatius
Darted one fiery thrust,
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.

But, hark, the cry is Astur !

And, lo ! the ranks divide ;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the four-fold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield.

He smiled on those bold Romans,

A smile serene and high ;
 DEFENCE OF BRIDGE AGAINST TUSCAN ARMY. 61

He eyed the flinching Tuscans,

And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter
Stand savagely at bay ;
But will ye dare to follow
If Astur clears the way ?"

Then, whirling up his broadsword

With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow ;
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh,
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh ;
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry,
To see the red blood flow.

He reeled, and on Herminius

He leaned one breathing space ;
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur's face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,
So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.

And the great Lord of Luna

Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak.
Far o'er the crushing forest
The giant arms lie spread ;
And the pale augurs, muttering low
Gaze on the blasted head.
62 DEFENCE OF BRIDGE AGAINST TUSCAN ARMY.

But meanwhile axe and lever

Have manfully been plied ;
And now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! "
Loud cried the fathers all,
“ Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius !
Back, ere the ruin fall ! "

Back darted Spurius Lartius ;

Herminius darted back ;
And, as they pressed, beneath their feet
They felt the timbers crack.
But, when they turned their faces,
And on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more.

But with a crash like thunder

Fell every loosened beam ,
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck
Lay right athwart the stream.
And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.
Alone stood brave Horatius,
But constant still in mind ;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.
"Down with him !" cried false Sextus,
With a smile on his pale face ;
" Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena
" Now yield thee to our grace."

Round turned he, as not deigning

Those craven ranks to see ;
 DEFENCE OF BRIDGE AGAINST TUSCAN ARMY. 63

Nought spoke he Lars Porsena,

To Sextus nought spake he ;
But he saw on Palatinus
The white porch of his home ;
And he spake to the noble river
That rolls by the towers of Rome.
" O Tiber father Tiber !
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day !"
So he spake, and speaking, sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And, with the harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound ofjoy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank ;
But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
With parting lips and straining eyes
Stood gazing where he sank.
And when above the surges
They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current,

Swollen high by months of rain,
And fast his blood was flowing,
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armour ,
And spent with changing blows ;
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer

In such an evil case,
64 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM .

Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing-place.
But his limbs were borne up bravely
By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber
Bore bravely up his chin

And now he feels the bottom ;

Now on dry earth he stands ;
Now round him throng the fathers,
To press his gory hands.
And now with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the river-gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.
MACAULAY'S Lays of Ancient Rome.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track :
'Twas autumn, --and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
 EVIL COMPANY. 65

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore,

From my home and my weeping friends never to part :
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart :

" Stay, stay with us, -rest, thou art weary and worn ;"
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
CAMPBELL.

EVIL COMPANY.

SOPHRONIUS, a wise teacher, would not suffer his grown-up son

and daughter to associate with those whose conduct was not pure
and upright. " Dear father," said the gentle Matilda to him one
day, when he forbade her, in company with her brother, to visit
the volatile Lucinda ; " dear father, you must think us very
childish if you imagine we could be exposed to danger by it."
The father took in silence a dead coal from the hearth, and
reached it to his daughter. " It will not burn you, my child ;
take it." Matilda did so, and behold her beautiful white hand
was soiled and blackened, and, as it chanced, her white dress
also. "We cannot be too careful in handling coals," said Ma-
tilda in vexation. " Yes, truly," said the father ; " you see, my
child, that, even if they do not burn, they blacken : so is it with
the company of the vicious."
E
66 TOLERATION- THE IMITATION OF CHRIST.

TOLERATION.

WHEN Abraham sat at his tent door, according to his custom,

waiting to entertain strangers, he espied an old man, stooping and
leaning on his staff, weary with age and travel, coming towards
him. He received him kindly, washed his feet, provided supper,
and caused him to sit down ; but observing that the old man
ate and prayed not, nor begged for a blessing on his meat, he
asked him why he did not worship the God of heaven. The old
man told him that he worshipped the fire only, and acknowledged
no other god. At which answer Abraham grew so zealously
angry, that he thrust the old man out of his tent, and exposed
him to all the dangers of the night, unprotected as he was.
When the old man was gone, God called to Abraham, and asked
him where the stranger was. He replied, " I thrust him away
because he did not worship Thee." God answered him, " I have
suffered him these hundred years, although he dishonoured me ;
and couldst thou not endure him one night, when he gave thee
no trouble ?" Upon this, saith the story, Abraham fetched him
back again, and gave him hospitable entertainment and wise in-
struction. Go thou and do likewise, and thy charity will be
rewarded by the God of Abraham.

THE IMITATION OF CHRIST.— (Abridged.)

WHEN He was a child of twelve years of age, it is particularly

recorded of him, that he was subject or obedient to his parents,
his real mother and reputed father. It is true, he knew at that
time that God himself was His Father, for, said He, " Wist ye not
that I must be about my Father's business ?" And knowing God
to be his father, he could not but know likewise that he was in-
finitely above his mother ; yea, that she could never have borne
him , had not himself first made and supported her. Yet, howso-
ever, though as God he was father to her, yet as man she was
 THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. 67

mother to him, and, therefore, he honoured and obeyed both her

and him to whom she was espoused. Neither did he only respect
his mother whilst he was here, but he took care of her too when
he was going hence. Yea, all the pains he suffered on the cross
could not make him forget his duty to her that bore him ; but
seeing her standing by the cross, as himself hung on it, he com-
mitted her to the care of his beloved disciple, who " took her to
his own home." Now, as our Saviour did, so are we bound to
carry ourselves to our earthly parents, whatsoever their temper or
condition be in this world. Though God hath blessed some of us,
perhaps, with greater estates than ever he blessed them, yet we
must not think ourselves above them, nor be at all the less re-
spectful to them. Christ, we see, was infinitely above his mother,
yet as she was his mother he was both subject and respectful to
her. He was not ashamed to own her as she stood by the cross,
but, in the view and hearing of all there present, gave his disciple
a charge to take care of her, leaving us an example, that such
amongst us as have parents provide for them, if they need it, as
for our children, both while we live and when we come to die.
Moreover, although whilst he was here he was really not only
the best but the greatest man upon earth, yet he carried himself
to others with that meekness, humility, and respect, as if he had
been the least ; as he never admired any man for his riches, so
neither did he despise any man for his poverty ; poor men and ·
rich were all alike to him. He was as lowly and respectful to
the lowest as he was to the highest that he conversed with ; he
affected no titles of honour, nor gaped after popular air, but sub-
mitted himself to the meanest services that he could, for the good
of others, even to the washing his own disciples' feet, and all to
teach us that we can never think too lowly of ourselves nor do
anything that is beneath us ; propounding himself as our example,
especially in this particular, " Learn of me," saith he, “ for I am
meek and lowly in heart."
His humility also was the more remarkable, in that his bounty
and goodness to others was so great, for " he went about doing
good. " Wheresoever you read he was, you read still of some good
work or other he did there. Whatsoever company he conversed
68 GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD.

with, they still went better from him than they came unto him,
if they came out of a good end. By him, as himself said, " the
blind receive their sight, and the lame walk ; the lepers are
cleansed, and the deaf hear ; the dead are raised up, and the
poor have the gospel preached unto them." Yea, it is observable
that we never read of any person whatsoever that came to him,
desiring any kindness or favour of him, but he still received it,
and that whether he was friend or foe. For, indeed, though he
had many inveterate and implacable enemies in the world, yet he
bore no grudge or malice against them, but expressed as much
love and favour for them as to his greatest friends. Insomuch,
that when they had gotten him upon the cross, and fastened his
hands and feet unto it, in the midst of all that pain and torment
which they put him to, he still prayed for them.
O how happy, how blest a people should we be could we but
follow our blessed Saviour in this particular ! How well would
it be with us, could we but be thus loving to one another, as
Christ was to all, even his most bitter enemies ! We may assure
ourselves, it is not only our misery but our sin too, unless we be
So. And our sin will be the greater, now we know our Master's
pleasure, unless we do it. And, therefore, let all such amongst
us as desire to carry ourselves as Christ himself did, and as be-
cometh his disciples in the world, begin here.
Be submissive and obedient both to our parents and governors,
humble in our own sight, despise none, but be charitable, loving
and good to all ; by this shall all men know that we are Christ's
disciples indeed.
BISHOP BEVERIDGE.

" GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD."

THE raven builds her nest on high,

The loud winds rock her craving brood,
The forest echoes to their cry ;
Who gives the ravens food ?
 GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD. 69

The lion goeth forth to roam

Wild sandy hills and plains among,
He leaves his little whelps at home :
Who feeds the lion's young ?

God hears the hungry lions howl,

He feeds the raven hoarse and grey ;
Cares He alone for beast and fowl ?
Are we less dear than they ?

Nay, Christian child, kneel down and own

The hand that feeds thee day by day,
Nor careless with thy lip alone,
For all things needful " pray.

God made thy cottage home so dear,

Gave store enough for frugal fare ;
If richer homes have better cheer,
'Twas God who sent it there.

But better far than garners stored,

Than bread that honest toil may win,
Than blessings of the laden board,
The food He gives within.

The lion and the raven die,

They only ask life's common bread,
Our souls shall live eternally,
And they too must be fed.

Then not alone for earthly food,

Teach us with lisping tongue to pray ;—
The heavenly meat that makes us good,
Lord, give us day by day.
C. A. M. W.
70 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

AN ALTAR FOR AN OFFERING.

A WEALTHY youth lay sick at Rome of a dangerous malady.

At last his malady abated, and he was restored to health. As he
walked out for the first time into the garden, his heart was so full
of joy, that he praised God aloud. And he raised his face toward
heaven, and said, " O Thou Almighty Being, could a feeble man
do aught for Thee, how willingly would I offer Thee all I
possess !"
Hermes, a devout and aged shepherd, heard this, and he said
to the rich young man, " Every good gift and every perfect gift
is from above ;' thou canst send nothing thither. Come, follow
me !" The youth followed his aged guide, and they entered a
miserable hutan abode of wretchedness. The father lay sick,
and the mother was weeping, and the children were crying for
bread . The young man was moved with compassion. But Her-
mes said, " Lo ! here is an altar for thine offering ! Here is a
brother in distress ! let thy gratitude rise to God through him."
Then the rich man opened his hand, and gave bountifully,
and administered to the sick father. And the poor family, re-
freshed and comforted, blessed him. But Hermes said, " Thus
turn thou ever thy grateful countenance first towards heaven, and
then down to earth."

THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

HAROLD was crowned king of England on the very day of the

Confessor's funeral. He had good need to be quick about it.
When the news reached Norman William, hunting in his park at
Rouen, he dropped his bow, returned to his palace, called his
nobles to council, and presently sent ambassadors to Harold,
calling on him to keep his oath, and resign the crown. Harold
would do no such thing. The barons of France leagued together
round Duke William for the invasion of England. Duke William
promised freely to distribute English wealth and English lands
 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 71

among them. The pope sent to Normandy a consecrated banner ,

and a ring containing a hair which he warranted to have grown
on the head of St. Peter . He blessed the enterprise , and cursed
Harold, and requested that the Normans would pay " Peter's
pence "'—or a tax to himself of a penny a year on every house-
a little more regularly in future , if they could make it convenient .
King Harold had a rebel brother in Flanders, who was a vassal
of Harold Hardrada, king of Norway. This brother and this
Norwegian king, joining their forces against England, with Duke
William's help won a fight, in which the English were commanded
by two nobles, and then besieged York. Harold, who was wait-
ing for the Normans on the coast at Hastings, with his army,
marched to Stamford bridge, upon the river Derwent, to give his
brother and the Norwegians instant battle.
He found them drawn up in a hollow circle, marked out by
their shining spears. Riding round this circle at a distance, to
survey it, he saw a brave figure on horseback, in a blue mantle
and a bright helmet, whose horse suddenly stumbled and threw him.
"Who is that man who has fallen ?" Harold asked of one of
his captains .
"The King of Norway," he replied.
" He is a tall and stately king," said Harold, " but his end is
near."
He added in a little while, " Go yonder to my brother, and
tell him if he withdraw his troops he shall be Earl of Northum-
berland, and rich and powerful in England."
The captain rode away and gave the message.
" What will he give to my friend the King of Norway ?" asked
the brother.
" Seven feet of earth for a grave," replied the captain.
"No more ? " returned the brother with a smile.
"The King of Norway being a tall man, perhaps a little more,"
replied the captain.
" Ride back," said the brother, " and tell King Harold to make
ready for the fight !”
He did so very soon. And such a fight King Harold led
against that force, that his brother, the Norwegian king, and
72 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS .

every chief of note in all their host, except the Norwegian king's
son, Olave, to whom he gave honourable dismissal, were left dead
upon the field. The victorious army marched to York. As King
Harold sat there at the feast, in the midst of all his company, a
stir was heard at the doors, and messengers, all covered with mire
from riding far and fast through broken ground, came hurrying in
to report that the Normans had landed in England.
The intelligence was true. They had been tossed about by
contrary winds, and some of their ships had been wrecked. A
part of their own shore, to which they had been driven back, was
strewn with Norman bodies. But they had once more made sail,
led by the duke's own galley, a present from his wife, upon the
prow whereof the figure of a golden boy stood pointing towards
England. By day, the banner of the three Lions of Normandy,
the diverse coloured sails, the gilded vanes, the many decorations
of this gorgeous ship, had glittered in the sun and sunny water ;
by night, a light had sparkled like a star at her mast-head and
now, encamped near Hastings, with their leader lying in the old
Roman castle of Pevensy, the English retiring in all directions, the
land for miles around scorched and smoking, fired and pillaged, was
the whole Norman power, hopeful and strong, on English ground.
Harold broke up the feast and hurried to London. Within a
week, his army was ready. He sent out spies to ascertain the
Norman strength. William took them, caused them to be led
through his whole camp, and then dismissed. "The Normans ,"
said these spies to Harold, " are not bearded on the upper lip as we
English are, but are shorn. They are priests. " " My men," re-
plied Harold, with a laugh, " will find those priests good soldiers."
" The Saxons," reported Duke William's outposts of Norman
soldiers, who were instructed to retire as King Harold's army ad-
vanced, " rush on us through their pillaged country with the fury
of madmen."
" Let them come, and come soon !" said Duke William.
Some proposals for a reconciliation were made, but were soon
abandoned. In the middle of the month of October, in the year
one thousand and sixty-six, the Normans and the English came
front to front. All night the armies lay encamped before each
 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 73333

other, in a part of the country then called Senlac, now called (in
remembrance of them) Battle. With the first dawn of day they
arose. There, in the faint light, were the English on a hill ; a
wood behind them ; in their midst the royal banner, representing
a fighting warrior woven in gold thread, adorned with precious
stones ; beneath the banner, as it rustled in the wind, stood King
Harold on foot, with two of his remaining brothers by his side ;
around them, still and silent as the dead, clustered the whole
English army-every soldier covered by his shield, and bearing
in his hand his dreaded English battle-axe.
On an opposite hill, in three lines-archers, foot soldiers,
horsemen was the Norman force. Of a sudden, a great battle-
cry, " God help us !" burst from the Norman lines. The English
answered with their own battle-cry, " God's Rood ! Holy Rood !"
The Normans then came sweeping down the hill to attack the
English.
There was one tall Norman knight who rode before the Nor-
man army on a prancing horse, throwing up his heavy sword
and catching it, and singing of the bravery of his countrymen.
An English knight who rode out from the English force to meet
him, fell by this knight's hand. Another English knight rode
out, and he fell too. But then a third rode out, and killed the
Norman. This was in the first beginning of the fight. It soon
raged everywhere.
The English, keeping side by side in a great mass, cared no
more for the showers of Norman arrows than if they had been
showers of Norman rain. When the Norman horsemen rode
against them, with their battle-axes they cut men and horses
down. The Normans gave way. The English pressed forward.
A cry went forth among the Norman troops that Duke William
was killed. Duke William took off his helmet, in order that his
face might be distinctly seen, and rode along the line before his
men. This gave them courage. As they turned again to face
the English, some of their Norman horse divided the pursuing
body of the English from the rest, and thus all that foremost
portion of the English army fell, fighting bravely. The main
body still remaining firm, heedless of the Norman arrows, and
74 THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

with their battle-axes cutting down the crowds of horsemen when

they rode up, like forests of young trees, Duke William pretended
to retreat. The eager English followed. The Norman army
closed again, and fell upon them with great slaughter.
66 Still," said Duke William, " there are thousands
of the
English, firm as rocks around their king. Shoot upward, Norman
archers, that your arrows may fall down upon their faces."
The sun rose high, and sank, and the battle still raged.
Through all the wild October day, the clash and din resounded in
the air. In the red sunset, and in the white moonlight, heaps
upon heaps of dead men lay strewn, a dreadful spectacle, all over
the ground. King Harold, wounded with an arrow in the eye,
was nearly blind. His brothers were already killed. Twenty
Norman knights, whose battered armour had flashed fiery and
golden in the sunshine all day long, and now looked silvery in the
moonlight, dashed forward to seize the royal banner from the
English knights and soldiers, still faithfully collected round their
blinded king. The king received a mortal wound, and dropped.
The English broke and fled. The Normans rallied, and the day
was lost.
Oh, what a sight beneath the moon and stars, when lights were
shining in the tent of the victorious Duke William, which was
pitched near the spot where Harold fell—and he and his knights
were carousing within— and soldiers with torches , going slowly to
and fro without, sought for the corpse of Harold among piles of
dead-and the Warrior, worked in golden thread and precious
stones, lay low, all torn and soiled with blood-and the three
Norman Lions kept watch over the field !-CHARLES DICKENS.

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,

All bloodless lay th ' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
 A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN. 75

But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery !
By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills, with thunder riven ;
Then rush'd the steed to battle driven ;
And, louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow ;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
The combat deepens : On, ye brave !
Who rush to glory, or the grave !
Wave, Munich all thy banners wave !
And charge with all thy chivalry !
Few, few shall part where many meet !
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !
CAMPBELL.

A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN.

THE seasons, as they pass away, are climates which travel

round the globe, and come to seek me. Long voyages are nothing
76 A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN.

but fatiguing visits, paid to the seasons, which would themselves

have come to you.
I leave my study at a quarter before six, the sun is already
high above the horizon, his rays sparkle, like fire-dust, through
the leaves of the great service trees, and, shining on my house,
impart to it a rose and saffron-tinted hue. I go down three steps.
Here we are in China ! You stop me at my first word with a
smile of disdain. My house is entirely covered by a wistaria :
the wistaria is a creeping branching plant, with a foliage somewhat
resembling that of the acacia, and from which hang numberless
large bunches of flowers of a pale blue colour, which exhale the
sweetest odour. This magnificent plant comes from China.
I do not believe I exaggerate, in the least, when I declare that
I think this a thousand times more beautiful than the richest
palaces ; this house of wood, all green, all blossoming, all per-
fumed, which every year increases in verdure, blossoms, and sweet
odours.
Under the projecting roof is the nest of a wren, quite a little
bird, or rather a pinch of brown and grey feathers, like those of
a partridge ; it runs along old walls, and makes a nest of moss
and grass in the shape of a bottle. I salute thee, my little bird,
thou wilt be my guest for this year ! Thou art welcome to my
house and to my garden. Tend and bring up thy numerous family.
I promise thee peace and tranquillity ; thy repose, but more par-
ticularly thy confidence, shall be respected. There is moss yonder,
near the fountain, and plenty of dried herbage in the walks, from
the newly-mown grass-plat. There she is on the edge of her nest ;
she looks at me earnestly with her beautiful black eyes. She is
rather frightened, but does not fly away.
The little wren is not the only guest at my old house. You
perceive, between the joists, the intervals are filled up with rough
stones and plaster. On the front which is exposed to the south,
there is a hole into which you could not thrust a goose-quill, and
yet it is a dwelling ; there is a nest within it, belonging to a sort
of bee, who lives a solitary life. Look at her returning home with
her provisions ; her hind feet are loaded with a yellow dust, which
she has taken from the stamens of flowers ; she goes into the hole ;
 A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN. 77

when she comes out again, there will be no pollen on her feet ;
with honey which she has brought she will make a savoury paste
of it at the bottom of her nest. This is, perhaps, her tenth
journey to-day, and she shows no inclination to rest.
All these cares are for one egg which she has laid, for a single
egg which she will never see hatched ; besides, that which will
issue from that egg will not be a fly like herself, but a worm,
which will not be metamorphosed into a fly for some time after-
wards.
She has, however, hidden it in that hole, and knows precisely
how much nourishment it will require before it arrives at the state
which ushers in its transformation into a fly. This nourishment
she goes to seek, and she seasons and prepares it. There, she is
gone again !
Were I to watch, one after another, all the flies which shine in
the sun upon my house, the insects which conceal themselves in
the flowers of the wistaria, to suck honey from them, and the
insects which insinuate themselves to eat those honey suckers ;
the caterpillars which crawl upon the leaves, andthe enemies of
those caterpillars and those butterflies ; were I to watch their
birth, their loves, their combats, their metamorphoses- perhaps I
should get too absorbed to have time for description. I shall
content myself with merely indicating to you the treasures you or
I possess.
One insect alone appears to have taken possession of the lily,
and established its abode in it. It is a little beetle, whose form
is of an elongated square, with black body and claws, and hard
wings of a brilliant scarlet. There is no lily that is not an asylum
for some of these. They are called Crioceres. When you have
hold of one, press it in your hand, and you will hear a creaking
noise, which you may at first take for a cry, but which is nothing
but the rubbing of its lower wings against the sheaths of its
wings.
It did not always wear this brilliant costume, this costume
under which it scarcely eats, and that very daintily ; this costume
under which it appears to have nothing to do but to strut about
and make love. It was at first a sort of flat worm, with six feet
78 A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN.

of a kind of yellow mixed with brown, which dwelt likewise then

upon the leaves of the lily, but which then led a very different
life. It was then as greedy and gluttonous as it is now abste-
mious and delicate. But that was, because it had two powerful
reasons for eating. The leaves of the lily which it has eaten
issue from its body almost without alteration, as if they had been
crushed in a mortar. By a particular disposition of its body, this
paste of leaves falls upon it, and forms for it a house, or a cuirass,
which conceals it entirely. There comes, however, a day which
brings other cares. Spring and its season will soon return. It
is pleasing neither in form nor colour. It ceases to eat, shakes
its strange vestment, walks about in an agitated manner, descends
and buries itself in the earth. Some months after, it comes out
shining, lustrous, as brilliant as you now see it, richly clothed in
the most beautiful gloss of China. Full of confidence in them-
selves, the males and females seek each other, and soon meet.
Then the males die. The females have still something to do ;
they lay their eggs, which at first are of a reddish colour, but
afterwards brown, and fasten them to the underside of the leaves
of the lily ; then they in their turn die. When born, their chil-
Idren will find abundance of food beside them.
What ! already withered leaves ! I stoop to pick up these
three or four dead ones. The leaves move and-fly away ! But
there is no wind to carry them away thus. These leaves are a
moth, to which nature has given the form, the colour, the dispo-
sition, the perfect figure, of three or four dried leaves with their
shades and their fibres. Under its first form, it is a pretty large
caterpillar, of a dark colour- grey and brown, with brown hairs
and a fleshy brown horn at the extremity of its body.
Here is a caterpillar which seems to have set out on its travels ;
in fact, it is not at home here. I recognise it now ; it is striped
with pale blue and yellow, spotted with black. It comes from the
kitchen garden yonder, behind that screen of poplars ; for there
is nothing here that suits it : it lives upon the leaves of the cab-
bage tribe, which it shares with other green caterpillars which are
metamorphosed into those white butterflies so common in our
gardens and fields. I do not know what sort of a butterfly this
 A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN. 79

becomes. I will catch it and imprison it to witness its metamor-

phosis.¹ But what is going on now ? A little fly of a reddish-
brown colour, whose body seems to be attached to its corselet by
a slender thread only, has pounced upon the caterpillar, which
appears to be not at all inconvenienced by it, but keeps on its
way. It is most likely breakfast time, and it is in search of a
cabbage. But what is the fly about ? What does it want ? Is
it a fly of prey ? Does it mean, like a little eagle, to carry off
the caterpillar as a meal for itself and its young ones ? The cater-
pillar weighs twenty times as much as it does— that is impossible.
But the fly is armed with a sting twice as long as its whole body,
and as fine as a hair. It is an enemy. It is going to kill the
caterpillar with that formidable weapon, and, without doubt, eat
it. It raises its sting, and this slender hair separates into three
parts in its whole length ; two are hollow, and are the halves of
a sheath for the third, which is a sharp-toothed wimble. It darts
it into the body of the caterpillar, which appears to perceive or
know nothing of the matter. It soon withdraws its sword, and
returns it to the scabbard, flies off, and disappears. The cater-
pillar did not stop, nor does it stop. It is going to find its cloth
laid and an excellent breakfast ready. In a few days it will de-
scend into the earth to go through its metamorphoses ; but if I
do not shut it up in order to ascertain what sort of a butterfly it
becomes, my expectations will be disappointed. The fly has stung
it, and what naturalists call the ichneumon has only laid an egg
in its body. That sword, the third part of a hair, is hollow, and
has deposited an egg in an interior part of the caterpillar, where
this operation does it no harm. From this egg issues a worm,
which consumes the caterpillar very slowly. The latter feels ill
at ease, loses its appetite, and makes its cocoon ; its troublesome
guest never ceases to devour it, till, in its turn, it is metamor-
phosed, and becomes a fly similar to that which we saw lay the
egg. It pierces the cocoon of the caterpillar, and flies away in
search of a male, and, after that, of a caterpillar, in which it may
deposit its eggs.
A. KARR.
1 It becomes a white butterfly.
80 THE WATERFALL AND THE BRIER-ROSE.

THE WATERFALL AND THE BRIER-ROSE.

" BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous elf,"

Exclaim'd a thundering voice,
“ Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice !"

A fall of water swollen with snows

Thus spake to a poor brier-rose,
That, all bespatter'd with his foam,
And dancing high, and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

" Dost thou presume my course to block !

Off, off ! or, puny thing !
I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling. "
The flood was tyrannous and strong ;
The patient brier suffer'd long,
Nor did he utter groan or sigh,
Hoping the danger would be past ;
But seeing no relief, at last
He ventured to reply.

" Ah !" said the brier, " blame me not :

Why should we dwell in strife ?
We who in this, our natal spot,
Once lived a happy life !
You stirr'd me on my rocky bed-
What pleasure through my veins you spread !
The summer long, from day to day
My leaves you freshen'd and bedew'd ;
Nor was it common gratitude
That did your cares repay .
 ACCOUNT OF TWO TAME RAVENS. 81

" When spring came on with bud and bell,

Among these rocks did I
Before you hang my wreath, to tell
That gentle days were nigh !
And in the sultry summer hours
I shelter'd you with leaves and flowers ;
And in my leaves, now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none."

What more he said I cannot tell.

The stream came thundering down the dell,
And gallop'd loud and fast ;
I listen'd, nor aught else could hear :
The brier quaked, and much I fear
Those accents were his last.
WORDSWORTH .

ACCOUNT OF TWO TAME RAVENS.

As it is Mr. Waterton's¹ opinion that ravens are gradually

becoming extinct in England, I offer a few words here about
mine.
The raven in this story is a compound of two great originals,
of whom I have been, at different times, the proud possessor.
The first was in the bloom of his youth, when he was discovered
in a modest retirement in England by a friend of mine, and
given to me. He had from the first, as Sir Hugh Evans says
of Anne Page, " good gifts, " which he improved by study and
attention in a most exemplary manner. He slept in a stable-
generally on horseback- and so terrified a Newfoundland dog by
his preternatural sagacity, that he has been known, by the mere
1 Mr. Waterton is a well-known English naturalist.
F
82 ACCOUNT OF TWO TAME RAVENS.

superiority of his genius, to walk off unmolested with the dog's

dinner from before his face. He was rapidly rising in acquire-
ments and virtues, when, in an evil hour, his stable was newly
painted. He observed the workmen closely, saw that they were
careful of the paint, and immediately burned to possess it. On
their going to dinner, he ate up all they had left behind, con-
sisting of a pound or two of white lead ; and this youthful indis-
cretion terminated in death.
While I was yet inconsolable for his loss, another friend of
mine in Yorkshire discovered an older and more gifted raven at
a village public-house, which he prevailed upon the landlord to
part with for a consideration, and sent up to me. The first act
of this sage was, to administer to the effects of his predecessor, by
disinterring all the cheese and halfpence he had buried in the gar-
den-a work of immense labour and research, to which he devoted
all the energies of his mind. When he had achieved this task, he
applied himself to the acquisition of stable language, in which he
soon became such an adept, that he would perch outside my win-
dow, and drive imaginary horses with great skill all day. Once
I met him unexpectedly, about half a mile off, walking down
the middle of the public street, attended by a pretty large crowd,
and spontaneously exhibiting the whole of his accomplishments.
His gravity under these trying circumstances I never can forget,
nor the extraordinary gallantry with which, refusing to be brought
home, he defended himself behind a pump, until overpowered by
numbers. It may have been that he was too bright a genius to
live long, or it may have been that he took some pernicious sub-
stance into his bill, and thence into his maw ; which is not im-
probable, seeing that he new-pointed the greater part of the garden
wall by digging out the mortar, broke countless squares of glass
by scraping away the putty all round the frames, and tore up and
swallowed, in splinters, the greater part of a wooden staircase of
six steps and a landing ; but after some years, he, too, was taken
ill, and died before the kitchen fire. He kept his eye to the last
upon the meat as it roasted, and suddenly turned over on his
back with a sepulchral cry of " Cuckoo. " Since then I have been
ravenless.
 THE THREE BLACK CROWS. 83

THE THREE BLACK CROWS,

Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand,

One took the other briskly by the hand ;
" Hark ye," said he, " 'tis an odd story this
About the crows ! ". " I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend. -" No ! I'm surprised at that-
Where I come from, it is the common chat ;
But you shall hear—an odd affair indeed !
And that it happened they are all agreed.
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman who lives not far from ' Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,
Taking a vomit, threw up Three Black Crows !
" Impossible !"--" Nay, but ' tis really true ;
I had it from good hands, and so may you. "-
" From whose, I pray ? "-So, having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.
" Sir, did you tell "-relating the affair ;
" Yes, sir, I did ; and, if ' tis worth your care,
'Twas Mr. Such-a-one who told it me ;
But, by the by, ' twas Two black crows, not Three."
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,
Quick to the third, the virtuoso went.
" Sir," and so forth-" Why, yes ; the thing is fact,
Though, in regard to number, not exact ;
It was not Two black crows, 'twas only One ;
The truth of that you may depend upon :
The gentleman himself told me the case."-
" Where may I find him ?". " Why, in such a place,”-
Away he went and, having found him out,—
" Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.” -
Then to his last informant he referred,
And begged to know if true what he had heard :
" Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ? "— -" Not I ”—
" Bless me !-how people propagate a lie !-
84 JOHN ADAMS AND HIS LATIN.

Black crows have been thrown up, Three, Two, and One ;
And here I find all comes at last to none !
Did you say anything of a crow at all ? ”
" Crow- crow- perhaps I might, -now I recal
The matter over" - -" And pray, sir, what was't ? "
66
Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last
I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was—as black, sir, as a crow. ” — BYROM.

JOHN ADAMS AND HIS LATIN.

JOHN ADAMS, the second President of the United States, used

to relate the following anecdote :—
" When I was a boy, I used to study the Latin grammar ; but
it was dull, and I hated it. My father was anxious to send me
to college, and therefore I studied the grammar till I could bear it
no longer, and going to my father, I told him I did not like
study, and asked for some other employment. It was opposing
66
his wishes, and he was quick in his answer. Well, John, if
Latin grammar does not suit you, you may try ditching, perhaps
that will ; my meadow yonder needs a ditch, and you may put by
Latin, and try that." This seemed a delightful change, and to
the meadow I went ; but I soon found ditching harder than Latin,
and the first forenoon was the longest I had ever experienced .
That day I ate the bread of labour, and right glad was I when
night came on. That night I made some comparison between
Latin and ditching, but said not a word about it. I dug next
forenoon, but wanted to return to Latin at dinner ; but it was
humiliating, and I could not do it. At night, toil conquered pride ;
and though it was one of the severest trials I ever had in my
life, I told my father that if he chose I would go back to Latin
grammar. He was glad of it ; and if I have since gained any
distinction, it has been owing to the two days' labour in that
abominable ditch."
 FLAX A HISTORY. 85

Boys may learn several important lessons from this story. It

shows how little they oftentimes appreciate their privileges. Those
who are kept at study, frequently think it a hardship needlessly
imposed on them. The opportunity of pursuing a liberal course
of study is what few enjoy ; and they are ungrateful who drag
themselves to it as an intolerable task. Youth may also learn
from this anecdote how much better their parents are qualified to
judge of these things than themselves. If John Adams had con-
tinued this ditching instead of his Latin,, his name would not
probably have been known to us. But, in following the path
marked out by his parent, he rose to the highest honours which
the country can bestow.

FLAX A HISTORY.

THE flax was in full bloom, and it had such beautiful blue
flowers more delicate than the wings of a moth. The sun shone
upon the flax, and the showers watered it, and that was as good
for it as it is for little children to be washed, and have a kiss from
their mother. They look all the prettier for it, and so did the
flax. 66 They say I am well grown," said the flax, " and am getting
very tall--a famous piece of linen I shall make ! How happy I
am ! Quite the happiest of the happy ! I am so well off now,
and I shall make such a fine piece of linen ! How glad the sun-
shine makes me, and how sweet and fresh the rain tastes. I am
happier than I can tell ; I am the happiest of the happy !"
66
' Ay, ay," said the fence ; " you do not know the world yet,
but we do, for we are knotty." And then he creaked most dis-
mally—
Snip-snap snurah,
Vasselurah,
Here ends the song." "

" But it is not ended," said the flax ; "to-morrow the sun will
86 FLAX A HISTORY.

shine, or the rain will do good. I feel I am growing ; I feel I

am in full bloom. I am the happiest of the happy ! "
But one day there came some people who took the flax by his
tuft, and rooted him up. This was painful ; and then he was
laid in water, as if he were to be drowned, and held over the fire,
as if he were to be roasted. It was really shocking !
"We can't always be happy," said the flax ; " one must suffer
sometimes, and then one learns something."
But matters grew worse ; the flax was moistened, steeped, barked,
and heckled- nay, he did not know how they called all he went
through. At last he was put on the spinning-wheel— whirr, whirr !
it went round so fast that he could not collect his thoughts.
" I have been very happy," thought he in the midst of all his
troubles. "I must be content with the happiness I once enjoyed.
Oh ! content, content ! ”
And this he still said when he was on the loom, where he be-
came a fine, long piece of linen . The whole of the flax, to the
very last stalk, went to make this one piece.
"Well, this is quite extraordinary ; I should never have
thought it. How lucky I am ! The fence was quite wrong
when he sang-
' Snip-snap snurah,
Vasselurah,
Here ends the song.'
The song is not over, it is only just beginning. How very
extraordinary ! It is true I have suffered somewhat, but see what
it has made me. I am the happiest of the happy ! I am so
strong, so fine, so white, and so long ! This is something better
than being a mere plant, even in blossom ; one is not taken care
of then, or watered, except it rain. Now, I am waited on and
tended ; the maid turns me every morning, and I have a shower-
bath every evening from the watering pot. Yes, even the clergy-
man's wife stopped, and said I was the best piece of linen in the
whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now !"
The linen was next brought into the house, and given over to
the scissors ; and how it was cut and rent, and pricked with
needles. This was no treat ; but the piece of linen was made
 FLAX A HISTORY. 87

into twelve garments, of a sort we do not like to mention, though

everybody requires them.
" There now ! I have become something very notable. So
this was my destiny ; it is really quite a blessing. Now I shall
be of some use in the world, as every one ought to be, and that is
true pleasure. We are now in twelve pieces, still we are all one
and the same. We are a dozen. What an extraordinary piece of
good luck that is ! "
Years went by, and the linen was so worn it could not hold
together.
66 Everything must have an end," said each garment ; " I would
willingly have lasted longer, but one must not expect impossi-
bilities."
And so they were torn into rags and tatters. They now
thought all was over with them, for they were chopped up, steeped
in water, and cooked, and they knew not what besides ; and then
they became beautiful white paper.
66 Well, now, this is a surprise, and a noble surprise too," said the
paper ; “ I am finer than before, and now I shall be written upon.
What may not be written on me ! This is the most wonderful
piece of luck ! "
And, sure enough, the prettiest tales and verses were written
upon the paper, and only one blot fell on it ; it was, indeed, an
extraordinary piece of luck ; and people heard what was written
there, and it was so wise and so good that it made them wiser
and better ; they were blessed words that lay upon that paper.
" This is more than I dreamt of when I was but a little blue
flower in the field. How could I imagine that I should ever
bring joy and knowledge to mankind ! I can scarcely believe it
myself even now, but it is really so. Heaven knows that I have
done nothing myself but what my weak powers were compelled to
do for my preservation, and yet I have been raised in this manner
from one joy and honour to another. Every time that I think-
'Here ends the song,'
I make a step to something higher and better. Now I shall
surely be sent to travel through the world that every one may read
88 FLAX A HISTORY.

me. It cannot be otherwise ; it is the most likely thing. I have

now costly thoughts, as numerous as my blue flowers once were.
I am the happiest of the happy ! "
But, instead of travelling, the paper was sent to the printer's,
and all that was written upon it was set up in type to make a
book, or rather hundreds of books, as by this means so many more
could derive profit and pleasure from its contents, than if the
single piece of paper on which they were written had been circu-
lated through the world, and worn out before it had performed
half its journey.
" Yes, this is certainly the most rational plan," thought the
manuscript ; " it did not strike me before. I shall stay at home,
and be preserved in honour, like a grand old ancestor, which I am
to all these new books. Now some good may be done. I should
not have been able to wander about thus. But he who wrote it
all has looked upon me. Every word flew straightway out of
his pen into me. I am the happiest of the happy ! ”
The paper was then tied in a bundle, and thrown into a barrel
that stood in the wash-house.
" It is good to rest when one's duty is done," said the paper.
" It is very wise to collect one's thoughts, and to reflect on one's
actions. Now I know for the first time all that is in me, and to
know one's-self is a step in the right direction. What will happen
to me next ? I shall certainly progress forward ; for I know by
experience that all changes are for the better. "
So one day all the paper was taken out, and laid on the hearth
to be burnt ; for it was not to be sold to the hucksters for wrap-
ping up butter and sugar in, so they said. And all the children
in the house stood round, for they were so fond of seeing paper
burnt, because it sends up such pretty flames, and so many red
sparks are seen afterwards in the ashes. One popping out after
the other, so very fast they called it, " Seeing the boys coming
out of school ;" and the last spark was the schoolmaster. They
often thought he had gone by, but then another spark would ap-
pear, " There goes the schoolmaster," they said. Ay, a deal they
they knew about it. If they had but known who was going by.
We know who it was, but they did not.
 FLAX A HISTORY. 89

The whole bundle of old paper was placed on the fire, and it
soon kindled .
66
" Ugh !" cried the paper as it flared up in bright flames ;
66" Ugh ! "
It was not very pleasant being burnt, but when the whole had
caught fire, the flames rose higher in the air than the flax had
ever seen his little blue flowers shoot up, and glittered as the
white linen had never been able to glitter. One moment all the
written letters turned a glowing red ; and the words and thoughts
went out in flames.
" Now I'm in a fair way to rise up to the sun," said the paper
in the midst of the flames ; and it was as if a thousand voices
had spoken these words at once ; and the flames darted up to
the top of the chimney and above it. And finer than the flame,
for the eyes of men could not see them, tiny beings floated there,
just as many of them as there had been flowers on the flax. They
were brighter than the flame of which they were born, and as that
died out and only left the black ashes of the paper, they danced
over it once more, and where they touched it the red sparks
twinkled. " The children came out of the school, and the school-
master was the last." It was great fun, and the children sang
over the dead ashes :-:-

" Snip-snap snurah,

Vasselurah,
Here ends the song."

But the little invisible beings all said : " The song is never
ended ; that is the best of it ; we know it, and are, therefore,
the happiest of the happy." But the children could neither hear
nor understand this ; nor was it necessary they should, as chil-
dren are not to know everything.
HANS ANDERSEN.
 SECTION SECOND.

THINGS TO LOOK AT, AND HOW TO LOOK.

It is very true that some— -but only some-of the " things to
be looked at," described in the following chapter, require a micro-
scope, which it is not likely you have within your reach. Even
if you have not, it is useful and interesting to know what others
have seen, and can see in the invisible world that lies all around
you and before you. But do not think that you have no 66 won-
derful instruments " that you can use. You have two in your
own possession, more wonderful, more useful, more delicate and
beautiful in construction, than the finest microscope in the world ;
but perhaps you never have felt grateful for possessing them, nay,
you may perhaps scarcely have used them all your life, for it
has been said that " the art of seeing is rarely practised ,"-that
is to say, the art of seeing to any good purpose. Now, you know
that I mean your own eyes. The eye, when taken from the socket,
is round, and it is composed of three coats or skins, and three
transparent substances called humours. At the back part of the
eye is the optic nerve-and the retina, or innermost coat, which
looks like a piece of network, is formed by slender threads or
fibres of this great nerve. In some way, which I cannot explain
to you, because it belongs to a very deep science called Optics,
the surfaces of the three humours of which I told you catch the
rays of light which come from the different objects to be seen,
and gather them together, or concentrate them in the globe of
the eye ; and what do you think happens ?—there is then a
 THINGS TO LOOK AT, AND HOW TO LOOK. 91.

beautiful little picture of these objects, whether a tree, or a

flower, or a house, or a woman, or a mountain, formed upon the
retina, but inverted or turned upside down, and thus you are
enabled to see all that passes around you, though even the wisest
men do not know exactly how the impressions of this picture
reach the brain. An experiment which shows the truth of this
little picture formed upon the retina is so simple that it may
be tried by any one. Shut the shutters, so that no light can
enter the room, except by a small hole bored in them, which
answers to the pupil of the eye, and you will see a picture on
the wall opposite the hole similar to that which is impressed
on the retina ; the field, the garden, the trees, or whatever may
be outside will be there pictured exactly, except that they are all
very small, and turned upside down.¹ I must tell you, too, that
in the eye there is a little white gland, as large as a small bean,
whence comes the moisture necessary for washing the eye, and
keeping it clean and free from any particles of dust : it is this
which produces the tears which rise when a fly goes into your
eyes, and which carry it into a corner which is called the lach-
rymal bag ; it is from that little white gland also that your tears
come when you are in sorrow or pain. Now you may think that
all this is very dry and stupid, but I want you to think for a
moment of this wonderful apparatus for looking on God's beau-
tiful world. Surely He who has given it to us along with so
many "things to be looked at," intends us to use the wonderful
possession of sight, that we may see, believe, know, admire, and
adore. Surely it is not enough to look only at our friends- at
ourselves in the glass- at the chairs, tables, streets, shops, and
dresses around us-and to neglect more beautiful and curious
objects, in the very heart of which we are set, which are made
by God's own hand-by the same hand which combined so skil-
fully the humours and the coats of these little instruments, with-
out which all were of no use or beauty to us. Let us endeavour,
then, to obtain, in addition to all other precious gifts, " an eye
to see nature, and a heart to follow nature," lifting at the same
time both eye and heart from " nature up to nature's God."
1 Mrs. Marcet's Dialogues. Philosophy of the Senses, by R. S. Wyld.
92 PLANTS.

" THINGS TO BE LOOKED AT " BY THOSE WHO

LIVE IN THE COUNTRY.

Plants Their Colour, Food, and Life.

IN that wonderful ancient time when the hand of the Lord

God was busy in the Garden of Eden, it was not only the tree,
and the herb good for food or medicine, that " was made out of
nothing by the word of his power. " Everything that was " plea-
sant to the sight " was also given to adorn the home and the
garden of man. In spite of the fall and the curse, of the thistle
and the thorn, of the angel and the flaming sword, there are
still left on every side trees green and beautiful as those that
grew in Paradise, and flowers bright with every colour, pleasant
to the sight, and therefore not to be carelessly or ungratefully
looked at.

" Thou All-Beneficent ! I bless thy name,

That Thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers,
Linking our hearts to nature !
Thanks, blessing, love, for those thy lavish boons,
And most of all their heavenward influence,
O Thou that gav'st us flowers !"
MRS. HEMANS.

There was once a traveller who was lying, fainting and parched
with thirst, upon the hot, dry African sands : his faith had almost
failed, and his heart was almost in despair, when he saw a sight
which reminded him of the presence of God in that frightful wil-
derness, and hope and trust returned . It was a small and solitary
flower !
It is not enough only to " look " at the lily of the field or the
tree of the forest ; we must consider " how it grows," in order
that we may learn the lessons and reap the full enjoyments which
were intended to be conveyed.
Have you ever thought of the varied colours which meet your
eye in the garden and in the wood, and asked whence they came ?
 PLANTS.
393

Will you be astonished to hear that those lovely colours do not

belong to the flower or the tree ?-the rose could not be red, the
summer leaf could not be green, if there were no colours in light
itself. White light, or the light of day, which is derived from the
sun, is composed of three colours, red, blue, and yellow. Some of
these coloured rays enter into the otherwise colourless object, while
others that are not thus absorbed give, by reflection, the blush to
the rose, the bloom to the peach, the verdure to the field, the hue
to every object which meets our eyes in the full beauty and ra-
diance of colour.¹
Did you ever wonder how plants receive nourishment from the
air, the water, and the earth ? There is a gas in the atmosphere
called carbonic acid gas, which, though poisonous to animals, and
therefore existing in a small proportion, is needful to the life of
plants. Upon the surface of every leaf there are a great number
of little mouths, which drink in this gas with wonderful quickness
and activity ; there have been a hundred and twenty thousand
mouths counted upon a square inch of a lilac-tree leaf ! The
constant waving of the leaves and boughs is a great assistance to
the little mouths, for thus new air is every moment brought within
their reach, to have the carbonic acid sucked out of it. In the
same way, too, they absorb the rain, and the dew, and the artifi-
cial shower. This moisture not only feeds them with water, but,
by washing the leaves clogged with dust, these thousands of little
mouths are cleansed and refreshed, so that they can commence
anew their search after the favourite carbonic acid. But this
would not be enough for the nourishment of the plant ; the roots
must draw their liquid food in greater quantities from the soil ;
so upon each little root there are innumerable minute hairs, which
are shaped like hollow horns, and which draw up the watery par-
ticles from the earth, and enable the plant to send forth strong
shoots and beautiful flowers, whether the large stately blossom of
the horse-chesnut tree, or the pearly pink petals of the lowly
flower so beautifully named the Day's Eye, or daisy.2 Truly our
Heavenly Father feeds and clothes the plants of the field, which
are arrayed in a glory which Solomon the King, in all his Eastern
1 Sir D. Brewster's Optics, p. 402. 2 Johnston's Chemistry of Common Life.
94 PLANTS.

pomp, could not imitate. Shall He not much more feed, and
clothe, and care for us ?
Did you ever look at a dandelion (or dents des lions, lions'
teeth, as it ought to be called), that commonest of plants- not
with thoughts of its ugliness, or its commonness, or its destruc-
tiveness to the grass plots, where it mingles so freely with the
daisies and buttercups , but with reverent and adoring wonder at
the beauty of design and execution, which enables it to send forth
its little winged seeds to spread itself upon the face of the earth ?

" With such a liberal hand has Nature flung

Their seeds abroad- blown them about in winds."

When the yellow petals have faded, and the round downy head
has succeeded them (which village children amuse themselves
with, as clocks and fortune-tellers), you may some day watch one
of the many downy particles unloosed from the plant, and float-
ing placidly along in the air, a little seed attached to it- never
stopping, never faltering till it reaches its appointed little nook
in the earth, where it becomes a living plant. Some plants re-
quire water to open their seed-vessels and scatter the seeds abroad,
and little streams and broad rivers waft, for many hundred miles,
the seeds which are to take root, and flourish, and bloom far from
the parent plant. The number of those seeds in some plants
almost exceeds belief. One plant of the common thistle produces
twenty-four thousand, and the poppy thirty-two thousand ! ¹

Plants are to be found where you might least expect them.

The ugly blue mould that comes upon bread when it is kept too
long, is composed of immense numbers of tiny plants, each one
perfect, though their forms and their beauties are invisible to our
unassisted eyes ;-nay, sometimes there are plant rains ! Black,
orange-coloured, and crimson rains have sometimes been noticed,
the latter looking like showers of blood ; but they are often
particles of coloured plants taken high up in the air by violent
winds, and which then fall down like rain, causing great curiosity
and even alarm to the beholders. Other tiny plants of this
1 Balfour's Botany and Religion.
 PLANTS. 95

nature perform long journeys through the air. Some have been
intercepted on their way over the sea from America to Africa ! 1
Among " things to be looked at," flowers are certainly those
to which the hearts of almost all turn most instinctively. The
rose and the lily, the pansy and the forget-me-not, the orchis and
the blue-bell, speak to us of days of childhood and youth, of hope
and love, of friendships cemented or friendships estranged, of joy
and sorrow, of strength and comfort. But there are some simple
and elegant plants, which, having no flowers, are not so associated
with the days of " long, long ago," but which only need to be
watched and studied to become the favourites of our riper years.
Come with me into this shady wood, and, growing upon an old
mossy trunk, you will find a small plant, with three little feathery
branches of a delicate green at the top, and a long, dark purple
stem. There is no flower, but at the back of each little tiny
leaf or frond there are beautiful brown seeds, which show that it
is a Fern. There are forty different species in Great Britain.
This little three-branched one is called the Oak Fern.2 Come
to this old wall, and look at that still smaller fern, with a black,
hair-like stem, bordered by small, round, bright-green leaves ;
that is the common " maiden's hair, " 3 and grows in little clefts
between the stones. There, too, you will see another fern, with
stronger fronds than the two others, and the seeds jet black ; it
is called the black spleenwort. Or come to this little marshy
stream, and you will find near it a plant that looks like shining
green ribbons !—it is a fern, too, and has broad, curled, green
fronds, and is called the scolopendrium, or hart's tongue. Then,
in any ditch or hole in a wall, you may find a bright green fern,
with brilliant golden seeds, which is called the common polypody
—that is a long name, but it means having many feet ; and if
you examine the roots, they have a great many fibres or little
feet hanging down, which perhaps is the reason it is so called.
Or come to this green hill-side, and you will find it covered with
a large fern, which sometimes, but not often, grows six or seven
1 Balfour's Botany and Religion, p. 214. Harvey's Sea-Side Book, p. 175.
2 Polypodium Dryopteris. 3 Asplenium Trichomanes.
* Asplenium Adiantum-nigrum.
96 PLANTS.

feet high : it grows in branches like a tree, and when you cut
across its stem, you will see a strange mark in it, which, from a
fanciful resemblance, is sometimes called " King Charles in the
oak ; "— it is the common brake fern, or the " bracken" of the
old Scotch songs . These are only two or three of the commonest
kind of ferns ; but if you were to look about among hedges and
ditches, by the river brink, in the wood, on the hill, by old walls
and ruined cottages, you would certainly find a great many more ;
and if you were to dig up some of the roots, and plant them
in little pots, with sand and moss mixed with the earth, and a
little bit of stone put close to the root, they would grow and
flourish in a corner of your little garden or shady porch, and you
would have the pleasure of watching the lovely little green balls,
in which the young fronds are curled up, as they gradually unfold
into their green and graceful beauty. Ferns are not useless upon
the earth which they adorn ; they are applied to many purposes.
Some of those that grow in hot countries are used as food by the
natives, the stem containing a good deal of starch, which is con-
sidered nourishing. Several of our native ferns have been and
still are used medicinally, and many of them contain alkali, and
are used in making soap and glass, and in dressing leather ; they
are also of use in brewing, and a fern called the Fragrant Fern,
because of its pleasant scent, is sometimes used as a substitute
for tea. Thus there is use as well as 66 beauty" in our daily
paths ; there are gifts of God to be prized and understood, which,
because they appear small, are often overlooked ; there are joyful
and loving influences, which

" Can so inform

The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men ,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. " -WORDSWORth.
 INSECTS. 97

Insects. Earwig, Gnat, May-fly, Flying-spider.

BEAUTIFUL and wonderful, however, as are plants and flowers,

they form but a small portion of the interest of this our teeming
earth . There is a little, living, loving, and enjoying world, into
which we must examine to wonder and admire, although, perhaps,
in former times we may only have " looked " with foolish dislike
and shrinking- I mean the world of insect life. There is no
danger now of such a circumstance happening as happened only
a hundred and fifty years ago, when Lady Glanville, a sensible
and well-informed woman, was considered mad, and had her will
questioned on the ground of madness, only because she was fond
of collecting insects ! I would not wish you, however, to be
learned enough to stick pins into God's beautiful and happy
creatures, even though you might thus have fine collections and
gain much knowledge. Let us look at lovingly, and handle
gently, some of the most familiar forms which have crossed our
paths from childhood, perhaps without exciting one grateful feel-
ing, or teaching one useful lesson.
Here is the little earwig, which has called forth many a scream
from young and old ; it is an ill-used little being, its very name
being founded in injustice. The French call it " perce-oreille,"
or ear-piercer ; while our own name for it, earwig, suggests all
sorts of appalling ideas of having it creeping into our ears, and
going up to the brain. This is a mistake, however ; there is no
passage from the outer ear to the brain, and it could not pierce
the thick, tough membrane called the tympanum of the ear. The
original name is supposed to be earwing, from the two beautiful
little hind wings, which are shaped like an ear. They never fly
by day, but in the evenings they often migrate in large numbers.
The female earwig is a model of maternal love, and sits on her
eggs like a hen, and her little ones follow her about like chickens
many days after they are hatched.
Here is the common gnat, which you have seen thousands of
times dancing so merrily in the evening sunbeams, and under
G
98 INSECTS.

whose bites you have lost your temper more than once or twice !
What a wonderful history it has ! Its gnat mother built a little
boat composed entirely of her eggs, so beautifully contrived, that
though it is made of two or three hundred eggs, each one of
which is heavy enough to sink in water, it floats lightly on the
surface of the pool, and though hollow, it never fills with water.
In a few days the eggs become each one a grub or larva, which
swims with its tail up and its head down, because it has an appa-
ratus for breathing in its tail ; and when tired of swimming, it
can go down to the bottom and come up again whenever it pleases.
In a short time it passes into another condition of life, called the
pupa state. Its head is adorned with a pair of respirators, looking
very like the ears of an ass, through which it feeds on the air,
requiring no other food. In another week it passes through its
last transformation, entering its perfect or imago state, and be-
coming a gnat, like its father and mother before it. It is not a
very easy matter, however it has to struggle out of the old
habitation or armour, which now, however, serves the purpose of
a boat, when half of its new body only has emerged ; -rapidly it
is borne along, and if there was not a protecting Hand, an invi-
sible Love and Care, the little frail life would be quenched by the
surrounding waters ; but the needed strength comes, and in a
little while the boat is left behind, and the feathered head and
slender legs and wings, which are to make merry many a sun-
beam, arise free into the air, which is to be its new home. The
lady gnat never dances, and wears no feathers on her head ; but
I am sorry to say that it is she, and only she, that has the un-
ladylike propensity for biting, which has rendered the name of
gnat a suspicious sound, although her lord and master is guiltless.¹
Innocent are her little attacks, however, in comparison with the
mosquitoes in South America, where they form one of the prin-
cipal subjects of conversation. In one place the poor inhabitants
are obliged to bury themselves in sand, except the head, which
they carefully cover ; and there is a region where its inhabitants
are called " the sorrowful people," so torturing are the bites of
these small insects. Sometimes people are sent to that country
1 Episodes of Insect Life, First Series, p. 62.
 INSECTS. 99

as a punishment, and it is called being " condemned to the

mosquitoes !"

Then there are the little May-flies, or ephemera, little happy

beings that are skimming on every pool, dancing in every beam.
First, we find the little May-fly in the grub or larva state, when
it burrows in soft mud or earth in the river-bank, —then it rises
to the surface of the water, swimming and breathing, in its pupa
or second life, then, bursting from that inferior condition , it
takes flight, and looks like a perfect fly ; but it has still another
state to undergo- it has to disentangle itself from a thin sort of
skin, fitting like a glove, which fits every part of its body so
exactly, that when the little creature has gone forth in its perfect
development of a May-fly or ephemera, these glove-like skins
retain the form of the insect, and are often mistaken for them .
Yet all this wonderful care and instinct and contrivance are but
to provide for an existence of four or five hours, for it has been
said that those ephemera which die at eight o'clock in the morning
of the day they are born, die in youth ; those which live till five
in the afternoon, die in old age ! " With one more application to
ourselves, let us now review the history of our little day-fly ; for
in the former, no less than in the latter, is contained a lesson
written in characters divine. What precious time, made up of
stray minutes and odd half-hours, do we not daily throw away,
because it is not worth while ' to employ them ? How many
useful works do we deem it not worth while attempting, because
life may probably be too short for their completion ! How much
of mind do we consider it not worth while ' to cultivate, because
hopeless, perhaps, of living to reap the fruits of our mental labour,
forgetting, ―creatures of a day, as we strive to make ourselves, —
that we are sowing not for time, but for eternity. In all these
things an ephemeral fly may teach us wisdom. Although a few
summer hours constitute his all of life, not a moment of those
hours is thrown away ; with him all is ceaseless activity, and
consequent enjoyment, and early as he dies, it is not until he has
performed the purpose of his creation. " 1
1 Episodes of Insects, Second Series, p. 56.
100 INSECTS.

What is the matter with this rolled-up oak leaf, or this nettle
leaf, of which the sides are turned up ?-open it gently, it is a
home, lined sumptuously with silk, in which a small spider has
fixed his abode ; how curious and elegant his workmanship ! how
foolish and wicked our antipathy to so harmless and ingenious and
industrious a being ! Look, in this summer morning, what beauti-
ful and shining threads are these glistening in the dew, floating
and waving in the sunshiny air, stretching from leaf to leaf, and
glistening among the clover, a resplendent network,-it is gossa-
mer, —and that, too, is the work of a little spider called the
flying-spider, which, though it has no wings, mounts up in the
air upon the threads which he throws out before him, thus pos-
sessing a self-contained bridge or aërial machine. One day long
ago there was a pair of silk stockings presented to the French
Academy of Sciences, and much admired and wondered at- why
so, do you think ? because they were made of silk spun by a
spider ! But well-meaning and industrious as the little silk-
spiders may be, it takes three hundred of them to make as much
silk in the same time as our silk-worm.

Lady-bird, Gall-fly, Carpenter-bee, Honey-bee.

" Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire, and your children alone."
WHO has not thus addressed that pretty little beetle, adorned
with a red spotted robe, which we find in all weather, and in all
places ? But though we may have admired its beauty, given it
good advice and loving words, perhaps we never knew that it has
a useful work to perform in its little life, and that the gardener
and the flower-lover bless it for its diligence. Many plants—
roses, honeysuckles, and hops, among the number— are infested
by destructive little blight-insects called aphides or plant-lice,
which rob the flower of its beauty, the leaf of its greenness, the
hop of its useful qualities ; but the all-wise Creator, who guideth
and careth for all things, has provided this little insect, who feeds
 INSECTS. 101

on the destroyers, and fixes her nursery-home on a leaf peopled

by them, so that the infant lady-birds are not only fed upon
them, but gratify the instinct which makes them in their turn
aphis-hunters.
But let us turn to something else that certainly does not look
as if it had any connexion with insect life. How smooth and
pretty are those little oak-apples, or round bead-like substances
found ornamenting the leaves of the oak ; cut one open, but be-
ware of tasting it, for it is bitter as gall, as indeed it has a right
to be and what do we see ? a number of little cells, in each of
which there is a little brown grub, a juvenile gall- fly, which will
in a short time obtain the four pair of wings with which it is to
make its way in the world. No one knows how those pretty
little apples are formed by the mother gall-fly, but there they are
in their use and beauty ; for gall is of extensive use in medicine—
gallic acid is the essence of it- tannin, a remedy for sore throats,
is made of it also, while it is largely used in the composition of
ink-that invention which has proved such a blessing to mankind.
There is a more melancholy history, however, attached to these
strange little homes ; there is a fly-one of the Ichneumon family,
more famous for their beauty than their propriety of conduct-
which commits burglary upon the poor gall-fly's dwelling, lays an
egg within each of the poor little grubs, and retires ; but as the
young ichneumons grow up, they feed upon the original inhabitants
of the dwelling they have usurped. This naughty little fly is
among insects what the cuckoo is among birds. That little unseen
66
harbinger of spring," whose peculiar and beautiful call is so
welcome, and so much loved by us from childhood, is, I am sorry
to say it, a bird of disreputable habits and character. The cuckoo's
first step in life is to go to the nest of another bird, break and
devour its eggs, and then lay its one egg in it instead, which it
then deserts in a most unmotherly way. The poor childless hedge-
sparrow, or water-wagtail, returns good for evil by cherishing and
bringing up, in the youthful cuckoo, another unworthy and de-
structive member of society.
I must now go on to give you a sketch of some of those higher
1 Episodes of Insects, Second Series, p. 64.
102 INSECTS.

orders of the insect race, which display an almost incredible instinct

and ingenuity in their works and habits. Before proceeding to the
history of the honey-bee and ant, I must mention, in passing, the
saw-flies, which have beautifully formed little saws at the end of
their bodies, which they use to saw asunder, or make incisions in
leaves and stems of plants, and whose larvæ live together in a
social, friendly sort of way, in a tent made of leaves, fastened
together with silk. Then there is also the carpenter-bee, whose
mode of constructing its nest shows most wonderful instinct. This
" short, stout, plain bee, " as it has been described, bores a channel
or tube into decayed pieces of wood, generally an old post or rail-
ing. She then cuts from the green leaf of a rose-tree, several large
pieces, and rolls them up in the little chamber at the farther end
of this channel, and in them she lays her egg, then she covers the
entrance of her cave with five or six round pieces of leaf, and over
them she puts a number of little fragments of the old wood, and
then she fills up the long passage or channel with about twenty
pieces of rose-leaf, the bringing of which to the nest is a great
fatigue to the poor little carpenter, for she has often been watched,
resting with her burden on the way, and apparently quite breath-
less. It is not for amusement, or by accident, that the carpenter-
bee has taken all this trouble, —she has a design which she always
successfully executes. The rose-leaves and sawdust are defences
against the ichneumon-fly, that murderous little insect who is
always on the look-out for grubs and nests, that she may treat in
the same way as the poor injured gall-fly.

Let us now look at these straw-covered little dwellings, familiar

in many cottage-homes and cottage-gardens ; it is one thing, how-
ever, to eat honey, and perhaps be afraid of being stung, and
another thing to know the history of the makers of the honey, and
the possessors of the stings. In hopes of inducing my young
readers to read and study for themselves, I shall only mention a
few of the leading facts connected with these strange cities, or
rather kingdoms. They are the abode of royalty,—the scene of
usurpations, of murders, of wars, of affections and hatreds, of
devoted loyalty, of unceasing industry, of skilful architecture, of
 INSECTS. 103

extensive fortifications ! There is a queen-bee, the only bee in the

community which has a family, but hers is a pretty large one, as
she lays many thousand eggs. Most of the other bees are differ-
ently formed, and are the workers of the hive,—they are divided
into two classes, the wax-workers and nurses. Previous to the
queen's possession of the supreme authority, she commits many
murders. You must know that there is a royal nursery, in which
the larvæ of several bees are carefully watched and fed by the
" nurses .99 The first of these royal infants that arrives at her
winged maturity becomes the queen-bee, and in case of the others
becoming her rivals, the first thing she does is to rush to the nur-
sery and kill all the royal infants !—she does this by stinging them
to death, and it is an extraordinary fact that these murders have
been provided for, in the formation of the little creatures ; all bees
in their larva state spin for themselves a silken covering or cocoon
which covers the whole body, and is of so close a texture that no
sting could penetrate it, and it is only the cocoons of the royal
larvæ which are made in a different manner, leaving part of the
body uncovered, as if on purpose to admit the murderous sting.
The whole community pay the most devoted and respectful attention
to the queen ; she is constantly surrounded with a circle of bees,
and followed by a guard-while others press through the throng
of courtiers, bringing her offerings of honey, touch her respect-
fully with their antennæ (the two little horns or feelers which
you may see on their heads), vibrate their wings and buzz
gently to express their affection and respect. After the death
of a queen they pay her dead body as much respect as when
alive, and sometimes are a considerable time transferring their
loyal affection to the new sovereign. Affection, however, as I
said before, is not the only feeling which appears to exist in bee-
hives —the females hate each other, and the workers hate the
drones, or idle bees, which, though the fathers of the young bees,
are not of any further use, and are indignantly expelled from the
hive, and frequently stung to death. Bees have many enemies,
and none worse than moths, which attempt to invade them by
night, but find a prepared foe to encounter ;-sentinels parade
before the hives by moonlight, while within there are barricades
104 INSECTS.

and ramparts and fortified gates ! When the air of the hive becomes
close and oppressive, the bees ventilate it by vibrating or fanning
their wings ! and they do this in little companies, thus creating a
draft capable of moving pieces of light paper or cotton suspended
by threads. They also display the greatest care and diligence in
keeping their hives clear from anything which would make the air
unwholesome ; the dead bodies of insects they instantly cast out,
or if too large to be removed, like some luckless snail which may
have intruded, and lost its life in consequence of its temerity, they
immediately seal up the shell with a stuff called propolis, a sub-
stance formed by bees out of the brown resin of trees which they
have devoured ; this keeps the decaying matter within from being
in the least offensive ; if the snail is shell-less, they embalm the
whole body in propolis, which answers the same purpose. Propolis
they also use in painting and varnishing those beautifully formed
little six-sided cells, which are so much admired, especially when
well filled with honey ! They also use it mixed with some old
wax, instead of mortar, to make the little cells stronger and firmer.
Farina or pollen, is the pretty yellow dust of flowers which bees
collect and bring home, stored in little pellets upon their legs ;
mixed with honey, it forms, after being swallowed by the bees,
what is called bee-bread, and is the principal food of the infant-
bees. Wax is principally formed out of honey, and exudes from
their bodies, forming white scales ; it is only working bees whose
bodies are so formed as to permit of this. Honey itself is gathered
by the " busy bees " from almost every flower, and is then dis-
gorged into the cells prepared for it, as pure as when taken from
the flower. In some parts of England, there are still superstitions
about bees, showing how almost human in their reason and sym-
pathies and affections they are considered. In the south of Eng-
land, when any joyful event happens in a family, some one goes
and whispers it to the bees, -in other places, when a death occurs,
a piece of crape is fastened upon the bee-hive, and a piece of
scarlet cloth when there is a marriage ! I must now tell you some-
thing of the great historian of the bees, the blind Francis Huber,
who was born at Geneva, July 1750. When he was only fifteen,
his eyesight began to fail, and in a few years he lost it entirely.
 ANTS. 105

He was attached to a young lady before this happened, and though

her friends wished her to give him up, when it became clear that
he was to be a blind man for the rest of his life, —she said that
she loved him all the better, and she accordingly married him, and
made such a good wife, that, after an union of forty years, he said,
" As long as she lived, I was not sensible of the misfortune of
being blind. " From his childhood he had displayed a deep love of
nature, and a keen observation of her beauties, the remembrance
of which he vividly retained in after-life. He made all his wonder-
ful and interesting, as well as novel, experiments upon bees, by the
observations of his faithful servant, Francis Burnens, confirmed by
his wife and friends, subject to strict examination, and then cor-
rected by his own early recollections. " He retained his faculties
to the last, he was loving and beloved to the end of his days," and
at the age of eighty-one he died, —a few days after he had written
to a friend, that " resignation and serenity were blessings that
had not been refused to him."

Ants.

You are probably familiar with the appearance of the ant-hill,

which we meet in such numbers in almost every woody place, —
some composed of earth, others of bits of straw, wood, and leaves,
and animated by the stirring life and activity of numbers of little
brown insects, but perhaps you are not familiar with the won-
derful architecture of these swarming cities. Galleries, halls,
storeys of apartments, columns, and buttresses, are all to be found
there, made by the working ants, who, as among bees, are of a
different class from the fathers and mothers of the ant-hills. As
in the bee-hive, there is a principal female, who receives the same
honour and respect as the queen-bee, but more as the mother of
the ant-hill, than as a sovereign, for among ants the power of
governing rests with the workers. Ants are more amiable than
bees, for two or three of these females of exalted rank can live in
the same city in peace and harmony, each having a separate court
or household of attendants. Workers have no wings, but the
106 ANTS.

others possess that distinction ; however, when the females become

mothers, they voluntarily strip themselves of their wings, as if they
considered them too light and frivolous appendages for sober ma-
trons, who might be better occupied in taking care of their families,
than in flying about the country. You will be astonished to hear
of the " antennal language," as it is called by Peter Huber, son of
Francis Huber, who is the historian of ants, as his father was of
bees. This language or mode of expression of ants, is not by
sound or by sign, but by the touch of the antennæ of one ant upon
the antennæ of another, so that communication can be carried on
in their dark, subterranean houses. An ant can only be under-
stood by one of its companions at a time, but the information given
is spread with amazing rapidity. Dr. Franklin discovered a num-
ber of ants dining or breakfasting upon some treacle in his store-
room : he dispersed them, and then hung up the jar of treacle by
a string from the ceiling, where he imagined that it was perfectly
safe ; but one little ant had been overlooked in the jar, which he
saw leave it, walk up the string, and across the ceiling, till it came
to its own nest ; there it had evidently related to its companions
its adventures, and the way to the much coveted treasure, for in
about half an hour several of its companions set out, crossed the
ceiling, descended the string, and arrived safely in the treacle jar,
which they revisited till there was no more left.
Ants are a pastoral tribe, and possess herds of very small milch
COWS ! The little green and white aphides or pucerons that feed
on roses and other plants, give out a sweet, glossy fluid, in very
small quantities, which ants are particularly fond of, and they use
their antennal language of touch, whether of entreaty or command,
to such good purpose, that the tiny little aphis gives its milk
freely to feed the dainty ants ; or, if they are not asked for it,
they deposit it upon leaves, to be ready when it is wanted.
Flocks of these little creatures are kept near the ant-hill, and
constitute their sole wealth, " an ant-hill being more or less rich,
as it is more or less provided with pucerons ; they are, in fact,
their cattle, their cows, their goats !" If pastoral, however, in
some of their habits, ants are also decidedly warlike. Neighbour-
ing ant-hills have oftentimes deadly feuds, which lead to pitched
 ANTS. 107

and bloody battles. They carry on a mode of warfare which

reminds one of the poisoned arrows of the Indians ; they possess
a drop of venom called formic acid, which they pour into the
wounds caused by their teeth, which are thus rendered extremely
painful, and when their foes wisely keep at a distance, they can
spurt the poison to a considerable distance. Females and workers
have also stings, though not the fathers of the community, who
take no part either in its industry or its defence. I have heard
of a pleasant acid drink being made in a very cruel way—by
drowning a few ants in water, which is thus flavoured with the
formic acid ! A less cruel experiment is to put the hand into an
ant-hill, and, when you withdraw it, it will have a delicious smell
of aromatic vinegar. The innocent little ants of this country are
very different from those of tropical regions. The white ants, or
Termites, are especially destructive to the property, and even the
life of man ; their sting is peculiarly venomous, and they are so
numerous and so strong, that they can tear in pieces, and carry
to their dwellings, the bodies of large animals, each ant carrying
a piece much larger than its own body. Some species build nests
or hills twenty feet high, which are so strong, that wild bulls
can stand on them without doing them any harm ! I have read
of cannon being used against them, as the only means of their
destruction. There are some tribes of South American Indians
who make a sort of pastry of these very ants when dead and
dried, which forms their principal food.
Great indeed is the privilege of those who are dwellers in the
free, pure-aired country, with its gems of flowers and leaves - its
pictures of summer greenness, and blue streams, and purple hills
-its architecture of gnarled columns and forest arches pointing
to heaven- its music of mountain breezes and carols of birds, and
faint, sweet melody of insects humming in the summer air. Let
not such gifts be thrown away upon careless and ungrateful hearts !

" Your voiceless lips, oh flowers, are living preachers,

Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book,
Suggesting to my fancy various teachers,
From loneliest nook.
108 SEA-ANEMONES.

" Neath cloister'd boughs each floral bell that swingeth,

And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer.
"There, amidst solitude and shade, I wander
'Neath the green aisles, or stretch'd upon the sod ;
Awed by the silence, reverently I ponder
The ways of God."

" THINGS TO BE LOOKED AT" BY THOSE WHO LIVE

ON THE SEA-SHORE.

Sea-Anemones.

THESE are so numerous, so beautiful, so wonderful, that in a

limited space like this, little more than a mention of them can
be made. I shall merely indicate a few most likely to be met
with by those of limited opportunities. In studying the " Won-
ders of the Shore," the most obvious marvel that strikes our eyes
and minds, is the extraordinary union of animal and vegetable
life which we meet with in those strange creatures, the sea-
anemones, or animal flowers, whose history might almost belong to
the fairy-tale class of literature. Look in any little pool left by the
tide, and you will be sure to find fixed firmly to the rock, what
perhaps looks only like a soft knob of red jelly, or a lilac and
green ball ; but watch it for a little, and putting forth its petals,
it will appear a perfect little flower, -touch it, and it will shrink
from you, draw in its petals, and again become a ball of jelly.
By a little trouble you can detach it from the rock, and taking it
home you can keep it alive and merry for a long time in a vessel
containing salt water, though it would be doing as you would
wish to be done by were you carried away captive by a terrible
ogre to return it to its rocky home, whenever you have watched
it sufficiently to acquire a little familiarity with its ways of going
on. You will be considerably puzzled by the changes in your
 SEA-ANEMONES. 109

guest's appearance, for you may leave him in the enjoyment of a

pretty lilac or red complexion, and, returning in half an hour,
may find him fawn-coloured or green, having in the interval
turned himself inside out ! Perhaps you may still doubt that it
is an animal, for where is its head ? where are its feet ? If you
ask where is its stomach, that question will be more easily
answered, for in truth that constitutes its only and rather ignoble
possession. It has no eyes, though it is said to dislike a strong
light,-it has no ears, though it is said to be startled by a noise,
-it has no feet, though, when tired of one locality, it can pack
itself up, and go whither it likes ; but it is made up of stomach-
that is its strong point ! Put a spider or a fly, or a bit of raw
beef into the midst of those beautiful, innocent-looking petals, and
the flowery stomach is in its proper element, and proceeds to its
dinner with a good appetite. I once watched a nursery of
actinia, or sea-anemones, for several weeks, and very curious it
was to see the growth of the little pink buds or babies of the
sea-anemone. I also kept two little hermit crabs, those little
robbers and burglars of the sea, who,-never having had a house
of their own,-probably contented themselves, in their young
innocent days, with deserted shells found on the shore ; but as
they grow up, these shells become too small, and, without any
scruple, they fix on a more convenient dwelling-place, -and im-
mediately attacking the fish, either turn it out to die, or devour
it themselves, while they quietly establish themselves in their
comfortable quarters . I had likewise two specimens of a curious
little creature whose name I do not know, though I have no
doubt that it is quite common,-it was found among the rocks
at low tide, and resembled a sea-slug ;-it was about three inches
long, of a dark brown colour ;-it had two very small eyes, so
small as scarcely to be visible, and close to them were two horns
or ears ;-its mouth or stomach appeared to be on its back, which
opened with two wide lobes, through which it breathed and re-
ceived food. One day the dish in which it was kept was filled
with what looked like the most lovely purple paint, and in a few
hours the poor little creature died. This coloured substance
turned afterwards to a brilliant orange, and seemed to be a symp-
110 SEA-ANEMONES.

tom of approaching death, as the same thing happened immediately

before the death of the other specimen whose life I in vain tried
to preserve. The sea-anemone belongs to the class Polypifera, and
in the same class, but belonging to another " group," there are
various tiny animals, that look like little stars, though some are so
small as scarcely to be seen by the naked eye.
It has been beautifully said with reference to these living won-
ders, that " in each of their three characters, as animals, flowers,
stars, the radiates of the deep seem to take leave of us with three
distinct whispers, audible through the murmur of the waves. They
say as animals, ' You look down on us (and justly) as among the
lowest of living creatures, made up nearly, as you describe us, of
mouth and stomach. Yet do we not eat only ; we move and
multiply, suffer pain, feel pleasure, take heed to self-preservation,
even as you. Highest of the animals, you must do more, or you
hardly rise above us !' They say as flowers, ' See how we clothe
with grace and rainbow colours the ocean cavern and the barren
rock. Perform a part like ours in the adornment of your earth.
By cheerful kindliness of heart be as flowers on its rugged steeps
and its darkest places.' And hark to what they say as stars.
From us, the lowly stars of the deep, look up to the stars on
high. See something more than an apparent similitude between
us. Our offices are resembling. They wrap in glory the course
of the Creator in the heavens. We paint it with beauty as He
walks in the paths of the sea ! " "

The Beach.- Sand, Eggs of Ray-fish and Whelk, Sponges,

Jelly-fish, Coral Islands,

IN walking along the shore many common things meet the eye,
too often without exciting the least curiosity in our minds, even
though we may be very curious indeed, to know the affairs and
histories of our next-door neighbour, which are not likely to be half
so interesting or useful . Let us first look at the firm yellow
sands, so curiously marked by wavy lines or furrows produced by
the advancing and retiring ripples of the tide. Upon rocks of
 THE BEACH. 111

sandstone are found similar marks to those you now see,—and

also little heaps of sand, like those that are yonder, looking like
worms, which are thrown up by the worms from beneath. There
are curious footsteps to be seen on the stone, too, and marks as
if of raindrops upon sand ; but how came such traces upon the
hard rock ? It was once- wonderful to say-soft sand of the
sea-shore, such as you now see,-and the footprints are those of
animals long passed away and perished, the ripple-marks those
that made melody on the shore when perhaps there were no
human ears to listen, —the rain-drops those that fell from heaven
thousands of years ago.
What is that black, horny-looking thing lying upon the sand,
about four inches long, and one and a half broad, with four
handles to it ? It is commonly called a " mermaid's purse," or
in some places, a " skate's barrow," because it is shaped some
thing like a handbarrow ;—well, that is the egg of the Ray fish
or skate, the forsaken case which contained the young skates.
If you examine one in spring, you will find the little fish curled
up in it, and there it stays till it is strong enough to burst through
the hard case, and take to a sea-faring life. Often, too, you will
find a number of pale yellow little bladders, sticking together
among a mass of sea-weed, and looking something like a wasp's
nest ; they are often empty, and with a hole in them, but in
spring there is a soft yolk, in which gradually grows a little shell-
fish . These are the eggs of the large whelk. There may also be
found a large, fleshy, oddly-shaped orange- coloured substance,
looking like fingers or toes, which is called " dead men's fingers, "
though composed of a living family ! The tough yellow skin is
covered by countless little polypes, or living flowers, though gene-
rally those which we meet with on the sands, unless just left by
the tide, are dead.

Sponges present a still more curious form of life, because

scarcely perceptible. When you have used a sponge for washing,
did you know that it was a skeleton ? The living sponge does
not shrink when it is touched, and has no stomach, but it has a
great number of little canals, which convey in all directions the
 112 THE BEACH.

water it requires for nourishment, and currents of water are thus

constantly imbibed and expelled, which is the only movement of
life that has been observed in old sponges. Not so with their
offspring a number of very tiny buds are found on cutting open
a living sponge, these are gemmules, or eggs, which, as they
grow bigger, are covered with hair, or cilia ; by and by they fall
off from the sponge, and instead of being heavy and stupid like
their parent, they immediately begin to lead a most active life,
moving about in all directions by the help of the currents, formed
by the cilia. This continues till they reach places where they
can fix themselves like their sponge mother, when they immedi-
ately stop their wanderings, and become staid and respectable
members of sponge society for the rest of their lives. The slimy
or jelly-like substance, which is the seat of life, dries up when
the animal is dead, and the mass full of holes that we use every
day is the skeleton.
There is a whole range of strange sea creatures, called jelly-
fishes, they look like nothing but tiny pieces of clear jelly, -
some, indeed, only like a minute bubble of sea-water ; yet these
creatures not only live and move and have their being, but most
of the species are gifted by their Creator with a strange radiance,
each giving out a little spark, or flash of light, in the dark.
When great numbers are congregated together, as in the tropical
seas, or even in our own latitudes, they seem to cover the waters
with living light, and have been called " the mimic fires of ocean .

Some species of the inhabitants of the sea possess a most

wonderful power of adapting themselves to circumstances ; for
instance, they are quite indifferent as to being cut in pieces, for
not only do they appear comfortable under those peculiar circum-
stances, but each of the little bits " becomes in due time a perfect
animal, complete in all its parts ! " The Holothuria, a beautiful
little creature, with a primrose-coloured head, crowned with " ten
feathery gills, looking very much like a head of curled kale, but of
the loveliest white and dark chocolate, —in the centre whereof lies,
perdu, a mouth with sturdy teeth," has a very great peculiarity
1 Perdu- hidden.
 THE BEACH. 113

about his conformation, and requires neither doctor nor dentist,

for when he has the toothache, or is troubled with indigestion, he
has the simple remedy at hand of throwing away his stomach ,
teeth, and all, and subsiding into an empty bag, in which state he
fasts, " till he grows a fresh set, and eats away as merrily as
ever ! " The Lingthorn, which is a star fish, has a very different
propensity from either of these, and is far from being so accommo-
dating to life and limb ; it has the power of breaking itself into
pieces when it is in a passion, and as it has not the most placid
temper in the world, suicide is thus a common occurrence !
Life, life ! wonderful, beautiful, rejoicing life, is swarming
everywhere around us, though we give it no thought, no admira-
tion. There is not a tide-pool, not a sprig of sea-weed, not a
splinter of rock, which is not a city of habitation to thousands of
God's own creatures, living and breathing, and enjoying :-nay,
these living creatures themselves are centres of population, for
they are thickly sprinkled with thousands of still smaller creatures,
or parasites, which have their home upon them, and to which life
is also a gift and a blessing.
"And does it not read us an instructive homily, —one of those
6 sermons in stones,' that the poet speaks of,-on the beneficent
care of Him 6 who openeth His hand and satisfieth the desire of
every living thing ?' What a family is His to be provided for
day by day, and yet every mouth filled, —not one of these hungry
polypes going unsupplied ! What a vast amount of happiness we
here get just a glimpse of ; for life, the mere exercise of vital
functions in health, and in suitable circumstances and conditions,
-the circumstances and conditions, I mean, for which the crea-
tures themselves are fitted, -is undoubtedly enjoyment probably
of as high a nature as the inferior animals are capable of receiving.
We need not, then, ask for what purposes God has made so great
a variety of creatures of no apparent benefit to man. Is it not an
end worthy of a Being infinitely wise and good, that He has
stocked every nook and corner of His world, even to overflowing,
with sentient existences, capable of pleasure, and actually enjoying
it to the full, hour by hour, and day by day ?"
But it is not only life that is beautiful and useful in the world
H
114 COAL.

of the ocean. Death and its sepulchres are there robbed of their
repulsiveness , and become ministers of utility and ornament . The
coral islands of the Pacific Ocean, which are now the seat of veget-
able and animal life, where men live, and suffer, and enjoy, and
hear the words of a free salvation , are the workshops , the tombs ,
and the skeletons of myriads upon myriads of little ocean polypi !
Each little flower- like creature forms a chamber for itself out of a
secretion of its own, mixed with a particle of lime, obtained from
the sea waters , and dying , after performing this its little work,
fills up the chamber with its dead body . Succeeding generations
carry on the work, till the little speck grows into a mass of archi-
tecture and dead architects , which, in process of time, rises above
the surface of the sea. Sea-weeds- seeds and leaves brought by
birds -stones, branches of trees, and earth gathered together by
the currents and tides of the ocean, form upon it a soil, from
which springs vegetation , andthe island is thus made ready for
the abode of human life. The corals, so well known to the in-
fantine pearl -growers of our nurseries - the necklaces of round red
coral beads , so prized by the babies of a few years ' larger growth,
and the rich coral ornaments so becoming to the delicate com-
plexions of grown-up beauties, are all cut from the coral trees and
branches of these wonderful islands. Who need say of any work,
any duty " It can do no good , it is so small , and I so weak, ”
when we remember the little workers of the ocean , and their most
successful, most honoured service ?

THINGS TO BE LOOKED AT BY THOSE WHO

LIVE IN CITIES.¹

Coal.

MANY pairs of eyes excuse themselves for not seeing- many

minds for not pondering God's works, because the place of their
1 It is scarcely necessary to state that only a few of the objects presenting themselves even
to an ordinary observer are selected. The intelligent teacher may find it useful to extend
 COAL. 115

habitation renders it, as they think, impossible ; if they lived in

the country, they might perhaps study natural history, but as they
live in towns, what can they see or think about except chimney-
pots, and police officers, and ragged children ! Are you sure that
in your town room, though the windows look out on bricks and
pavements, while woods and waters are far away, you can find
nothing worthy of interest or examination ? Why, you have ma-
terials for a more interesting botanical lesson in your coal-scuttle ,
than in the freshest and fairest garden in the land ! Had there
been no wide forests, no stately plants of a growth more free and
luxuriant than any that we now know, we should have had no
coals to make our hearths warm and cheerful- to comfort the
hearts of the poor and shivering -to send the ships steadily over
the seas the rapid locomotive to and fro through the earth.
Coal-the black coal that you heap on your fires-was once part
of a green tree ; the coal-fields which are so abundant in England,
Ireland, and Scotland, as well as in far distant regions, were
living forests, which, with the ferns and other plants growing in
their shade, or twining round their trunks- nay, with the very
insects which fluttered amongst them, by a slow but sure process
going on through many waiting ages, were converted into the
black masses from which we derive the warmth of fire, and the
brilliancy of gas, and the wonders of steam. Torn from their first
habitations by violent hurricanes, the plants were precipitated into
the neighbouring waters , where they were in course of time buried
in the mud and sand. There they underwent the chemical changes
necessary to convert the wood into the coal ; and from their in-
accessible abode they were at last raised in large beds or " Coal
Measures," by the elevating force of subterranean fires, to places
where men could obtain ready access to their treasures. It is in
these coal mines, especially in those of Bohemia, that the remains
of their early origin can be more distinctly traced. " The roof
is covered as with a canopy of gorgeous tapestry, enriched with
these lessons orally, and especially under this chapter to direct the pupil's attention to the
various articles of furniture, food, and clothing which even more naturally form useful sub-
jects for observation and reflection in the crowded city than in the country. The other
volumes ofthis series of Reading Books will be in this connexion found valuable, as afford-
ing material for oral lessons, if the teacher should have time and opportunity to give them.
116 INSECTS AND BIRDS.

festoons of most graceful foliage, flung in wild and irregular pro-

fusion over every portion of its surface. The effect is heightened
by the contrast of the coal-black colour of these vegetables with
the light groundwork of the rock to which they are attached.
The spectator feels himself transported as if by enchantment into
the forests of another world ; he beholds trees of forms and cha-
racters now unknown upon the surface of the earth, presented to
his senses almost in the beauty and vigour of their primeval life ;
their scaly stems and bending branches, with their delicate appa-
ratus of foliage, are all spread forth before him, little impaired by
the lapse of countless ages, and bearing faithful records of extinct
systems of vegetation, which began and terminated in times of
which these relics are the infallible historians."

Insects and Birds -House-fly, Cricket, Swallow.

IN your search around your room, however, for objects of in-

terest, you may prefer those with present life and beauty ; where
could you find both more vividly expressed than in this little
being of airiest and speediest flight, buzzing and soaring around
you, with
" His two pretty pinions of blue dusky gauze."
It is only the common house-fly, it is true, but it is one of God's
works of exceeding beauty. Its wing of " dusky gauze," if you
look at it in a good light, is a network radiant with glorious
colours ; it possesses an Eolian harp, too, for that very buzzing
which is so provoking to us in a hot summer's day, is thought to
be produced not by the wings themselves, but by the " air playing
on the edges of the wings at their origin, as with an Eolian harp
string ;" and its foot -that is the greatest wonder of all. A
fly's foot has kept philosophers talking, and discussing, and dis-
puting for many a long day. How can a fly walk upon the
ceiling head downwards without falling ? was the question ; and
 THE HOUSE-FLY. 117

more than a question, for people have actually tried to imitate it,
and the experiment was frequently exhibited in one of the London
theatres. The performer's progress across the ceiling, head down-
wards, was not quite so cleverly managed as that of the graceful
little fly ; it was supposed to be done by ropes or wires fastened
to the feet, and held by persons on the other side of the ceiling.
A fly possesses six legs, two of which she uses instead of hands ;
the other four are cloven, and armed with little claws, with which
she seizes upon all sorts of inequalities, which are scarcely visible
to us. There are also little cups or suckers in the fly's foot,
which, as some have supposed, act in the same way as the leathern
suckers used by boys for lifting stones. To make you understand
how this is, I must explain to you about the leathern sucker.
The leather, as you know, is first wetted, and being firmly pressed,
it sticks to the stone tightly enough not to give way round the
edges when it is pulled ; the leather, however, is pulled up from
the stone in the centre, and a little cup is there formed, which
(as the air cannot get through the leather) is quite empty, from
having no air in it. The air around it then presses upon the out-
side of the leather, and squeezes it down upon the stone. The
air, however, sometimes presses itself through the edges of the
leather, gets into the little empty cup, fills it with air, and the
stone drops off. The fly-suckers have been supposed to be used
just in this way ; the fly emptying the little cup of air when it
wishes to stick to the ceiling, and filling it with air again when
it wishes to fly off. You have, I daresay, little thought of the air
you breathe having any weight at all. How heavy a thing it is
you may imagine, when I tell you that its pressure upon our
bodies is equal to many thousand pounds, and would be fatal to
our existence if it were not for the air inside our bodies, which
press up against it . It has been observed that flies, unable to
stand back downwards on highly-polished bodies, were able to do
so on those slightly soiled ; and from these and other observations,
it is considered that the apparatus by which they effect their hold
is quite mechanical, and closely resembles the fine hair brushes of
other insects, used as holders or supporters.
118 INSECTS AND BIRDS.

But what is the pretty chirping sound ascending from the warm
kitchen , which rings as merrily as the insect music of a summer
wood ? " Oh, it is only the crickets, " you say. Only the crickets !
Many a housewife in Scotland and England would stare at you
with indignant surprise for your disrespect to her familiar friends,
who are her barometers and fortune-tellers in one. Well does she
know the approach of rain from their movements, and they also
--she imagines-foretell the return of one friend, or the death
of another. When the crickets, as their fashion sometimes is,
suddenly forsake a house, it is a Dumfriesshire superstition that
some evil is at hand, generally the death of a relation . These
domestic inhabitants of our dwellings, whether town or country,

" Some still removed place will fit,

Where glowing embers through the room,
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth."
MILTON'S Il Penseroso.

And there they make melody for our hearts and ears ; for who
does not love the cricket, so associated with warmth and home ?
It is not a beauty, certainly, in person, and a very fine lady might
almost be excused for screaming at the sight of one, for their yel-
low limbs and features are not so attractive as their merry hearth-
side music. They are remarkably thirsty little creatures, and often
gnaw holes in wet woollen clothes that are hung before the fire.
When an alarm occurs in the kitchen, they have wit enough to
make a peculiar chirping signal, so that the rest may keep out of
harm's way. The chirrup of the cricket is peculiarly sharp- so
much so, that many ears cannot hear it, although in perfect pos-
session of the faculty of hearing other sounds. I know a gentle-
man who can hear a cricket with one ear, but not with the other.
The chirrup of the grasshopper is also one of the acute sounds
which some ears cannot catch. Farewell, little friend and mu-
sician of narrow street homes, and warm ovens, and kitchen
hearths !
There is another visitant to our windows, our doors, nay, our
 SWALLOWS. 119

very chambers, with which we might make a more familiar ac-

quaintance—the swallow, which builds her nest so confidingly
beneath our eaves. One is mentioned as having fixed her house
in an inhabited bed -room, against a shoe which hung there, and
she returned to the same spot year after year ; and another built
upon a bell that hung in the passage. Swallows seem to have
good memories. Before winter comes, with its blights and frosts,
they fly away to distant lands, even as far as the African shores ;
but when the winter is over and gone, and the spring- time is at
hand, then the little swallow comes back, not only to the old
country, but to the old nest. Few birds are so swift of flight as
the swallow ; it is said that they can travel at the rate of fifty
miles an hour, or six hundred miles a-day ! and they seem almost
to live on the wing. They are beautifully formed for their life
of constant motion, having slender bodies, with close-lying plumage,
and long, pointed wings and forked tails, and their feet are so
thick, that they are ill adapted for any other movement than their
airy flight aloft. If you were to watch a swallow's nest, you
would see the newly-fledged little ones receive their first lessons
in flying, which is generally in a street between two walls, or in
a narrow passage. The mother takes a short flight in a straight
line ; the little swallows imitate her, rather unsteadily at first, but
soon grow more and more confident. The teacher then stops, and
commences the second part of the lesson by wheeling through the
air in bends, circles, and sudden turns. In three evenings the
task is accomplished, and the young troop are able to wing their
independent way.
In old warlike days, swallows were sent as messengers of good
or evil. A Roman garrison was once besieged by enemies, and
its defenders sent a swallow, taken from its young, to a Roman
general from whom they expected succour. He bound a knotted
thread to her feet, the number of knots signifying the number of
days that must pass before he could come to their help, in order
that they might make a sally out of the town to help him. The
swallow returned with the message, and the garrison was saved.
There are a great many old beliefs about this bird it was thought
that the lightning never scathed the spot where she built her
120 THE SKY AND THE STARS.

nest ; that death came into the homes which she deserted, and
that those who destroyed her beautiful little nest, her “ loved
masonry," destroyed their own fortunes, while those who pro-
tected the confiding little guest, flourished and prospered.

The Sky and the Stars.

THERE is a sight which those who live in the darkest cities

can see the sky at midnight and at noon ; and it is a sight
so full of wonder and thought, so calming and yet so arousing,
that those who can gaze with intelligent eyes upon the sun, moon,
and all the host of heaven, need scarcely be pitied for their dis-
tance from the lowlier scenes of country life. It has been beau-
tifully said of stars by the poet,-
" You cannot love them till you dwell
In mighty towns, immured in their black hearts.
The stars are nearer to you than the fields."
ALEXANDER SMITH.

As with every other study of God's works, sight is not all that
is required ; we must have our ears opened to hear the voices
with which " the heavens declare the glory of God, and the
firmament showeth forth His praise."
Whose but an Almighty hand could have framed that mag-
nificent sun, which is the centre of our solar system, round which
revolve all the planets, our own little earth among the number ?
Glorious as that sun is- familiar as its effects are to all, in cheer-
ing, warming, reviving, illuminating, and ripening all things-
anxiously as its appearance is watched and murmured for, when
behind the clouds and mists in which it is so often veiled in our
climate, it is yet difficult to realize its exceeding magnitude and
glory ; it is almost nine hundred thousand miles in diameter,
which is about a hundred times larger than our earth. In the
midst of the brilliant gas of which we see the light, there is a
 THE SKY AND THE STARS. 121

solid body ; the black spots visible in the sun, which appear very
small to us, are in reality many thousand miles in diameter, and
are evidently openings in the radiant covering, through which
we can see the dark and solid centre. Nearest the sun revolves
the planet Mercury, at a distance from it of thirty-six millions
of miles. Next comes the planet Venus, the brightest of all,
and known as the morning and the evening star ;—it is the
former when it is west of the sun, and rises before it, and it is
called Hesperus, or the evening star, when it is east of the sun,
and sets before it. Milton the poet alludes to the planet Venus
in these beautiful lines :-

" Now glowed the firmament

With living sapphires : Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw."

Our earth is the third body of the solar system, and is distant
from the sun ninety-six millions of miles ; —it has a satellite, or
attendant planet, that lovely moon which lights up our mid-
nights - which regulates the tides of our seas—-which is invoked
by our poets and lovers, and which oftentimes speaks of peace
and calmness, and a future " welcome change of country," to our
weary and troubled hearts. Beyond the earth there is a red
planet called Mars, and on its surface there are different coloured
spots -the seas being supposed to be green, and the land red,
while there are white spots supposed to be snow. Next comes
the planet Jupiter, a large world of ninety thousand miles in
diameter, and possessing four satellites or moons. I must tell
you, however, that between Mars and Jupiter there is supposed,
upon very strong scientific evidence, to have existed a large planet
which must have burst, from what awful cause we know not,
and of which thirty-three fragments, having the appearance of
very little planets, have been discovered . Next to Jupiter is a
most remarkable planet called Saturn, which has eight moons
and a brilliant belt or ring. Beyond Saturn is the small planet
122 THE SKY AND THE STARS.

Uranus, and beyond that again, the recently-discovered planet

Neptune.
This table gives a familiar idea of the proportions of the
planets :-
The Sun , A globe two feet in diameter.
Mercury, A mustard seed.
Venus, A pea.
Earth, A larger pea.
Mars, A large pin's head.
Juno,
Ceres,
Vesta,
Pallas, Grains of sand.
and the other Asteroids, or
fragments of the broken
planet,
Jupiter, An orange.
Saturn, A small orange.
Uranus, A cherry.
Neptune, A plum.

Each planet has a motion round its own axis, an imaginary

line passing through its centre, upon which it turns, thus pro-
ducing day and night, -when one side of our earth, for instance,
is turned towards the sun, it is day there, but on the opposite
side, which is turned away from the sun, it is night. Glorious
and vast as is our solar system, the universe would be compara-
tively insignificant were that all ; there are innumerable stars
studding the heavens, either singly or in clusters, forming bril-
liant constellations. These stars are called " fixed stars," because
they do not change their place in the heavens, or revolve around
another body as the planets do, and they are each the sun or
centre of a solar system, having planets or satellites of their own.
Nor is this all,—there are in the heavens faint white clouds, the
nature of which was unknown till a few years ago, for the largest
telescopes only showed them as white mist ; but at last, a scien-
tific nobleman, the Earl of Rosse, constructed the largest tele-
scope in the world, and this was so powerful, and brought distant
 THE SKY AND THE STARS. 123

things so near, that to his delight he saw the white clouds, or

nebulæ as they are called, resolved into clusters of shining stars,
though at an enormous distance from us,-each tiny speck of
light being probably a gorgeous sun. It would be strange, in-
deed, if the living God, the Creator of life, -who takes such
pleasure in the living and breathing works of His hand,-who
has peopled the sea, and the land, and the air, of our planet with
such countless myriads of instinctive and intelligent life, -should
have created these vast worlds empty, and lifeless, and useless,
save for the purpose of being lamps to our little earth, and sub-
jects of wonder and discussion to its inhabitants . Although we
have not the proof that comes by personal knowledge,—though
we cannot see the forms, and hear the voices, or penetrate the
mysteries of those far distant regions, we have every other reason
for believing that each star and planet world is the seat of life,
though it belongs not to us at present to know in what form or
in what state those unseen inhabitants may be created. I have
gazed at the heavens through that gigantic telescope of which I
have just told you, and it was a scene I shall never forget. Par-
sonstown, where Lord Rosse erected it, is in King's County, in
Ireland, and the enormous machine is in the midst of a beautiful
park, upon the trees, and river, and lake of which, the moon and
stars shone down with their silvery light. It is an enormous
structure, the telescope is forty feet in length, and the mirror
in which the heavens are reflected is six feet in diameter, while
that of the largest reflecting telescope known before was only four
feet in diameter. It is hung between two immense walls, and so
well regulated by pulleys, that the least touch can move the
large mass, which looks like some huge creature of olden times.
It is the same length and breadth as a curious round tower in
the neighbourhood ! A tall man can walk through the tube,
holding up an umbrella, without touching the roof of it. It was
a very curious feeling one had in taking a walk in a telescope,
which I did every day.
I saw the moon looking very different from the smooth fair
white planet which you gaze upon it was full of rugged moun-
tains and stony valleys, and bright spaces called seas, though
124 THE SKY AND THE STARS.

there is no water, and extinct volcanoes, all brought so near that

I felt as if I could have walked out of the telescope among them !
There are no signs of inhabitants, for if there had been a building
as large as a railway station or mill, it would be seen through
this monstrous telescope, and the sense of silence and stillness was
almost oppressive. This is, however, no argument for there being
no inhabitants in the other planets, as the moon may be in the
state of preparation for them, in which our earth must have been
for ages before the creation of man. I saw, also, one of the
nebulæ, called the dumb-bell nebula from its shape, and it was
beautiful to see the dim and distant little white cloud glittering
with its millions of starry worlds. It was a scene, indeed, to
make earth and its vanities, and its trials and its enjoyments,
seem as nothing in the presence of those vast creations of God,
and to raise our thoughts and hopes towards that coming time
when our spirits must go forth from this little scene of our little
lives, and enter into that closer and more immediate connexion
with the glorious God and Saviour, and with the universe which
He has spread around Him, " as a tent to dwell in.”

" I gaze aloof

On the tissued roof,
Where time and space are the warp and woof,
Which the King of kings
As a curtain flings
O'er the dreadfulness of eternal things.

But could I see,

As in truth they be,
The glories of heaven that encompass me,
I should lightly hold
The tissued fold
Of that marvellous curtain of blue and gold .
Soon the whole,
Like a parched scroll,
Shall before my amazed sight uproll ;
 EARTH'S VOICES. 125

And without a screen,

At one burst be seen,
The Presence wherein I have ever been.

Oh ! who shall bear

The blinding glare
Of the Majesty that shall meet us there ?
What eye may gaze
On the unveil'd blaze
Of the light-girdled throne of the Ancient of Days ?
Christ us aid !
Himself be our shade,
That in that dread day we be not dismay'd."
WHITEHEAD.

EARTH'S VOICES.

“ THE leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lips of the sod,

The birds that hymn their raptures in the ear of God,
The summer wind that bringeth music o'er land and sea,
Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of songs to me :
' This world is full of beauty, as angel worlds above,
And if we did our duty, it might be full of love. '

" Night's starry tendernesses dower with glory evermore,

Morn's budding bright melodious hour comes sweetly as of yore ;
But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet sunbursts
shine,
And there be million hearts athirst for Love's immortal wine.
This world is full of beauty, as angel worlds above,
And if we did our duty, it might be full of love."
GERALD MASSEY.
126 THE ATMOSPHERE.

THE ATMOSPHERE.

THE atmosphere¹ rises above us with its cathedral dome arching

towards the heavens, of which it is the most familiar synonyme
and symbol. It floats around us like that grand object which the
apostle John saw in his vision- " a sea of glass like unto crystal.”
So massive is it, that when it begins to stir, it tosses about great
ships like playthings, and sweeps cities and forests to destruction
before it. And yet it is so mobile, that we have lived years in it
before we can be persuaded that it exists at all, and the great bulk
of mankind never realize the truth that they are bathed in an
ocean of air. Its weight is so enormous that iron shivers before
it like glass, yet a soap-bubble sails through it with impunity, and
the tiniest insect waves it aside with its wing.
It ministers lavishly to all the senses. We touch it not, but it
touches us. Its warm south wind brings back colour to the pale
face of the invalid ; its cool west winds refresh the fevered brow,
and make the blood mantle in our cheeks ; even its north blasts
brace into new vigour the hardy children of our rugged clime.
The eye is indebted to it for all the magnificence of sunrise, the
full brightness of midday, the chastened radiance of the " gloamin,”
and the " clouds that cradle near the setting sun. ” But for it, the
rainbow would want its " triumphal arch," and the winds would
not send their fleecy messengers on errands round the heavens.
The cold weather would not shed its snow feathers on the earth,
nor would drops of dew gather on the flowers. The kindly rain
would never fall, nor hail, storm, nor fog, diversify the face of the
sky. Our naked globe would turn its tanned and unshadowed
forehead to the sun, and one dreary, monotonous blaze of light
and heat dazzle and burn up all things.
Were there no atmosphere, the evening sun would in a moment
set, and without warning plunge the earth in darkness. But the
air keeps in her hand a sheaf of his rays, and lets them slip slowly
through her fingers ; so that the shadows of evening gather by
1 The constitution of the atmosphere in its relation to animal and vegetable life should
be here explained (see end of Book VI)
 THE SOWER'S SONG. 127

degrees, and the flowers have time to bow their heads, and each
creature space to find a place of rest and nestle to repose. In the
morning the garish sun would at once burst from the bosom of
night and blaze above the horizon, but the air watches for his
coming, and sends at first one little ray to announce his approach,
and then another, and by and by a handful ; and so gently draws
aside the curtain of night, and slowly lets the light fall on the
face of the sleeping earth, till her eyelids open, and like man, she
(6
goeth forth again to her labour till the evening. "
Quarterly Review.

THE SOWER'S SONG.

Now hands to seed sheet, boys,

We step and we cast ; old Time's on wing ;
And would ye partake of Harvest joys,
The corn must be sown in Spring.
Fall gently and still, good corn,
Lie warm in thy earthy bed,
And stand so yellow some morn ;
For beast and man must be fed.

Old Earth is a pleasure to see

In sunshiny cloak of red and green ;
The furrow lies fresh ; this year will be
As years that are past have been.
Fall gently and still, good corn,
Lie warm in thy earthy bed,
And stand so yellow some morn ;
For beast and man must be fed.

Old mother ! receive this corn,

The son of six thousand golden sires ;
128 THE SOWER'S SONG.

All these on thy kindly breast were born ;

One more thy poor child requires.
Fall gently and still, good corn,
Lie warm in thy earthy bed,
And stand so yellow some morn ;
For beast and man must be fed.

Now steady and sure again,

And measure of stroke and step we keep ;
Thus up and thus down we cast our grain ;
Sow well and you gladly reap.
Fall gently and still, good corn,
Lie warm in thy earthy bed,
And stand so yellow some morn ;
For beast and man must be fed.
CARLYLE.
 SECTION THIRD.

AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR.

THE three brothers were under a large, spreading tree, and ,

wrapped in their blankets, had been sleeping soundly through the
night within a few feet of one another. Day was just beginning
to break, when something touched Francis on the forehead. It
was a cold, clammy object, and pressing upon his hot skin awoke
him at once. He started as if a pin had been thrust into him,
and the cry which he uttered awoke his companions also. When
his eyes were fairly open, he caught a glimpse of two animals
making off as fast as they could.
They were about the size of wolves, but appeared to be quite
black, and not like wolves at all. What could they be ? They
had suddenly passed into a darker aisle among the trees, and the
boys had only caught a glimpse of them as they went in. They
could still distinguish their two bodies in the shade, but nothing
more.
They remained in this position, straining their eyes up the
gloomy alley after the two black objects, that had stopped about
fifty yards distant. All at once, the form of a man rose up
before them, and directly in front of the animals. Instead of
retreating from the latter, as the boys expected, the upright figure
stood still. To their further astonishment, the two animals ran
up to it, and appeared to leap against it, as if making an attack
upon it. But this could not be, since the figure did not move
from its place, as one would have one done who had been attacked :
I
130 AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR.

on the contrary, after a while it stooped down, and appeared to

be caressing them.
The three mysterious creatures continued to remain near the
same spot, and about fifty yards from the boys. But they did
not remain motionless. The two smaller ones ran over the
ground, now separating from the upright figure, and then return-
ing again, and appearing to caress it as before. The latter now
and then stooped as if to receive their caresses, and would then
rise into an upright position, and remain motionless as before.
All this went on in perfect silence.
There was something mysterious, awe-inspiring, in these move-
ments ; and our young hunters observed them not without feelings
of terror. They were both puzzled and awed. They talked in
whispers, giving their counsels to each other. Should they creep
to their horses, mount, and ride off ? That would be of no use ;
for if what they saw was an Indian, there were, no doubt, others
near, and they could easily track and overtake them.
They felt certain that the strange creatures knew they were
there ; for indeed their horses, some thirty yards off, could be
plainly heard stamping the ground and cropping the grass. More-
over, one of the two animals had touched and smelt Francis ; so
there could be no mistake about its being aware of their presence.
It would be idle, therefore, to attempt getting off unawares.
What then ? Should they climb into a tree ? That, thought
they, would be of just as little use ; and they gave up the idea.
They resolved, at length, to remain where they were, until they
should either be assailed by their mysterious neighbours, or the
clearer light enable them to make out who and what they were.
As it grew clearer, however, their awe was not diminished ;
for they now saw that the upright figure had two thick, strong-
looking arms, which it held out horizontally, using them in a
singular manner. Its colour, too, appeared reddish, while that
of the small animals was deep black. Had they been in the
forests of Africa, or in South America, they would have taken the
larger figure for that of a gigantic ape. As it was, they knew it
could not be that.
The light suddenly became brighter, a cloud having passed off
 AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR. 131

the eastern sky. Objects could be seen more distinctly ; and

then the mystery that had so long held the young hunters in
torturing suspense was solved. The large animal reared up, and
stood with its side towards them ; and its long, pointed snout,
its short, erect ears, its thick body and shaggy coat of hair,
showed that it was no Indian, or human creature of any sort, but.
a huge bear standing upright on its hams.
"A she bear and her cubs !" exclaimed Francis ; "but see !"
he continued, " she is red, while the cubs are jet black."
Basil did not stop for any observation of that kind. He had
sprung to his feet, and levelled his rifle, the moment he saw what
the animal was.
"For your life, do not fire ! " cried Lucien ; " it may be a
grisly bear."
His advice came too late. The crack of Basil's rifle was heard ;
and the bear, dropping upon all fours, danced over the ground,
shaking her head and snorting furiously. The light had deceived
Basil ; and instead of hitting her in the head, as he had intended,
his bullet glanced from her snout, doing her but little harm.
Now, the snout of a bear is its most precious and tender organ ;
and a blow upon that will rouse even the most timid species of
them to fury. So it was with this one. She saw whence the
shot came ; and as soon as she had given her head a few shakes,
she came in a shuffling gallop towards the boys.
Basil now saw how rashly he had acted ; but there was no time
for expressing regrets. There was not even time to get to their
horses. Before they could reach and unfasten them, the bear
would overtake them, and some one of them would become a
victim.
"Take to the trees ! " shouted Lucien ; " if it be a grisly bear,
she cannot climb." As Lucien said this, he levelled his short
rifle, and fired at the advancing animal. The bullet seemed to
strike her on the flank, as she turned with a growl and bit the
part. This delayed her for a moment, and allowed Lucien time
to swing himself into a tree. Basil had thrown away his rifle,
not having time to reload. Francis, when he saw the great
monster so near, dropped his gun without firing.
132 AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR.

AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR.- Continued.

All three, in their haste, climbed separate trees. It was a

grove of white oaks ; and these trees have usually great limbs
growing low down and spreading out horizontally, which are often
as many feet in length as the tree itself is in height.
It was upon these that they had climbed, Basil having taken
to that one under which they had slept, and which was much
larger than the others around. At the foot of this tree the bear
stopped. The robes and blankets drew her attention for the mo-
ment. She tossed them over with her great paws, and then left
them, and walked round the trunk, looking upwards, at intervals
uttering loud sniffs, that sounded like the escape of a steam pipe.
By this time, Basil had reached the third or fourth branch
from the ground. He might have gone much higher ; but from
what Lucien had suggested, he believed the animal to be a grisly
bear. Her colour, which was a dark- brown, confirmed him in that
belief, as he knew that grisly bears are met with of a great variety
of colours. He had nothing to fear, then, even on the lowest
branch, and he thought it was no use going higher. So he
stopped and looked down.
He had a good view of the animal below ; and to his conster-
nation, he saw at a glance that it was not a grisly, but a different
species. Her shape, as well as general appearance, convinced him
it was the " cinnamon" bear, a variety of the black, and one of
the best tree-climbers of the kind. This was soon put beyond
dispute, as Basil saw the animal throw her great paws around the
trunk, and commence crawling upward.
It was a fearful moment. Lucien and Francis both leaped
back to the ground, uttering shouts of warning and despair.
Francis picked up his gun, and without hesitating a moment, ran
to the foot of the tree, and fired both barrels into the hips of the
bear. The small shot could hardly have penetrated her thick,
shaggy hide. It only served to irritate her afresh, causing her
to growl fiercely ; and she paused for some moments, as if con-
sidering whether she should descend and punish the enemy in the
 AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR. 133

rear, or keep on after Basil. The rattling of the latter among

the branches above decided her, and on she crawled upwards .
Basil was almost as active among the branches of a tree as
a monkey or a squirrel. When about sixty feet from the ground,
he crawled out upon a long limb that grew horizontally. He
chose this one because he saw another growing above it, which,
he thought, he might reach as soon as the bear followed him out
upon the first, and by this means get back to the main trunk
before the bear, and down to the ground again.
After getting out upon the limb, however, he saw that he had
miscalculated. The branch upon which he was, bending down
under his weight, so widened the distance between it and the one
above, that he could not reach the latter, even with the tips of his
fingers. He turned to go back. To his horror, the bear was at the
other end, in the fork, and preparing to follow him along the limb.
He could not go back without meeting the fierce brute in the
teeth. There was no branch below within his reach, and none
above ; and he was fifty feet from the ground. To leap down
appeared the only alternative to escape the clutches of the bear,
and that alternative was certain death.
The bear advanced along the limb. Francis and Lucien screamep
below, loading their pieces as rapidly as they could ; but they
feared they would be too late.
It was a terrible situation ; but it was in such emergencies
that the strong mind of Basil best displayed itself ; and instead of
yielding to despair, he appeared cool and collected. His mind
was busy examining every chance that offered.
All at once a thought struck him ; and obedient to its impulse,
he called to his brothers below, " A rope ! a rope ! Fling me a
rope ! Haste for Heaven's sake, haste ! a rope, or I am lost !"
Fortunately, there lay a rope under the tree. It was a lasso¹
of raw hide. Lucien dropped his half-loaded rifle, and sprang
towards it, coiling it as he took it up. He ran under the tree,
twirled the lasso round his head, and launched it upwards.
Basil, to gain time, had crept out upon the limb as far as it
1 The lasso is a rope, or cord, with a noose, used in various parts of North and South
America for capturing animals.
134 AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR.

would bear him, while his fierce pursuer followed after. The
branch, under their united weight, bent down like a bow. For-
tunately, it was oak, and did not break.
Basil was astride, his face turned to the tree and towards his
pursuer. The long snout of the latter was within three feet of
his head, and he could feel her warm breath, as, with open jaws,
she stretched forward, snorting fiercely.
At this moment, the ring end of the lasso struck the branch
directly between them, passing a few feet over it. Before it
could slip back again, and fall off, the young hunter had grasped
it, and double knotted it around the limb The next moment,
and just as the great claws of the bear were stretched forth to
clutch him, he slipped off the branch, and glided down the lasso.
The rope did not reach the ground by at least twenty feet
Lucien and Francis had observed this as soon as it first hung
down, and prepared themselves accordingly ; so that when Basil
reached the end of the rope, he saw his brothers standing below, and
holding a large buffalo skin stretched out between them. Into this
he dropped, and, the next moment, stood upon the ground unhurt.
And now came the moment of triumph. The tough limb, that
had been held stretched down by Basil's, weight, becoming so
suddenly released, flew upward with a jerk.
The unexpected violence of that jerk was too much for the
bear. Her hold gave way she was shot into the air several
feet upwards, and falling with a dull, heavy sound to the earth,
lay for a moment motionless. She was only stunned, however,
and would soon have struggled up again to renew the attack ;
but before she could regain her feet, Basil had laid hold of
Francis's half-loaded gun, and hurriedly pouring down a handful
of bullets, ran forward and fired them into her head, killing her
upon the spot.
The cubs, by this time, had arrived upon the ground, and
Marengo, the hound which accompanied the youths, attacked them
with fury. The little creatures fought fiercely, and together
would have been more than a match for the dog ; but the rifles
of his masters came to his assistance, and put an end to the
contest. MAYNE REID.
 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 135

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound

Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry !
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry ! "

" Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water ?"
" O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter :

" And fast before her father's men,

Three days we've fled together ;
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

" His horsemen hard behind us ride-

Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover ? "

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,

" I'll go, my chief-I'm ready :—
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady !

66
And, by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry ;
So though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry ? "

By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking,
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
136 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

But still as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men !-
Their trampling sounded nearer !-

" Oh ! haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries,

" Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father. "-

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her, -
When- oh ! too strong for human hand !
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore-
His wrath was changed to wailing :

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover !—
One lovely hand was stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief,

" Across this stormy water :
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter !-oh ! my daughter ! ”

'Twas vain !--the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing :-
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
CAMPBELL.
 DEW, FROST, AND SNOW. 137

DEW, FROST, AND SNOW.

Ar night, after the sun has set, the surface of the earth sends
back into the air a great deal of the heat it had received during
the day, and consequently then becomes much colder than the air.
It thus cools the air resting on it, and causes it to part with some of
its moisture and deposit it on the ground ; because when air is
cold it can hold less moisture than when warm. The watery drops
thus gathered on the ground in clear nights are called by the name
ofdew. Dew serves to moisten the soil in seasons of dryness, when
neither clouds nor rain can be formed. It is deposited more
abundantly on clear nights than on cloudy ones, because the earth
then sends off its heat more freely towards the sky. It has been
calculated that enough dew settles on the ground in England during
the course of one year to cover its entire surface five inches deep
with water, if none of it was again removed from the place on
which it fell.
When the earth's surface is very cold indeed during winter, the
night-dew gets frozen into ice as fast as it settles upon the ground,
or upon the trees and leaves of plants. This frozen dew looks like
white stiff hairs projecting all over the surface of the bodies to
which it clings, and it is called hoar-frost. Water is changed into
ice by great cold, in the following way ;-its little particles get
closer and closer together, until at last they are so near that they
can cling firmly together. They then cease to be able to move
freely about amongst each other, and the liquid water becomes a
solid body for the time. Heat melts ice and changes it into water
again, by forcing the little particles asunder until they are far enough
apart to be able once more to roll about freely amongst each other.
If drops of rain fall through regions of the air which are very
much colder than the cloud from which they come, those drops get
frozen into lumps of solid ice during the descent, and fall upon the
earth like so many small stones. They are then called hail-stones.
Hail, therefore, is simply frozen rain. Hail-stones are sometimes
very large, and do a great deal of mischief when they fall. Mr.
Darwin saw one day, in South America, twenty deer and fifteen
138 THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.

ostriches that had been killed during the previous night by a fall
of hail-stones as big as apples . Numbers of ducks, hawks, and
other birds were lying scattered about dead, some with their backs
broken, as if they had been struck with heavy masses.
When the clouds, in which the water about to fall is collected,
are themselves very cold, the water freezes at once before it begins
its descent, and then falls in beautiful light glistening flakes,
which are known by the name of snow-flakes. Snow-flakes are
formed of clusters of little spikes of ice grouped round a central
point, like the rays of a star, or the spokes of a wheel. These
star-like bodies may be seen clustering together whenever snow-
flakes that have been slowly formed are examined by magnifying
glasses. The little particles of which the icy stars are formed,
arrange themselves in these definite and beautiful forms on the
instant when they get fixed by the process of freezing. It is ex-
tremely probable that the " feather-cloud " which makes its appear-
ance so high up in the sky, is entirely composed of small icy spikes,
of very similar nature to those which form the wheels and stars of
the snow-flake, for it is known that the air must be always cold
enough to freeze water in regions so far removed above the ground.
MANN.¹

THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.2

LORD RAGLAN waited patiently for the development of the

French attack. At length an aide-de-camp came to him and re-
ported that the French had crossed the Alma, but that they had
not established themselves sufficiently to justify our advancing.
The infantry were, therefore, ordered to lie down, and the army
for a short time was quite passive, only that our artillery poured
forth an unceasing fire of shell, rockets, and round shot, which
ploughed through the Russians, and caused them great loss. They
did not waver, however, and replied to our artillery manfully, their
shot falling among our men as they lay, and carrying off legs and
1 Slightly altered. 2 The battle of Alma was fought on the 20th September 1854.
 THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 139

arms at every round. Lord Raglan at last became weary of this

inactivity- his spirit was up- he looked around, and saw by his
side men on whom he knew he might stake the honour and fate of
Great Britain, and anticipating a little, in a military point of view,
the crisis of action, he gave orders for our whole line to advance.
Up rose those serried masses, and passing through a fearful shower
of round shot, case shot, and shell, they dashed into the Alma, and
floundered through its waters, which were literally torn into foam
by the deadly hail. At the other side of the river were a number
of vineyards, and to our surprise they were occupied by Russian
Riflemen. Three of the staff were here shot down, but led by Lord
Raglan in person, they advanced, cheering on the men.
And now came the turning-point of the battle, . . . Lord Raglan
dashed over the bridge, followed by his staff. From the road over
it, under the Russian guns, he saw the state of action. The British
line, which he had ordered to advance, was struggling through the
river and up to the heights in masses, firm indeed, but mowed down
by the murderous fire of the batteries, and by grape, round shot,
shell, canister, case shot, and musketry, from some of the guns of
the central battery, and from an immense and compact mass of
Russian infantry. Then commenced one of the most bloody and
determined struggles in the annals of war. The 2d Division, led
by Sir De Lacy Evans in the most dashing manner, crossed the
stream on the right. The 7th Fusiliers, led by Colonel Yea, were
swept down by fifties. The 55th, 30th, and 95th, led by Briga-
lier Pennefather, who was in the thickest of the fight, cheering on
his men, again and again were checked indeed, but never drew
back in their onward progress, which was marked by a fierce roll
of Minié musketry, and Brigadier Adams, with the 41st, 47th,
and 49th, bravely charged up the hill, and aided them in the
battle. Sir George Brown, conspicuous on a grey horse, rode in
front of his Light Division, urging them with voice and gesture.
Gallant fellows ! they were worthy of such a gallant chief. The
7th, diminished by one-half, fell back to re-form their columns lost
for the time ; the 23d, with eight officers dead and four wounded,
were still rushing to the front, aided by the 15th, 33d, 77th, and
88th. Down went Sir George in a cloud of dust in front of the
140 THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.

battery. He was soon up, and shouted, " 23d, I'm all right ! Be
sure I'll remember this day," and led them on again ; but in the
shock produced by the fall of their chief, the gallant regiment suf-
fered terribly, while paralysed for a moment.
Meantime the Guards on the right of the Light Division, and
the brigade of Highlanders, were storming the heights on the left.
Their line was almost as regular as though they were in Hyde
Park. Suddenly a tornado of round and grape rushed through
from the terrible battery, and a roar of musketry from behind
thinned their front ranks by dozens. It was evident that we
were just able to contend against the Russians, favoured as they
were by a great position. At this very time an immense mass
of Russian infantry were seen moving down towards the battery.
They halted. It was the crisis of the day. Sharp, angular,
and solid, they looked as if they were cut out of the solid rock.
It was beyond all doubt that if our infantry, harassed and
thinned as they were, got into the battery, they would have to
encounter again a formidable fire, which they were but ill calcu-
lated to bear. Lord Raglan saw the difficulties of the situation.
He asked if it would be possible to get a couple of guns to bear on
these masses. The reply was " Yes ; " and an artillery officer, whose
name I do not now know, brought up two guns to fire on the
Russian squares . The first shot missed, but the next, and the next,
and the next, cut through the ranks so cleanly, and so keenly, that
a clear lane could be seen for a moment through the square. After
a few rounds, the columns of the square became broken, wavered
to and fro, broke, and fled over the brow of the hill, leaving behind
them six or seven distinct lines of dead, lying as close as possible
to each other, marking the passage of the fatal messengers. This
act relieved our infantry of a deadly incubus, and they continued
their magnificent and fearful progress up the hill. The Duke en-
couraged his men by voice and example, and proved himself worthy
of his proud command and of the royal race from which he comes.
" Highlanders," said Sir Colin Campbell, ere they came to the
charge, " I am going to ask a favour of you : it is, that you will
act so as to justify me in asking permission of the Queen for you
to wear a bonnet ! Don't pull a trigger till you are within a yard
 LOVE OF COUNTRY. 141

of the Russians ! " They charged, and well they obeyed their
chieftain's wish ; Sir Colin had his horse shot under him, but his
men took the battery at a bound. The Russians rushed out, and
left multitudes of dead behind them. The Guards had stormed
the right of the battery ere the Highlanders got into the left, and
it is said the Scots Fusilier Guards were the first to enter. The
Second and Light Division crowned the heights. The French
turned the guns on the hill against the flying masses, which the
cavalry in vain tried to cover. A few faint struggles from the
scattered infantry, a few rounds of cannon and musketry, and the
enemy fled to the south-east, leaving three generals, three guns,
700 prisoners, and 4000 wounded behind them. The battle
of the Alma was won. It was won with a loss of nearly 3000
killed and wounded on our side. The Russians' retreat was covered
by their cavalry, but if we had had an adequate force, we could
have captured many guns and multitudes of prisoners.
DR. RUSSELL.

LOVE OF COUNTRY.
BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand !
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ;
For him no minstrel raptures swell ;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.- SCOTT.
142 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,

As his corse to the rampart we hurried ;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning ;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,

And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow !

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,—
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ;
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
 THE BOASTER- ROBINSON CRUSOE AS A FARMER. 143

Slowly and sadly we laid him down

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,-
But we left him alone with his glory.
REV. C. WOLFE.

THE BOASTER.

Two men, Joseph and Andrew, stood leaning over a garden

gate near a village. "Look at those heads of cabbage," said
Joseph ; " their size is something quite beyond common ; I don't
know that I have ever seen any so large. '
" Oh," replied Andrew, who was a bit of a boaster, " they are
not worth talking about. In the course of my travels , I once
saw a cabbage as big as the parson's house yonder."
Joseph, who was a smith by trade, replied, " That is saying
a great deal ; but I once worked at a big pot, which was at
least as large as the church."
" What is that you say ?" cried Andrew ; can you tell me,
now, what they meant to do with a pot of so huge a size ?"
66
They wanted to boil your cabbage in it," replied Joseph.
Andrew on this became a little confused, and after a minute
or two he said, " I see what you would be at, Joseph. I con-
fess I was bragging, and I think I had better take your hint
to keep within the bounds of truth."

ROBINSON CRUSOE AS A FARMER.

Ir might be truly said that I now worked for my bread. It

is a little wonderful, and what I believe few people have thought
much upon, viz., the strange multitude of little things necessary
in the providing, producing, curing, dressing, making, and finish-
ing this one article of bread.
144 ROBINSON CRUSOE AS A FARMER.

I, that was reduced to a mere state of nature, found this to be

my daily discouragement, and was made more and more sensible
of it every hour, even after I got the first handful of seed- corn,
which, as I have said, came up unexpectedly, and indeed to my
surprise.
First, I had no plough to turn the earth, no spade or shovel to
dig it. Well, this I conquered by making a wooden spade ; but
this did my work but in a wooden manner ; and though it cost
me a great many days to make it, yet, for want of iron, it not
only wore out the sooner, but made my work the harder, and
made it be performed much worse.
However, this I bore with too, and was content to work it out
with patience, and bear with the badness of the performance. When
the corn was sowed, I had no harrow, but was forced to go over it
myself, and drag a great heavy bough of a tree over it, to scratch
the earth, as it may be called, rather than rake or harrow it.
When it was growing, or grown, how many things I wanted to
fence it, secure it, mow or reap it, cure or carry it home, thresh,
part it from the chaff, and save it. Then I wanted a mill to grind
it, sieves to dress it, yeast and salt to make it into bread, and an
oven to bake it in ; and all these things I did without, as shall
be observed ; and yet the corn was an inestimable comfort and
advantage to me too. But all this, as I said, made everything
laborious and tedious to me, but that there was no help for :
neither was my time so much loss to me, because I had divided
it ; a certain part of it was every day appointed to these works ;
and as I resolved to use none of the corn for bread till I had a
greater quantity by me, I had the next six months to apply my-
self wholly, by labour and invention, to furnish myself with uten-
sils proper for the performing all the operations necessary for
making the corn, when I had it, fit for my use.
But first I was to prepare more land, for I had now seed enough
to sow above an acre of ground. Before I did this, I had a week's
work at least to make me a spade, which, when it was done, was
a very sorry one indeed, and very heavy, and required double
labour to work with it ; however, I went through that, and sowed
my seeds in two large flat pieces of ground, as near, my house as I
 SELFISHNESS. 145

could find them to my mind, and fenced them in with a good

hedge, the stakes of which were all cut off that wood which I had
set before, which I knew would grow ; so that in one year's time
I knew I should have a quick or living hedge, that would want
but little repair . This work was not so little as to take me up
less than three months, because great part of that time was in the
wet season, when I could not go abroad.

SELFISHNESS.

If I were asked what kind of young people were the most un-
happy, what do you think my answer would be ? The poor, or
the sick, or the ugly, or the stupid ? Oh no ! these may all be
happy and useful. It is only the selfish, those that " seek their
own," that are never satisfied. Like the daughters of the horse-
leech, they cry " Give, give, " but never say, " It is enough ;" for
it would seem that the more people seek their own happiness, the
less they get of it. It has been said, “ The self, the I, the me,
and the like, all belong to the Evil Spirit," and we know that he
is not a happy spirit. No human being can be really happy who
is not giving or trying to give happiness to others. The sixpence
added to the hoard of the little selfish miser, or spent by the glut-
ton in the cake-shop, may give a moment's pleasure, but will leave
no pleasant thoughts behind ; while the sixpence, part of which is
dropped into the missionary box, part given to feed a poor starving
child, part given to purchase a biscuit or an orange to please the
little sister, will send the happy spender of it on her way, bright-
faced and light-hearted.
Here is a " Recipe for making every day happy." If each of
us were to follow it, there would soon be an end of our many
listless, disagreeable, unhappy days. "When you rise in the
morning, form a resolution to make the day a happy one to a
fellow-creature. It is easily done ; a left-off garment to the man
who needs it, a kind word to the sorrowful, an encouraging ex-
K
146 SELFISHNESS .

pression to the striving ; trifles, in themselves light as air, will

do it, at least for the twenty-four hours ; and if you are young,
depend upon it it will tell when you are old ; and if you are old,
rest assured it will send you gently and happily down the stream
of human time towards eternity. By the most simple arithmetical
sum, look at the result : you send one person, only one, happily
through the day ; that is, three hundred and sixty-five in the
course of the year ; and supposing you live forty years only after
you commence that course of medicine, you have made 14,600
human beings happy, at all events, for a time. Now, worthy
reader, is not this simple ! It is too short for a sermon, too homely
for ethics, too easily accomplished for you to say, ' I would if I
""
could.'
It is a curious fact that selfish people, however disagreeable they
may make themselves by their selfishness, are always the first to
bemoan the existence of this fault in others, and perhaps you are
each quite ready to remember how selfish Dick, and Harry, and
Mary, and Susan are ; but ah ! my dear young friends, look at
home-look into your own hearts, with their curious depths
which you scarcely understand, or perhaps never tried to under-
stand, and there you will find an ugly black spot- perhaps a
small one. It will not long be very small, however, if you go on
" seeking your own ;" it will grow and grow, till at last the heart
is one mass of black, hideous selfishness ! Try to conquer this
besetting sin. When you have a little time, think what you can
do with it to please or help others ; when you have a little money,
think whom you can comfort and assist with it ; when you have
not much of the one, and none of the other, still think whose
heart you can gladden with kind words and kind looks. Teach
your hearts to think first of others, and last of yourselves. Learn
to give up your own pleasure, your own way, your own posses-
sions, that you may know how much " more blessed it is to give
than to receive." Remember that the Lord of heaven and earth
"pleased not Himself," and that His command is, " Look not every
ore on his own things, but every one also on the things of others. "
Listen to this beautiful little story or fable, called the “ Selfish
Pool, and what befell it."
 SELFISHNESS . 147

" See that little fountain yonder, away yonder in the distant
mountain, shining like a thread of silver through the thick copse,
and sparkling like a diamond in its healthful activity. It is hur-
rying on with tinkling feet to bear its tribute to the river.
See, it passes a stagnant pool, and the pool hails it. ( Whither
away, master streamlet ?' ' I am going to the river, to bear this
cup of water God has given me.' ' Ah, you are very foolish
for that ; you'll need it before the summer is over. It has been
a backward spring, and we shall have a hot summer to pay for it ;
"
you will dry up then.' ' Well, ' says the streamlet, if I am to
die so soon, I had better work while the day lasts. If I am
likely to lose this treasure from the heat, I had better do good
with it while I have it.' So on it went, blessing and rejoicing
in its course. The pool smiled complacently at its own superior
foresight, and husbanded all its resources, letting not a drop steal
away. Soon the midsummer heat came down, and it fell upon
the little stream. But the trees crowded to its brink, and threw
out their sheltering branches over it in the day of adversity, for it
brought refreshment and life to them ; and the sun peeped through
their branches, and smiled complacently upon its dimpled face,
and seemed to say, ' It is not in my heart to harm you ;' and the
birds sipped its silver tide, and sang its praises ; the flowers
breathed their perfume upon its bosom ; the beasts of the field
loved to linger by its banks ; the husbandman's eye always
sparkled with joy as he looked upon the line of verdant beauty
that marked its course through his fields and meadows ; and so
on it went, blessing and blessed of all. And where was the pru-
dent pool ? Alas ! in its inglorious inactivity, it grew sickly and
pestilential ; the beasts of the field put their lips to it, but turned
away without drinking ; the breezes stooped and kissed it by mis-
take, but caught the malaria in the contact, and carried the ague
through the region, and the inhabitants caught it, and had to
move away ; and at last Heaven, in mercy to man, smote it with
a hotter breath, and dried it up. But did not the little stream
exhaust itself ? Oh no ! God saw to that. It emptied its full
cup into the river, and the river bore it to the sea, and the sea
welcomed it, and the sun smiled upon the sea, and the sea sent
148 ROBINSON CRUSOE MANUFACTURES EARTHENWARE.

up its incense to greet the sun, and the clouds caught in their
capacious bosoms the incense from the sea, and the winds, like
waiting steeds, caught the chariots of the clouds and bore them
away-away to the very mountain that gave the little fountain
birth, and there they tipped the brimming cup, and poured the
grateful baptism down ; and so God saw to it that the little foun-
tain, though it gave so fully and so freely, never ran dry. And
if God so bless the fountain, will He not also bless you, my friends,
if, 6 as ye have freely received, ye also freely give ? ”
M. M. GORDON.

ROBINSON CRUSOE MANUFACTURES EARTHENWARE.

WITHIN doors- that is, when it rained, and I could not go out-
I found employment on the following occasion, always observing
that, all the while I was at work, I diverted myself with talking
to my parrot and teaching him to speak ; and I quickly learnt
him to know his own name ; at last, to speak it out pretty loud—
66
Poll," which was the first word I ever heard spoken in the island
by any mouth but my own. This, therefore, was not my work,
but an assistant to my work ; for now, as I said, I had a great
employment upon my hands, as follows, viz. :—I had long studied,
by some means or other, to make myself some earthen vessels,
which, indeed, I wanted sorely, but knew not where to come at
them. However, considering the heat of the climate, I did not
doubt but, if I could find out any such clay, I might botch up
some such pot as might, being dried by the sun, be hard enough
and strong enough to bear handling, and to hold anything that
was dry, and required to be kept so ; and as this was necessary
in preparing corn, meal, &c. , which was the thing I was upon, I
resolved to make some as large as I could, and fit only to stand
like jars to hold what should be put into them.
It would make the reader pity me, or rather laugh at me, to
tell how many awkward ways I took to raise this paste ; what
 ROBINSON CRUSOE MANUFACTURES EARTHENWARE. 149

odd, misshapen, ugly things I made ; how many of them fell in,
and how many fell out, the clay not being stiff enough to bear
its own weight ; how many cracked by the over-violent heat of
the sun, being set out too hastily ; and how many fell to pieces
with only removing, as well before as after they were dried ;
and, in a word, how, after having laboured hard to findthe
clay, to dig it, to temper it, to bring it home, and work it, I
could not make above two large earthen ugly things, I cannot
call them jars, in about two months' labour. However, as the
sun baked these two very dry and hard, I lifted them very gently
up, and set them down again in two great wicker baskets which
I had made on purpose for them, that they might not break ;
and, as between the pot and the basket there was a little room
to spare, I stuffed it full of the rice and barley straw ; and those
two pots being to stand always dry, I thought they would hold
my dry corn, and perhaps the meal, when the corn was bruised .
Though I miscarried so much in my design for large pots, yet I
made several smaller things with better success -such as little
round pots, flat dishes, pitchers, and pipkins, and anything my
hand turned to ; and the heat of the sun baked them strangely
hard. But all this would not answer my end, which was to get
an earthen pot to hold what was liquid and bear the fire, which
none of these could do. It happened after some time, making a
pretty large fire for cooking my meat, when I went to put it out
after I had done with it, I found a broken piece of one of my
earthenware vessels in the fire, burnt as hard as a stone and red
as a tile. I was agreeably surprised to see it, and said to myself
that certainly they might be burnt whole if they would burn
broken. This set me to study how to order my fire so as to make
it burn me some pots. I had no notion of a kiln, such as the
potters burn in, or of glazing them with lead, though I had some
lead to do it with ; but I placed three large pipkins, and two or
three pots, in a pile one upon another, and placed my firewood all
round it, with a great heap of embers under them. I plied the
fire with fresh fuel round the outside and upon the top, till I saw
the pots in the inside red-hot quite through, and observed that
they did not crack at all. When I saw them clear red, I let them
150 MUSIC OF NATURE IN NORWAY.

stand in that heat about five or six hours, till I found one of
them, though it did not crack, did melt or run ; for the sand
which was mixed with the clay melted by the violence of the heat,
and would have run into glass if I had gone on. So I slacked
my fire gradually till the pots began to abate of the red colour ;
and watching them all night, that I might not let the fire abate
too fast, in the morning I had three very good, I will not say
handsome, pipkins, and two other earthen pots, as hard burnt as
could be desired, and one of them perfectly glazed with the run-
ning of the sand.
After this experiment, I need not say that I wanted no sort of
earthenware for my use ; but I must needs say, as to the shapes
of them, they were very indifferent, as any one may suppose, when
I had no way of making them but as the children make dirt-pies,
or as a woman would make pies that never learned to raise paste.
No joy at a thing of so mean a nature was ever equal to mine
when I found I had made an earthen pot that would bear the
fire ; and I had hardly patience to stay till they were cold before
I set one upon the fire again with some water in it to boil me
some meat, which I did admirably well ; and with a piece of a
kid I made some very good broth , though I wanted oatmeal and
several other ingredients requisite to make it so good as I would
have had it .

MUSIC OF NATURE IN NORWAY.

STILL as everything is to the eye, sometimes for a hundred

miles together, along these deep sea valleys there is rarely silence ;
the ear is kept awake by a thousand voices ; in the summer there
are cataracts, leaping from ledge to ledge of the rocks, and there
is the bleating of the kids that browse there, and the flap of the
great eagle's wings as it dashes abroad from its eyrie, and the cries
of whole clouds of sea birds which inhabit the islands ; and all
these sounds are mingled and multiplied by the strong echoes till
 THE BROOK. 151

they become a din as loud as that of a city. Even at night, when

the flocks are in the fold, and the birds at roost, and the echoes
themselves seem to be asleep, there is occasionally a sweet music
heard, too soft for even the listening ear to catch by day ; every
breath of summer wind that steals through the pine forests wakes
this music as it goes. The stiff spiny leaves of the fir and pine
vibrate with the breeze like the strings of a musical instrument,
so that every breath of the night wind in a Norwegian forest
wakens a myriad of tiny harps, and this gentle and mournful
music may be heard in gushes the whole night through. This
music, of course, ceases when each tree becomes laden with snow ;
but yet there is sound in the midst of the longest winter night.
There is the rumble of some avalanche, as, after a drifting storm ,
a mass of snow too heavy to keep its place slides and tumbles
from the mountain peak. There is also now and then a loud
crack of the ice in the nearest glacier ; and, as many declare, there
is a crackling to be heard by those who listen when the northern
lights are shooting and blazing across the sky. Nor is this all ;
wherever there is a nook between the rocks and the shore where a
man may build a house and clear a field or two ; wherever there
is a platform beside the cataract where the sawyer may plant his
mill and make a path for it to join some road, there is a human
habitation and the sounds that belong to it ; thence in winter
nights come music and laughter, and the tread of dancers, and the
hum of many voices. The Norwegians are a sociable and hospit-
able people, and they hold their gay meetings in defiance of their
Arctic climate, through every season of the year.
MISS MARTINEAU.

THE BROOK.

I COME from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
152 THE BROOK.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges ;
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river ;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery water- break
Above the golden gravel.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers ,
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses,
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses.
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river ;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
TENNYSON.
 ON CLOUDS AND RAIN. 153

ON CLOUDS, RAIN, SPRINGS, RIVERS, AND FOUNTAINS.

Of the Ascent of Vapour and the Formation of Clouds- The

Formation and Fall of Rain.

Caroline. There is a question I am very desirous of asking you

respecting fluids, Mrs. B. , which has often perplexed me. What
is the reason that the great quantity of rain which falls upon the
earth and sinks into it, does not, in the course of time, injure its
solidity ? The sun and the wind, I know, dry the surface, but
they have no effect on the interior parts, where there must be a
prodigious accumulation of moisture.
Mrs. B. Do you not know that, in the course of time, all the
water which sinks into the ground rises out of it again ? It is
the same water which successively forms seas, rivers, springs,
clouds, rain, and sometimes hail, snow, and ice. If you will take
the trouble of following it through these various changes, you
will understand why the earth is not yet drowned by the quantity
of water which has fallen upon it since its creation ; and you will
even be convinced that it does not contain a single drop more
water now than it did at that period.
Let us consider how the clouds were originally formed. When
the first rays of the sun warmed the surface of the earth, the
heat, by separating the particles of water, rendered them lighter
than the air. This, you know, is the case with steam or vapour.
What then ensues ?
Caroline. When lighter than the air, it will naturally rise ;
and now I recollect your telling us in a preceding lesson, that
the heat of the sun transformed the particles of water into vapour,
in consequence of which it ascended into the atmosphere, where
it formed clouds.
Mrs. B. We have then already followed water through two of
its transformations ; from water it becomes vapour, and from
vapour, clouds.
Emily. But since this watery vapour is lighter than the air,
154 ON CLOUDS AND RAIN.

why does it not continue to rise ; and why does it unite again to
form clouds ?
Mrs. B. Because the atmosphere diminishes in density as it is
more distant from the earth. The vapour, therefore, which the
sun causes to exhale, not only from seas, rivers, and lakes, but
likewise from the moisture on the land, rises till it reaches a
region of air of its own specific gravity ; and there, you know, it
will remain stationary. By the frequent accession of fresh vapour
it gradually accumulates, so as to form those large bodies of vapour
which we call clouds ; and these, at length becoming too heavy
for the air to support, fall to the ground.
Caroline. They do fall to the ground certainly when it rains,
but, according to your theory, I should have imagined that, when
the clouds became too heavy for the region of air in which they
were situated to support them, they would descend till they
reached a stratum of air of their own weight, and not fall to the
earth ; for as clouds are formed of vapour, they cannot be so
heavy as the lowest regions of the atmosphere, otherwise the
vapour would not have risen.
Mrs. B. If you examine the manner in which the clouds de-
scend, it will obviate this objection . In falling, several of the
watery particles come within the sphere of each other's attraction,
and unite in the form of a drop of water. The vapour, thus
transformed into drops of water, is specifically heavier than any
part of the atmosphere, and consequently descends to the earth.
Caroline. How wonderfully curious !
Mrs. B. It is impossible to consider any part of nature atten-
tively without being struck with admiration at the wisdom dis-
played ; and I hope you will never contemplate these wonders
without feeling your heart glow with admiration and gratitude
towards their bounteous Author. Observe, that if the waters
were never drawn out of the earth, all vegetation would be
destroyed by the excess of moisture ; if, on the other hand, the
plants were not nourished and refreshed by occasional showers,
the drought would be equally fatal to them. If the clouds con-
stantly remained in a state of vapour, they might, as you remarked ,
descend into a heavier stratum of the atmosphere, but could never
 ON SPRINGS AND RESERVOIRS. 155

fall to the ground ; or were the power of attraction more than

sufficient to convert the vapour into drops, it would transform
the cloud into a mass of water, which, instead of nourishing,
would destroy the produce of the earth.

On Springs and Reservoirs.

Mrs. B. Water, then, ascends in the form of vapour, and

descends in that of rain, snow, or hail, all of which ultimately
become water. Some of this falls into the various bodies of water
on the surface of the globe, the remainder upon the land. Of
the latter, part reascends in the form of vapour, part is absorbed
by the roots of vegetables, and part descends into the bowels of
the earth, where it forms springs.
Emily. Is rain and spring water then the same ?
Mrs. B. Yes, originally. The only difference between them
consists in the foreign particles which the latter meets with and
dissolves in its passage through the various soils it traverses.
Caroline. Yet spring water is more pleasant to the taste, ap-
pears more transparent, and, I should have supposed, would have
been more pure than rain water.
Mrs. B. No ; excepting distilled water, rain water is the most
pure we can obtain ; and it is its purity which renders it insipid,
whilst the various salts and different ingredients, dissolved in
spring water, give it a species of flavour without in any degree
affecting its transparency ; and the filtration it undergoes through
gravel and sand in the bowels of the earth, cleanses it from all
foreign matter which it has not the power of dissolving.
When rain falls on the surface of the earth, it continues making
its way downwards through the pores and crevices in the ground.
When several drops meet in their subterraneous passage, they
unite and form a little rivulet ; this, in its progress, meets with
other rivulets of a similar description, and they pursue their
course together in the bowels of the earth till they are stopped
by some substance which they cannot penetrate.
Caroline. But you said that water could penetrate even the
pores of gold, and they cannot meet with a substance more dense ?
156 ON SPRINGS AND RESERVOIRS.

Mrs. B. But water penetrates the pores of gold ' only when
under a strong compressive force, whereas in its passage towards
the centre of the earth, it is acted upon by no other power than
gravity, which is not sufficient to make it force its way even
through a stratum of clay. This species of earth,, though not
remarkably dense, being of great tenacity, will not admit the
particles of water to pass. When water encounters any substance
of this nature, therefore, its progress is stopped, and the pressure
of the accumulating waters forms a bed, or reservoir.
Caroline. But the spring must afterwards rise to reach the
surface of the earth ; and that is in direct opposition to
gravity.
Mrs. B. A spring can never rise above the level of the reservoir
whence it issues ; it must, therefore, find a passage to some part
of the surface of the earth that is lower or nearer the centre than
the reservoir.
Emily. Now I think I understand the nature of springs the
water will flow through a duct, whether ascending or descending,
provided it never rises higher than the reservoir.
Mrs. B. Yes. Water may thus be conveyed to every part of a
town, and to the upper part of the houses , if it is originally
brought from a height greater than any to which it is conveyed.
Have you never observed, when the pavement of the streets has
been taken up, the pipes which serve as ducts for the conveyance
of the water through the town ?
Emily. Yes, frequently ; and I have remarked, that when any
of these pipes have been opened, the water rushes upwards from
them with great velocity, which, I suppose, proceeds from the
pressure of the water in the reservoir, which forces it out.
Caroline. I recollect having once seen a very curious glass,
called Tantalus's cup ; it consists of a goblet, containing a small
figure of a man, and whatever quantity of water you pour into
the goblet, it never rises higher than the breast of the figure.
Do you know how that is contrived ?
Mrs. B. It is by means of a syphon, or bent tube, which is
concealed in the body of the figure. It rises through one of the
legs as high as the breast, and, there turning, descends through
 ON SPRINGS AND RESERVOIRS. 157

the other leg, and from thence through the foot of the goblet ,
where the water runs out. (Fig. A.) When
you pour water into the glass a, it must rise
in the syphon b, in proportion as it rises in
the glass ; and when the glass is filled to a
level with the upper part of the syphon, the
water will run out through the other leg of
the figure, and will continue running out as
fast as you pour it in ; therefore the glass
can never fill any higher.
Emily. I think the new well that has
been made at our country-house must be of
that nature. We had a great scarcity of
water, and my father has been at consider-
FIG. A.
able expense to dig a well. After penetrating
to a great depth before water could be found, a spring was at
length discovered, but the water rose only a few feet above the
bottom of the well ; and sometimes it is quite dry.
Mrs. B. This has, however, no analogy to Tantalus's cup, but
is owing to the very elevated situation of your country-house.
Emily. I believe I guess the reason. There cannot be a reser-
voir of water near the summit of a hill, as in such a situation
there will not be a sufficient number of rivulets formed to supply
one ; and without a reservoir there can be no spring. In such
situations, therefore, it is necessary to dig very deep in order to
meet with a spring ; and when we give it vent, it can rise only
as high as the reservoir from whence it flows, which will be but
little, as the reservoir must be situated at some considerable depth
below the summit of the hill.
Caroline. Your explanation appears very clear and satisfactory,
but I can contradict it from experience. At the very top of a
hill, near our country house, there is a large pond, and, according
to your theory, it would be impossible there should be springs in
such a situation to supply it with water. Then you know that I
have crossed the Alps, and I can assure you that there is a fine
lake on the summit of Mount Cenis, the highest mountain we
passed over.
158 ON SPRINGS AND RESERVOIRS.

Mrs. B. Were there a lake on the summit of Mount Blanc,

which is the highest of the Alps, it would indeed be wonderful ;
but that on Mount Cenis is not at all contradictory to our theory
of springs, for this mountain is surrounded by others much more
elevated, and the springs which feed the lake must descend from
reservoirs of water formed in those mountains. This must also
be the case with the pond on the top of the hill. There is
doubtless some more considerable hill in the neighbourhood which
supplies it with water.
Emily. I comprehend perfectly why the water in our well
never rises high, but I do not understand why it should occa-
sionally be dry.
Mrs. B. Because the reservoir from which it flows being in an
elevated situation, is but scantily supplied with water. After a
long drought, therefore, it may be drained, and the spring dry,
till the reservoir be replenished by fresh rains. It is not uncom-
mon to see springs flow with great violence in wet weather, and
at other times be perfectly dry.
Caroline. But there is a spring in our grounds which more
frequently flows in dry than in wet weather. How is that to be
accounted for ?
Mrs. B. The spring probably comes from a reservoir at a
great distance, and situated very deep in the ground ; it is, there-
fore, some length of time before the rain reaches the reservoir,
and another considerable portion must elapse whilst the water is
making its way from the reservoir to the surface of the earth :
so that the dry weather may probably have succeeded the rains
before the spring begins to flow, and the reservoir may be ex-
hausted by the time the wet weather sets in again.
Caroline. I doubt not but this is the case, as the spring is in
a very low situation, therefore the reservoir may be at a great
distance from it.
Mrs. B. Springs which do not constantly flow are called inter-
mitting, and are occasioned by the reservoir being imperfectly
supplied. Independently of the situation, this is always the case
when the duct or ducts which convey the water into the reservoir
are smaller than those which carry it off.
 ON RIVERS, LAKES, AND FOUNTAINS. 159

Caroline. If it runs out faster than it runs in, it will of course

sometimes be empty.

On Rivers, Lakes, and Fountains.

Caroline. Do not rivers also derive their source from springs ?

Mrs. B. Yes, they generally take their source in mountainous
countries, where springs are most abundant.
Caroline. I understood you that springs were more rare in
elevated situations.
Mrs. B. You do not consider that mountainous countries abound
equally with high and low situations. Reservoirs of water, which
are formed in the bosom of mountains, generally find a vent either
on their declivity, or in the valley beneath, while subterraneous
reservoirs, formed in a plain, can seldom find a passage to the
surface of the earth, but remain concealed, unless discovered by
digging a well. When a spring once issues at the surface of the
earth it continues its course externally, seeking always a lower
ground, for it can no longer rise.
Emily. Then what is the consequence if the spring, or I should
now rather call it a rivulet, runs into a situation which is sur-
rounded by higher ground ?
Mrs. B. Its course is stopped, the water accumulates, and it
forms a pool, pond, or lake, according to the dimensions of the
body of water. The Lake of Geneva, in all probability, owes its
origin to the Rhone, which passes through it. If, when this
river first entered the valley, which now forms the bed of the
lake, it found itself surrounded by higher grounds, its waters
would there accumulate till they rose to a level with that part of
the valley where the Rhone now continues its course beyond the
lake, and from whence it flows through valleys, occasionally
forming other small lakes till it reaches the sea.
Emily. And are not fountains of the nature of springs ?
Mrs. B. Exactly. A fountain is conducted perpendicularly
upwards by the spout through which it flows, and it will rise
nearly as high as the reservoir from whence it proceeds.
Caroline. Why not quite as high ?
160 A THANKSGIVING FOR MY HOUSE.

Mrs. B. Because it meets with resistance from the air in its

ascent, and its motion is impeded by friction against the spout,
where it rushes out.
Emily. But if the tube through which the water rises be
smooth, can there be any friction ? especially with a fluid whose
particles yield to the slightest impression.
Mrs. B. Friction may be diminished by polishing, but can
never be entirely destroyed ; and though fluids are less susceptible
of friction than solid bodies, they are still affected by it. Another
reason why a fountain will not rise so high as its reservoir, is,
that as all the particles of water spout from the tube with an
equal velocity, and as the pressure of the air upon the exterior
particles must diminish their velocity, they will in some degree
strike against the under parts, and force them sideways, spreading
the column into a head, and rendering it both wider and shorter
than it otherwise would be.-(MRS. MARCET'S Conversations on
Natural Philosophy.¹ )

A THANKSGIVING FOR MY HOUSE.

LORD, Thou hast given me a cell,

Wherein to dwell ;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof ;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry.
Where Thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state ;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by poor,
1 Adapted.
 A THANKSGIVING FOR MY HOUSE. 161

Who hither come and freely get

Good words or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall,
And kitchen small ;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by Thee—
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water- cress,
Which of Thy kindness, Thou hast sent :
And my content
Makes those and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
"Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth ;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, ' tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
That sows my land.
All this and better dost Thou send
Me for this end,—
That I should render for my part
A thankful heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resign
As wholly Thine :
But the acceptance-that must be,
O Lord, by Thee.
HERRICK.
L
162 THE ROPEMAKER OF FARFIELD.

THE ROPEMAKER OF FARFIELD.

WHEN the ancient hero, Alexander of Macedon, had won a

great battle far away in Persia, he used always to say, "What will
my neighbours, the Athenians, say to this ? When I come home,
and show them all that I have conquered, they willlift up their
hands for astonishment."
That, or at least something to the same purpose, was what
Alexander used to say more than two thousand years ago ; and
when anything extraordinary happened to the Ropemaker of Far-
field out in the wide world, he always thought, " What will they
say to this at home in Farfield " (it is a small village in Germany,
not laid down on any map), " What will they think when I come
home some day in a coach-and-four ?"
The ropeyard at Farfield lies beside the long churchyard-wall.
Franz, the young apprentice lad, often looked over it towards the
little spot where his father and mother lay ; often, as he walked
backwards, holding the rope in his hand, his eyes would fill with
tears, and his knees would tremble. There lay all his dear ones ;
he was fatherless and motherless ; had neither sister, nor brother,
nor any relative. But it is the way of the world, that what
people see daily they cease to take much notice of, and their
feelings about it become duller. Franz grew accustomed to working
beside the churchyard, and ceased to look over the wall towards
the graves.
Thousands of people see nothing of the sad and strange things
that lie before their eyes, because they are accustomed to them,
and live on without thinking.
It is the custom for German apprentices, when they have
finished their time at home, to go out upon their travels, labour-
ing at their craft in the various towns they pass through, according
as they find work. They thus become literally what we call
journeymen. The time arrived when Franz had to leave the
ropeyard by the churchyard wall of Farfield, and go out into the
world. He had but a light knapsack to strap on his shoulders ;
fortunately his heart was light too ; yet, as he once more passed
 THE ROPEMAKER OF FARFIELD. 163

the churchyard, and saw the narrow footpath that he had mea-
sured over so many, many thousands of times, he thought sadly
of the new untrodden ways that he was now to travel. One last
look, however, to the sacred spot beyond the wall, and he marched
stoutly off upon his journey.
Franz directed his steps southwards into Catholic Germany,
but he did not find much work. On coming to the border of his
own country, he thought he should like to see Italy, so he held
on still southwards. In Italy, too, work was scarce, and sus-
picious-looking individuals on the lonely roads were rather plenti-
ful. Franz was determined to reach Naples ; he had a great
desire to learn how to make thick ship's cables there. His boots,
however, had in the meantime got into a wretched plight ; they
were worn or burst above, below, in toe and heel ; but he could
not afford to throw them away ; so he carried them in his hand
and marched barefoot. One blistering day, when his feet had
grown dreadfully hot, he lay down on the edge of a wood to
sleep, and he closed his eyes with a hearty prayer for a good pair
of new boots.
A dozen of black-bearded fellows, with their hats drawn down
over their eyes, came out of the wood. They saw the sleeping way-
farer, and laughed and muttered to one another, " We can't take
anything off him ; he has hardly even a pair of boots. " Mean-
while a mischievous young rogue, who was among them , slipped
up to Franz, lifted the poor remains of the boots, and flung them
down into a deep ravine hard by. After that the band moved a
little farther along the road till they came to a hollow, and there
they waited for a heavily-packed travelling-carriage that was now
approaching. With pistols, daggers, and long knives, they com-
pelled the travellers to come out, and allow themselves to be
stripped of everything they had. The postilion seemed to have
an understanding with them, and everything was managed in a
cool, speedy, and business-like manner. At last the young bandit
before-mentioned goes up to a long, lean man, one of the travel-
lers, and apparently an Englishman, and says, " Off with your
boots !" It was not till he was threatened with having his feet
cut off, that the Englishman complied. The bandit then runs off
164 THE ROPEMAKER OF FARFIELD.

to our sleeping Franz, places the boots beside him, and disappears
into the wood. In a short time everything is as quiet all around
as if nothing had been astir. By and by Franz awakes, and sees
the beautiful boots standing near him. He rubs his eyes and
looks again, but as he still sees them standing so convenient, he
proceeds to pull them on, and finds them a very tolerable fit.
" Surely some good angel," he thought, " has brought them, in
answer to my poor prayer, as I lay down. What would they say
to this at Farfield ?"
Franz now went on his way rejoicing, but he was not always
so fortunate ; and in Naples he had to ramble about with an
empty stomach, and sleep in the open porticoes on the stones.
One evening, just as it was growing dark, he had sought out for
himself a comfortable corner, and was about to dispose of himself
for the night. Not far from him a black-bearded man had also
taken up his quarters, and the latter commenced talking with
Franz, trying to enlist him for what he called his " free life
among the hills," meaning thereby the trade of robbery. Franz,
however, would not listen to him, laid his legs over one another,
and contemplated his miraculous heaven-sent boots, admirable
works of art, that seemed made to last for ever. The bandit
affirmed that it was he who had presented Franz with the boots,
at which Franz laughed. Meanwhile a man had slipt back and
forward past them several times, glancing at both of them very
scrutinizingly. Presently he was there again, in the company of
half a dozen birri, or armed policemen, who, without more ado,
seized hold of Franz and his companion, and tumbled them off to
lodgings more confined than those they had just quitted, but, like
them, free of charge. " What would they say to this at Far-
field ?" thought Franz ; but he was glad for once that the people
there would not hear of everything that happened to him. With
a good conscience in his breast, Franz fell quietly asleep ; but
what was his astonishment next morning when he heard in court
that he was accused of stealing the boots he wore. Franz empha-
tically affirmed that he had prayed for them one day before going
to sleep, and when he awoke he found them beside him ; and
that was all he knew about them. Here the Englishman, for it
 THE ROPEMAKER OF FARFIELD. 165

was no other than he who had caused the two to be apprehended,

stepped forward with a knife, cut the double soles of the boots
asunder, and drew out from between them a number of bank-
notes of very high value. " These," said he, " I had concealed
there, in order to secure myself from the bandits." A light now
dawned upon Franz, and hethought of what the bandit had
yesterday said to him. He trembled like an aspen-leaf, and the
judge took that for a symptom of guilt. Franz considered whe-
ther or not he ought to betray the bandit ; he saw scarcely any
other means of escape for himself. At this moment a turnkey
came in with a ring which the bandit had thrown out of the
window of his cell. The Englishman claimed it as his property,
and the guilt of the other was thus placed beyond doubt. He
himself confessed the whole affair of the boots when he was
brought before the judge ; and thus Franz was allowed to walk
off free, and- barefoot. He now again thought of getting work,
and went down to the shore. There he met with the Englishman,
who, entering into conversation with him, appeared to conceive a
liking for the poor friendless youth. This Englishman proved to
be an officer of high rank in the fleet, and he promised he would
help Franz forward if he found he was a good workman.
Franz now made himself acquainted with all kinds of ropework
that are required in ships ; and the Englishman took him with
him when he went home.
Through cleverness and diligence, Franz became in England a
wealthy manufacturer, who employed hundreds of ropemakers.
Often did he think to himself, as he looked over his extensive
works, " What would they say to this in Farfield ?" And he re-
solved, that when he had cleared a hundred thousand dollars, he
would return home ; but when he had cleared the hundred thou-
sand dollars, he found there was still some piece of business that
he wanted to finish, and some more money that he wanted to
make ; and thus always putting off his return, he grew an old
greyhaired man, who had to think of making his will.
How astonished were the people of Farfield one day, when a
black carriage, drawn by horses with black trappings, and at-
tended by servants in mourning liveries, drove into the village.
166 EVENING HYMN.

It conveyed the corpse of Franz, who had desired to be buried

beside his parents. He had bequeathed all his fortune to his
native place ; but he cannot hear now " what they say to it in
Farfield," and how they praise and bless him because he remem-
bered them so well.-(From AUERBACH . )

EVENING HYMN.

'Tis gone, that bright and orbèd blaze,

Fast fading from our wistful gaze :
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.

In darkness and in weariness,

The traveller on his way must press ;
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whiling away the lonesome hour.

Sun of my soul ! thou Saviour dear,

It is not night if Thou be near :
Oh, may no earth -born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes.

When round Thy wondrous works below,

My searching rapture's glance I throw,
Tracing out wisdom, power, and love,
In earth or sky, in stream or grove ;

Or, by the light Thy words disclose,

Watch time's full river as it flows,
Scanning Thy gracious providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense ;
 THE WEAVER'S SONG. 167

When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,

And all the flowers of life unfold ;-
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep,

My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.

Abide with me from morn till eve,

For without Thee I cannot live :
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.

If some poor wandering child of Thine

Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine ;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.

Watch by the sick ; enrich the poor

With blessings from Thy boundless store :
Be every mourner's sleep to-night,
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.

Come near, and bless us when we wake,

Ere through the world our way we take ;
Till in the ocean of Thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above. - KEBLE.

THE WEAVER'S SONG.

WEAVE, brothers, weave ! Swiftly throw

The shuttle athwart the loom,
And show us how brightly your flowers grow,
That have beauty but no perfume !
 168 THE HORSE-SHOE NAIL.

Come show us the rose with a hundred dyes,

The lily that hath no spot ;
The violet deep as your true love's eyes,
And the little forget-me-not !
Sing-sing, brothers, weave and sing !
'Tis good both to sing and to weave ;
'Tis better to work than to live idle :
'Tis better to sing than to grieve.

Weave, brothers, weave ! Weave and bid

The colours of sunset glow !
Let grace in each gliding thread be hid !
Let beauty about you blow !
Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine,
And your hands both fine and sure ;
And time nor chance shall your work untwine,
But all- like a truth- endure !
Sing-sing, brothers, &c. &c.

Weave, brothers, weave !—toil is ours ;

But toil is the lot of men :
One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers,
One soweth the seed again !
There is not a creature, from England's king,
To the peasant that delves the soil,
That knows half the pleasure the seasons bring,
If he have not his share of toil !
So sing, brothers, &c.
BARRY CORNWALL.

THE HORSE-SHOE NAIL.

A FARMER once went to market, and, meeting with good luck,

he sold all his corn, and filled his purse with silver and gold.
 CHEVY CHASE. 169

Then he thought it time to return, in order to reach home before

night-fall ; so he packed his money-bags upon his horse's back,
and set out on his journey. At noon he stopped in a village to
rest ; and, when he was starting again, the hostler, as he led out
the horse, said, " Please you, sir, the left shoe behind has lost a
nail." " Let it go,” answered the farmer ; "the shoe will hold
fast enough for the twenty miles that I have still to travel. I'm
in haste.' So saying, he journeyed on.
In the afternoon the farmer stopped again to bait his horse ;
and, as he was sitting in the inn, the stable-boy came, and said,
" Sir, your horse has lost a nail in his left shoe behind shall I
take him to the blacksmith ? " " Let him alone, " answered the
farmer ; " I've only six miles farther to go, and the horse will
travel well enough that distance. I've no time to lose."
Away rode the farmer ; but he had not gone far before the
horse began to limp ; it had not limped far before it began to
stumble ; and it had not stumbled long before it fell down and
broke a leg.
Then the farmer was obliged to leave the horse lying in the
road, to unstrap his bags, throw them over his shoulder, and
make his way as well as he could home on foot, where he did not
arrive till late at night. "All my ill luck," said the farmer to
himself, " comes from neglect of a horse-shoe nail. "
From the German of Grimm.

CHEVY CHASE.

GOD prosper long our noble King,

Our lives and safeties all,
A woeful hunting once there did
In Chevy Chase befal.

To drive the deer with hound and horn,

Earl Percy took his way ;
170 CHEVY CHASE.

The child may rue, that is unborn,

The hunting of that day.
The stout Earl of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods,
Three summer days to take.

The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase

To kill and bear away :
These tidings to Earl Douglas came,
In Scotland where he lay ;
Who sent Earl Percy present word,
He would prevent his sport :
The English Earl, not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort.

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,

All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of need,
To aim their shafts aright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran
To chase the fallow-deer ;
On Monday they began to hunt,
When daylight did appear.
And long before high noon they had
A hundred fat bucks slain ;
Then, having dined, the drovers went
To rouse the deer again.

Lord Percy to the quarry went,

To view the slaughtered deer ;
Quoth he, " Earl Douglas promised
This day to meet me here.

But if I thought he would not come,

No longer would I stay."
 CHEVY CHASE. 171

With that a brave young gentleman

Thus to the Earl did say :-

" Lo ! yonder doth Earl Douglas come,

His men in armour bright ;
Full twenty hundred Scottish spears,
All marching in our sight :

" All men of pleasant Teviotdale,

Fast by the river Tweed."
" Then cease your sports," Earl Percy said,
" And take your bows with speed ;
" And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance,
For never was there champion yet
In Scotland or in France,

"That ever did on horseback come ;

But if my hap it were,
I durst encounter, man for man,
With him to break a spear."

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed,

Most like a baron bold,
Rode foremost of the company,
Whose armour shone like gold .
"Show me," said he, " whose men you be,
That hunt so boldly here ;
That without my consent do chase
And kill my fallow-deer."
The first man that did answer make
Was noble Percy, he
Who said, " We list not to declare
Nor show whose men we be.

"Yet we will spend our dearest blood,

Thy chiefest harts to slay."
172 CHEVY CHASE.

Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,

And thus in rage did say :—

" Ere thus I will out-braved be,

One of us two shall die :
I know thee well, an earl thou art,
Lord Percy, so am I.

“ But trust me, Percy, pity it were,

And great offence to kill
Any of these our guiltless men,
For they have done no ill.

" Let thou and I the battle try,

And set our men aside."
" Accursed be he, " Lord Percy said ,
"By whom this is denied."

It was agreed, however, that the two armies should engage :

Our English archers bent their bows,

Their hearts were good and true,
At the first flight of arrows sent,
Full threescore Scots they slew.
Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
As chieftain stout and good ;
As valiant captain all unmoved,
The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three,

As leader ware and tried,
And soon his spearmen on their foes
Bore down on every side.

Throughout the English archery

They dealt full many a wound,
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground ;
 CHEVY CHASE. 173

And throwing straight their bows away,

They grasped their swords so bright,
And now sharp blows a heavy shower
On shields and helmets light.

They closed full fast on every side,

No slackness there was found,
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.

And oh it was a grief to see,

And likewise for to hear,
The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout earls did meet

Like captains of great might ;
Like lions wode, they laid on load,
And made a cruel fight.

They fought until they both did sweat,

With swords of tempered steel ;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling down did feel.

" Yield thee, Lord Percy !" Douglas said,

" In faith I will thee bring,
Where thou shalt high advanced be
By James our Scottish king :

" Thy ransom I will freely give,

And this report of thee,
Thou art the most courageous knight
That ever I did see."

" No, Douglas ! " quoth Earl Percy then,

Thy proffer I do scorn ;
174 CHEVY CHASE.

I will not yield to any Scot

That ever yet was born."

With that there came an arrow keen

Out of an English bow,
Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart
A deep and deadly blow ;

Who never spake more words than these—

" Fight on, my merry men, all ;
For why, my life is at an end—
Lord Percy sees my fall. "

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took

The dead man by the hand,
And said, " Earl Douglas, for thy life,
Would I had lost my land !"

" Ah me ! my very heart doth bleed

With sorrow for thy sake ;
For sure a more redoubted knight
Mischance did never take."

A knight amongst the Scots there was,

Who saw Earl Douglas die,
Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percy :

Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called ;

Who, with a spear most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight ;

And passed the English archers all,

Without all dread or fear,
And through Earl Percy's body then
He thrust his hateful spear :
 CHEVY CHASE. 175

With such a vehement force and might

He did his body gore,
The spear went through the other side
A good clothyard and more.

So thus did both these nobles die,

Whose courage none could stain.
An English archer then perceived
Their noble Earl was slain :

He had a bow bent in his hand

Made of a trusty tree ;
An arrow of a clothyard long
Up to the head drew he

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery

So right the shaft he set,
The grey goose-wing that was thereon
In his heart's blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day

Till setting of the sun,
For when they rung the evening bell
The battle scarce was done.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case

Did with Earl Douglas die ;
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears
Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen

Went home but fifty-three ;
The rest in Chevy Chase were slain
Under the greenwood-tree.

Next day did many widows come,

Their husbands to bewail ;
176 USE OF TRIFLES.

They washed their wounds in brinish tears,

But all would not prevail.

Their bodies bathed in purple gore ,

They bore with them away ;
They kissed them dead a thousand times
When they were clad in clay.

Old Ballad.

USE OF TRIFLES.

AMONG the causes which tend to the cheap production of any

article, may be mentioned the care which is taken to allow no
part of the raw produce out of which it is formed to be absolutely
wasted. Attention to this circumstance sometimes causes the
union of two trades in one factory, which otherwise would have
been separated. An enumeration of the purposes to which the
horns of cattle are applicable, will furnish a striking example of
this kind of economy.
The tanner who has purchased the hides separates the horns,
and sells them to the makers of combs and lanterns. The horn
consists of two parts, an outward horny case, and an inward
conical-shaped substance, somewhat between hardened hair and
bone. The first process consists of separating these two parts by
means of a blow against a block of wood. The horny outside is
then cut into three portions. The lowest of these, next the root
of the horn, after being rendered flat, is made into combs. The
middle piece of the horn, after being flattened by heat, and its
transparency improved by oil, is split into thin layers, and forms a
substitute for glass in lanterns of the commonest kinds. The tip
of the horn is used by the makers of knife-handles, and for the
tops of whips and similar purposes. The interior or cone of the
horn is boiled down in water. A large quantity of fat rises to
the surface this is put aside, and sold to the makers of yellow
 AFRICAN MONKEYS ON MARCH. 177

soap. The liquid itself is used as a kind of glue, and is purchased

by the cloth-dressers for stiffening. The bony substance, which
remains behind, is ground down and sold to the farmers for ma-
nure. The shavings, which form the refuse of the lantern-maker,
are cut into various figures, and painted and used as toys, which
curl up when placed on the palm of a warm hand.
The skins used by the gold-beater are produced from the offal
of animals. The hoofs of horses and cattle, and other horny
refuse, are employed in the production of the prussiate of potash,
that beautiful, yellow, crystallized salt which is exhibited in the
shops of some of our chemists.
The worn-out saucepans and tin-ware of our kitchens, when
beyond the reach of the tinker's art, are not utterly worthless.
We sometimes meet carts loaded with old tin kettles and worn-out
iron coal-scuttles traversing our streets. These have not yet com-
pleted their useful course the less corroded parts are cut into
strips, punched with small holes, and varnished with a coarse
black varnish, for the use of the trunkmaker, who protects the
edges and angles of his boxes with them ; the remainder are con-
veyed to the manufacturing chemists in the outskirts of the town,
who employ them, in conjunction with pyroligneous acid, in mak-
ing a black dye for the use of calico- printers.
BABBAGE.

AFRICAN MONKEYS ON THE MARCH .

ABOUT half way across a plain we were traversing, runs a beau-

tiful stream, which, coming down from the hills to the west of
Mardemas, crosses the road, forming many pretty cascades and
eddies with the large stones that occupy its bed, and, dashing
onward, falls into a deep ravine, or crack in the plain, where
at length it joins the Mareb. On the north side of the stream
are two copses or plantations, both growing so regularly, and
the different trees so well distributed for effect of mass and
M
178 AFRICAN MONKEYS ON MARCH.

colour, that you might easily deceive yourself into the idea of
the whole scene being carefully arranged by some landscape gar-
dener of exquisite taste. Had it really been so, he could not
have chosen a prettier spot, nor one where his labour would have
been more profitably bestowed, than at the half-way halt on the
wide and monotonous plain we were crossing. From the vicinity
of water, the grass round these plantations was a bright green,
unlike the dry hay of the plain, and this formed no slight addition
to its merits both in the eyes of the mules and their masters.
The ravine down which the brook fell was well wooded, and
the trees were filled with the " tota," a beautiful little greenish-
grey monkey, with black face and white whiskers. I followed a
troop of these for a long time, while the porters and servants were
resting, merely for the pleasure of watching their movements. If
you go tolerably carefully towards them, they will allow you to
approach very near, and you will be much amused with their
goings-on, which differ little from those of the large no-tailed
monkeys. You may see them quarrelling, making love, mothers
taking care of their children, combing their hair, nursing and
suckling them, and the passions, jealousy, anger, and love, as dis-
tinctly marked as in men.
The monkeys have their chiefs, whom they obey implicitly, and
they practise a regular system of tactics in war, pillaging, &c.
These monkey forays are managed with the utmost regularity and
precaution. A tribe, coming down to feed from its haunt on
the mountain, brings with it all its members, male and female,
old and young. Some, the elders of the tribe, distinguishable by
the quantity of mane covering their shoulders like a lion's, take
the lead, peering over each precipice before they descend, and
climbing cautiously to the top of every rock or stone which may
afford them a better view of the road before them. Others have
their posts as scouts on the flank or rear ; and all fulfil their
duties with the utmost vigilance, calling out at times, apparently
to keep order among the motley pack which forms the main body,
or to give notice of any real or imagined danger. Their tones of
voice on these occasions are so distinctly varied, that a person
much accustomed to watch their movements will at length fancy,
 THE SNOW-STORM. 179

and perhaps with some truth, that he can understand their

signals.
The main body is composed of females, inexperienced males,
and young people of the tribe. Those of the females who have
small children carry them on their backs. Unlike the dignified
march of the leaders, the rabble go along in a most disorderly
manner, trotting on and chattering, without taking the least
heed of anything, apparently confiding in the vigilance of their
scouts. Here a few of the youth linger behind to pick the berries
off some tree, but not long, for the advancing rearguard forces
them to regain their places. There a matron pauses for a moment
to suckle her offspring ; and, not to lose time, dresses its hair
while it is taking its meal. Another younger lady, probably ex-
cited by jealousy, or by some sneering look or word, pulls an ugly
mouth at her neighbour, and then uttering a shrill squeal, highly
expressive of rage, vindictively snatches at her rival's leg or tail.
This provokes a retort, and a most unladylike quarrel ensues, till
a loud bark from one of the chiefs calls them to order. A single
cry of alarm makes them all halt, and remain on the alert, till
another bark in a different tone reassures them, and then they
proceed on their march.
Arrived at the corn fields, the scouts take their position on the
eminences all round, while the remainder of the tribe collect pro-
vision with all expedition, filling their cheek pouches as full as
they can hold, and tucking the heads of corn under their armpits.
They show equal sagacity in searching for water, discovering at
once the places where it is most readily found in the sand, and
then digging for it with their hands, relieving one another if the
quantity of sand to be removed be considerable.
M. PARKYNS.

THE SNOW-STORM.

LITTLE Hannah Lee had left her master's house as soon as the
rim of the great moon was seen by her eyes, that had been long
180 THE SNOW-STORM .

anxiously watching it from the window, rising, like a joyful

dream, over the gloomy mountain tops ; and all by herself she
tripped along beneath the beauty of the silent heaven . Still, as
she kept ascending and descending the knolls that lay in the
bosom of the glen, she sang to herself a song, a hymn, or a psalm,
without the accompaniment of the streams, now all silent in the
frost, and ever and anon she stopped to try to count the stars that
lay in some more beautiful part of the sky, or gazed on the con-
stellations that she knew, and called them, in her joy, by the
names they bore among the shepherds. There were none to hear
her voice or see her smiles but the ear and eye of Providence. As
on she glided, and took her looks from heaven, she saw her own
little fireside her parent waiting for her arrival- the Bible opened
for worship her own little room kept so neatly for her, with its
mirror hanging by the window, in which to braid her hair by the
morning light— her bed prepared for her by her mother's hand-
the primroses in her garden peeping through the snow- old Tray,
who ever welcomed her home with his dim white eyes-the pony
and the cow- friends all and inmates of that happy household.
So stepped she along, while the snow-diamonds glittered around her
feet, and the frost wove a wreath of lucid pearls round her forehead.
She had now reached the edge of the Black-moss, which lay
half way between her master's and her father's dwelling, when she
heard a loud noise coming down Glen Scrae, and in a few seconds
she felt on her face some flakes of snow. She looked up the glen,
and saw the snow-storm coming down fast as a flood . She felt
no fears ; but she ceased her song, and, had there been a human
eye to look upon her there, it might have seen a shadow upon her
face. She continued her course, and felt bolder and bolder every
step that brought her nearer to her parents' house. But the
snow-storm had now reached the Black-moss, and the broad line
of light that had lain in the direction of her home was soon swal-
lowed up, and the child was in utter darkness. She saw nothing
but the flakes of snow, interminably intermingled and furiously
wafted in the air close to her head ; she heard nothing but one
wild, fierce, fitful howl. The cold became intense, and her little
feet and hands were fast being benumbed into insensibility.
 THE SNOW-STORM. 181

"It is a fearful change," muttered the child to herself ; but

still she did not fear, for she had been born in a moorland cottage,
and lived all her days among the hardships of the hills. " What
will become of the poor sheep ?" thought she ; but still she scarcely
thought of her own danger, for innocence, and youth, and joy, are
slow to think of aught evil befalling themselves, and, thinking be-
nignly of all living things, forget their own fear in their pity for
others' sorrow. At last she could no longer discern a single mark
on the snow either of human steps or of sheep-track, or the foot-
print of a wildfowl. Suddenly, too, she felt out of breath and
exhausted, and, shedding tears for herself at last, sank down in
the snow .
It was now that her heart began to quake with fear. She re-
membered stories of shepherds lost in the snow ; of a mother and
a child frozen to death on that very moor ; and in a moment she
knew that she was to die. Bitterly did the poor child weep ; for
death was terrible to her, who, though poor, enjoyed the bright
little world of youth and innocence. The skies of heaven were
dearer than she knew to her ; so were the flowers of earth. She
had been happy at her work, happy in her sleep, happy in the kirk
on Sabbath. A thousand thoughts had the solitary child, and in
her own heart was a spring of happiness, pure and undisturbed as
any fount that sparkles unseen all the year through, in some quiet
nook among the pastoral hills. But now there was to be an end
of all this ; she was to be frozen to death, and lie there till the
thaw might come, and then her father would find her body, and
carry it away to be buried in the kirkyard.
The tears were frozen on her cheeks as soon as shed, and scarcely
had her little hands strength to clasp themselves together, as the
thought of an overruling and merciful Lord came across her heart.
Then, indeed, the fears of this religious child were calmed, and she
heard without terror the plover's wailing cry, and the deep boom
of the bittern sounding in the moss. " I will repeat the Lord's
Prayer ; " and, drawing her plaid more closely around her, she
whispered beneath its ineffectual cover, " Our Father which art in
heaven, hallowed by Thy name ; Thy kingdom come ; Thy will be
done on earth as it is in heaven." Had human aid been within
182 NEW YEAR'S EVE.

fifty yards, it could have been of no avail : eye could not see her,
ear could not hear her in that howling wilderness. But that low
prayer was heard in the centre of eternity, and that little sinless
child was lying in the snow beneath the all-seeing eye of God.
The maiden, having prayed to her Father in heaven, then thought
of her father on earth. Alas, they were not far separated ! The
father was lying but a short distance from his child ; he, too, had
sunk down in the drifting snow, after having, in less than an hour,
exhausted all the strength of fear, pity, hope, despair, and resigna-
tion that could rise in a father's heart, blindly seeking to rescue his
only child from death, thinking that one desperate exertion might
enable them to perish in each other's arms. There they lay, within
a stone's throw of each other, while a huge snow-drift was every
moment piling itself up into a more insurmountable barrier between
the dying parent and his dying child.
JOHN WILSON.

NEW YEAR'S EVE.

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear,

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year :
It is the last New Year that I shall ever see ;
Then you may lay me low in the mould, and think no more of me.

To-night I saw the sun set ; he set and left behind

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind ;
And the New Year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see
The May upon the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers ; we had a merry day !

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May ;
And we danced about the May-pole, and in the hazel copse,
Till Charles's Wain¹ came out above the tall, white chimney-tops.
1 The northern constellation frequently called the Plough.
 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 183

There's not a flower on all the hills ; the frost is on the paue ;
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again :
I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on high ;
I long to see a flower so, before the day I die.

The building rook will caw from the windy, tall elm tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea ;
And the swallow will come back again with summer o'er the wave ;
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine,

In the early, early morning, the summer sun will shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light,
You'll never see me more in the long, gray fields at night ;
When from the dry, dark wold the summer airs blow cool
On the oat-grass, and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.

You will bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid :
I shall not forget you, mother ; I shall hear you when you pass,
With your feet above my head, in the long and pleasant grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now ;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow ;
Nay-nay-you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild ;
You should not fret for me, mother ; you have another child.

If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place ;

Though you will not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face ;
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say,
And be often, often with you, when you think I'm far away.

Good-night, good-night ; when I have said good-night for evermore.

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door,
184 THE CADI'S DECISIONS.

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green ;

She'll be a better child to you than I have ever been.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary-floor ;

Let her take ' em ; they are hers ; I shall never garden more ;
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set
About the parlour-window, and the box of mignonette.

Good-night, sweet mother ! call me before the day is born ;

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn ;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year :
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.
TENNYSON.

THE CADI'S DECISIONS.

HAVING heard that the Cadi of one of his twelve tribes admi-
nistered justice in an admirable manner, and pronounced decisions
in a style worthy of King Solomon himself, Bou-Akas determined
to judge for himself as to the truth of the report.
Accordingly, dressed like a private individual, without arms or
attendants, he set out for the Cadi's town, mounted on a docile
Arabian steed.
He arrived there, and was just entering the gate, when a
cripple, seizing the border of his garment, asked him for alms in
the name of the prophet. Bou-Akas gave him money, but the
cripple still maintained his hold.
" What dost thou want ?" asked the sheik. " I have already
given thee alms."
" Yes," replied the beggar, " but the law says, not only ' Thou
shalt give alms to thy brother,' but also, • Thou shalt do for thy
brother whatsoever thou canst.'
" Well ! and what can I do for thee ?"
" Thou can'st save me -poor crawling creature that I am !—
from being trodden under the feet of men, horses, mules, and
 THE CADI'S DECISIONS. 185

camels, a fate which would certainly befall me in passing through

the crowded square in which a fair is now going on."
" And how can I save thee ?"
" By letting me ride behind you, and putting me down safely
in the market-place, where I have business. "
" Be it so," replied Bou-Akas ; and stooping down, he helped
the cripple to get up behind him—a business which was not
accomplished without much difficulty.
The strangely-assorted riders attracted many eyes as they passed
through the crowded streets ; and at length they reached the
market-place.
" Is this where you wish to stop ?" asked Bou-Akas.
" Yes."
" Then get down."
" Get down yourself."
" What for ?"
" To leave me the horse."
" To leave you my horse ! What mean you by that ?"
" I mean that he belongs to me. Know you not that we are
now in the town of the just Cadi, and that if we bring the case
before him he will certainly decide in my favour ?"
66
Why should he do so, when the animal belongs to me ?"
" Don't you think that, when he sees us two-you, with your
strong, straight limbs, which Allah has given you for the purpose
of walking, and I with my weak legs and distorted feet- he will
decree that the horse shall belong to him who has most need of
him ?"
" Should he do so, he would not be the just Cadi," said Bou-
Akas.
" Oh, as to that," replied the cripple, laughing, " although he
is just, he is not infallible."
" So ! " thought the sheik to himself, " this will be a capital
opportunity of judging the judge. " He said aloud, " I am con-
tent-we will go before the Cadi."
Arrived at the tribunal, where the judge, according to the
Eastern custom, was publicly administering justice, they found
that two trials were about to go on, and would, of course, take
186 THE CADI'S DECISIONS .

precedence of theirs. The first was between a taleb, or learned

man, and a peasant. The point in dispute was the taleb's wife,
whom the peasant asserted to be his own better half, in the face
of the philosopher. The woman remained obstinately silent, and
would not declare for either a feature in the case which rendered
its decision excessively difficult. The judge heard both sides at-
tentively, reflected for a moment, and then said, " Leave the
woman here, and return to-morrow. "
The learned man and the labourer each bowed and retired, and
the next cause was called.
This was a difference between a butcher and an oil-seller. The
latter appeared covered with oil, and the former was sprinkled
with blood.
The butcher spoke first :-
" I went to buy some oil from this man, and, in order to pay
him for it, I drew a handful of money from my purse. The sight
of the money tempted him. He seized me by the wrist. I cried
out, but he would not let me go ; and here we are, having come
before your worship, I holding my money in my hand, and he
still grasping my wrist. Now I assert that this man is a liar,
when he says that I stole his money, for the money is truly mine
own."
Then spoke the oil-merchant : -
" This man came to purchase oil from me. When his bottle
6
was filled, he said, Have you change for a piece of gold ? ' I
searched my pocket, and drew out my hand full of money, which
I laid on a bench in my shop . He seized it, and was walking off
with my money and my oil, when I caught him by the wrist and
6
cried out, Robber ! ' In spite of my cries, however, he would
not surrender the money ; so I brought him here, that your
worship might decide the case. Now I assert that this man is a
liar, when he says that I want to steal his money, for it is truly
mine own."
The Cadi caused each plaintiff to repeat his story, but neither
varied one jot from his original statement. He reflected for a
moment, and then said, " Leave the money with me, and return
to-morrow."
 THE CADI'S DECISIONS. 187

The butcher placed the coins, which he had never let go, on
the edge of the Cadi's mantle ; after which, he and his opponent
bowed to the tribunal and departed.
It was now the turn of Bou-Akas and the cripple.
66
My lord Cadi," said the former, " I came hither from a
distant country, with the intention of purchasing merchandise.
At the city gate I met this cripple, who first asked for alms, and
then prayed me to allow him to ride behind me through the
streets, lest he should be trodden down in the crowd. I con-
sented, but when we reached the market-place he refused to get
down, asserting that my horse belonged to him, and that your
worship would surely adjudge it to him who wanted it most.
That, my lord Cadi, is precisely the state of the case. "
" My lord," said the cripple, " as I was coming on business
to the market, and riding this horse, which belongs to me, I saw
this man seated by the roadside, apparently half dead from fatigue.
I good-naturedly offered to take him on the crupper, and let him
ride as far as the market-place, and he eagerly thanked me. But
what was my astonishment when, on our arrival, he refused to
get down, and said that my horse was his . I immediately re-
quired him to appear before your worship, in order that you
might decide between us. That is the true state of the case."
Having made each repeat his deposition, and having reflected
for a moment, the Cadi said, " Leave the horse here, and return
to-morrow."
It was done, and Bou-Akas and the cripple withdrew in dif-
ferent directions.

THE CADI'S DECISIONS-Continued.

ON the morrow a number of persons, besides those imme-

diately interested in the trials, assembled to hear the judge's
decisions.
The taleb and the peasant were called first.
" Take away thy wife," said the Cadi to the former, " and
keep her."
188 THE CADI'S DECISIONS.

Then turning towards an officer, he added, pointing to the

peasant, " Give this man fifty blows. " He was instantly obeyed,
and the taleb carried off his wife.
Then came forward the oil-merchant and the butcher.
66
Here," said the Cadi to the butcher, " is thy money ; it is
truly thine, and not his. " Then pointing to the oil-merchant, he
said to his officer, " Give this man fifty blows. " It was done,
and the butcher went away in triumph with his money.
The third cause was called, and Bou-Akas and the cripple came
forward.
" Wouldst thou recognise thy horse among twenty others ?"
said the judge to Bou-Akas.
" Yes, my Lord."
" And thou ?"
66
Certainly, my Lord," replied the cripple.
" Follow me," said the Cadi to Bou-Akas.
They entered a large stable, and Bou-Akas pointed out his
horse amongst the twenty which were standing side by side.
" "Tis well," said the judge. " Return now to the tribunal,
and send me thine adversary hither.”
The disguised sheik obeyed, delivered his message, and the
cripple hastened to the stable as quickly as his distorted limbs
allowed. He possessed quick perceptions, and, having observed
accurately, was able, without the slightest hesitation, to place his
hand on the right animal.
" "Tis well," said the Cadi ; " return to the tribunal. "
His worship resumed his place, and when the cripple arrived,
judgment was pronounced.
" The horse is thine," said the Cadi to Bou-Akas ; " go to the
stable and take him." Then to the officer, " Give this cripple
fifty blows."
It was done ; and Bou-Akas went to take his horse.
When the Cadi, after concluding the business of the day, was
retiring to his house, he found Bou-Akas waiting for him.
" Art thou discontented with my award ?" asked the judge.
66
No, quite the contrary," replied the sheik ; " but I want to
ask by what inspiration thou hast rendered justice ; for I doubt
 THE CADI'S DECISIONS. 189

not that the other two causes were decided as equitably as mine.
I am not a merchant ; I am Bou-Akas, Sheik of Algeria, and I
wanted to judge for myself of thy reputed wisdom. ”
The Cadi bowed to the ground, and kissed his master's hand.
“ I am anxious," said Bou-Akas, " to know the reasons which
determined your three decisions ?"
" Nothing, my Lord, can be more simple. Your highness saw
that I detained, for a night, the three things in dispute ? "
" I did."
Well, early in the morning, I caused the woman to be called,
and I said to her suddenly, ' Put fresh ink in my inkstand.' Like
a person who had done the same thing a hundred times before,
she took the bottle, removed the cotton, washed them both, put
in the cotton again, and poured in fresh ink, doing it all with the
utmost neatness and despatch.
" So I said to myself, A peasant's wife would know nothing
about inkstands ; she must belong to the taleb.” ”
" Good ! " said Bou-Akas, nodding his head. "And the money ?"
" Did your highness remark that the merchant had his clothes
and hands covered with oil ?"
" Certainly I did."
" Well, I took the money and placed it in a vessel filled with
water. This morning I looked at it, and not a particle of oil was
to be seen on the surface of the water. So I said to myself, 6 If
this money belonged to the oil-merchant, it would be greasy from
the touch of his hands ; as it is not so, the butcher's story must
be true." "
Bou-Akas nodded, in token of approval.
" Good !" said he. " And my horse ?"
" Ah ! that was a different business ; and, until this morning,
I was greatly puzzled. "
" The cripple, I suppose, did not recognise the animal ?”
" On the contrary, he pointed him out immediately.”
“ How, then, did you discover that he was not the owner ? ”
" My object in bringing you separately to the stable was, not
to see whether you would know the horse, but whether the horse
would acknowledge you. Now, when you approached him, the
190 CAUSES OF THE TIDES.

creature turned towards you, laid back his ears, and neighed with
delight ; but when the cripple touched him he kicked. Then I
knew that you were truly his master."
Bou-Akas thought for a moment, and then said, —
" Allah has given thee great wisdom. Thou oughtest to be in
my place, and I in thine. But I fear I could not fill thy place
as Cadi ! "

CAUSES OF THE TIDES.

TIDES are periodical swells in the ocean, extending uniformly

to all depths, but appearing as currents along shores. They are
produced by the attraction of the sun and moon, the influence of
the moon, owing to its proximity to the earth, being six times
greater than that of the sun. This attraction is exerted equally
on land and water ; but land, owing to the strong cohesion of its
parts, yields only in a mass, whereas water, owing to the slight
cohesion of its parts, suffers such a displacement of its particles
that the ocean immediately below the moon is actually drawn up
into a protuberance. This protuberance, as it follows the moon
round the earth, is the great tidal swell, the crest of which is full
tide or high-water wherever it happens to be.
Were there only one tide in twenty-four hours its recurrence
would be explained by the diurnal motion of the earth, which
I. brings every meridian once
B
in twenty-four hours im-
M mediately below the moon.
D But there are two tides in
the course of twenty-four
hours. This is due to the
C influence of the moon in
attracting the solid earth. The waters immediately below the
moon are attracted with the greatest force, and those on the op-
posite side of the earth with the least force. But the solid earth
itself is attracted in one mass, without any displacement of its
particles, with an intermediate degree of force which draws it so far
 CAUSES OF THE TIDES. 191

forward that the waters behind it are left in a protuberance similar

to that which is formed on the side of the earth next the moon.
At the very moment when high-water is formed at A (see Dia-
gram II. ) , immediately below the moon, high-water is also formed
at the antipodal point D, the point farthest away from the moon.
Thus every place has high-water twice in twenty-four hours.¹
The modifications common to the tides of the whole earth de-
pend on the varying relations of the moon to the earth, and of
II. D the sun and moon
to each other.
The strength of
M B the moon's at-
traction varies in-
versely with her
Ө distance from the
earth ; and this alone would produce tides of various heights.
At new moon, when she is in conjunction with the sun (as shown
in the second of these diagrams), and at full moon, when these
III. bodies are in op-
position , 2 they
unite their influ-
ence to raise the
tides, which are
FC
then at the high-
est, and are call-
І

B ed spring -tides.
Neap - tides, on
M the other hand,
the lowest, occur when, the sun and moon being in quadrature,
as shown in the last of these diagrams, the attraction of the sun
neutralizes in some measure that of the moon.
DR. CLYDE'S School Geography.

1 Strictly speaking, there are not two tides in twenty-four hours, but in twenty-four hours
fifty minutes, that being the lunar day, i.e., the period elapsing between successive returns
of the moon to the same point of the meridian.
2 Ifthe moon, M, were as far beyond B, in the second of these diagrams, as it is from a on
the sun's side, the earth intervening between the sun and the moon, these two heavenly
bodies would be in opposition.
192 TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

WHEN we reflect on the number of curious monuments con-

signed to the bed of the ocean in the course of every naval war
from the earliest times, our conceptions are greatly raised respect-
ing the multiplicity of lasting memorials which man is leaving of
his labours. During our last great struggle with France, thirty-
two of our ships of the line went to the bottom in the space of
twenty-two years, besides seven fifty-gun ships, eighty-six frigates,
and a multitude of smaller vessels. The navies of the European
powers, France, Holland, Spain, and Denmark, were almost anni-
hilated during the same period, so that the aggregate of their
losses must many times have exceeded that of Great Britain.
In every one of these ships were batteries of cannon constructed
of iron or brass, whereof a great number have the dates and places
of their manufacture inscribed upon them in letters cast in metal.
In each there were coins of copper, silver, and often many of gold ,
capable of service, as valuable historical monuments ; in each were
an infinite variety of instruments of the arts of war and peace,
many formed of materials, such as glass and earthenware, capable
of lasting for indefinite ages, when once removed from the mechani-
cal action of the waves, and buried under a mass of matter which
may exclude the corroding action of sea- water.
But the reader must not imagine that the fury of war is more
conducive than the peaceful hum of commercial enterprise to the
accumulation of wrecks of vessels in the bed of the sea. From
an examination of Lloyd's lists, from the year 1793 to the com-
mencement of 1829 , it has appeared that the number of British
vessels alone lost during that period amounted, on an average, to
no less than one and a half daily, a greater number than we
should have anticipated, although we learn from Moreau's tables,
that the number of merchant vessels employed at one time in the
navigation of England and Scotland, amounted to about 20,000,
having, one with another, a mean burden of 120 tons. Out of
551 ships of the royal navy lost to the country during the period
 LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL. 193

above mentioned, only 160 were taken or destroyed by the enemy,

the rest having either stranded or foundered, or having been burnt
by accident : a striking proof that the dangers of our naval war-
fare, however great, may be far exceeded by the storm, the hurri-
cane, the shoal, and all the other perils of the deep. - LYELL'S
Geology.

LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL.

VALENTINE DUVAL was born in the year 1695, at the little

village of Artonay, in the district of Champagne, in France. At
the age of ten he lost his father, who was a poor labourer ; and
his mother, who could with difficulty support her young and
numerous family, was obliged to take Valentine from school when
he had barely learned to read. He was put out to service with
a farmer, who employed him in looking after his cattle and
poultry ; but the little boy lost his first situation from his in-
quiring turn of mind. He had heard it said that red colours
drove turkeys mad, and forgetting that his business was to watch
over his master's property, and not to make experiments with
them, he one day tied a piece of scarlet cloth round a turkey's
neck to ascertain the truth of the report. The bird struggled
wildly to free itself from its disagreeable cravat ; would not
allow itself to be caught, but fluttered about in the greatest
excitement, and finally dropped dead . Valentine's angry master
instantly discharged him, and as he could obtain no other employ-
ment in Artonay, and it was vain to return to his mother's
house, where there was not bread enough for his little brothers
and sisters, he set out to find work and subsistence somewhere
else.
Valentine Duval was about thirteen years old when he was
thus thrown upon the world. It was in the winter of 1708-9,
that he began his wanderings - such a winter had not been
known in France for at least a hundred years. Cattle perished
N
194 LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL.

in their stails from the severity of the cold ; fish were frozen to
death in ponds ; the birds fell benumbed and lifeless from the air ;
it was a common thing to hear of persons found dead by the
wayside, and even in houses ; all places of public resort, the very
churches, were deserted ; and none ventured abroad who had a
spark of fire and a crust of bread at home. No wonder that poor
Valentine, after some days of lonely wandering, and many vain
applications for employment, was admitted by a farmer into one
of his outhouses almost in a dying state . The warm and equable
temperature of that outhouse, which was full of sheep, was pro-
bably more beneficial to Valentine than the shelter of the farm-
house itself would have been ; but weeks passed before he was
well enough to be removed. During all this time the farmer,
himself a man in straitened circumstances, attended to his wants
with much kindness ; and as soon as the poor youth could bear
it, he was conveyed to the house of a neighbouring priest, who
had agreed to take him in. Here he was nursed till his recovery
was complete, and he was enabled once more to resume his search
after employment.
The whole of France was at this period in a very depressed
condition, owing to the taxes imposed by Louis XIV. to defray
the expenses of his wars ; but nowhere were these felt more
severely than in Champagne. And now to these evils was added
the severe winter already described. It was not till Valentine
had wandered into Lorraine that he found a more fertile country,
and a peasantry less poverty-stricken.
He arrived one evening at the hermitage of La Rochette, and
humbly begged the hospitality of its solitary inhabitant. The
worthy hermit gave him shelter, and Valentine soon made himself
so useful, that he was glad to retain him as his companion. This
benevolent man, in the intervals of labour and devotion, gave his
young friend the additional instruction in reading which he so
much required, and taught him the elements of writing. The
hermitage of La Rochette, moreover, contained what seemed to
Valentine an extensive library, consisting of a dozen volumes,
which the boy, who was diligent and anxious to learn, soon
exhausted.
 LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL 195

Valentine was next employed by four hermits who lived near

the town of Luneville. They were kind but ignorant men, and
could only help him to improve his writing. Had not poor Duval
been anxious to improve, and capable of the most persevering in-
dustry, he would never have surmounted the difficulties which met
him at every step. And whoever, indeed, does not possess, or
does not acquire, a measure of the same spirit, will make but slow
advances in education, even under the most skilful and accom-
plished teachers.

LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL Continued.

VALENTINE hitherto knew nothing of arithmetic ; but in his

new abode he discovered an arithmetical treatise a very short
one, for it was all contained on the cover of an old book. How-
ever, it furnished him with the four principal rules ; and now he
added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided all day long in the
solitude of the woods while tending his cattle. About this time,
too, he first began to acquire some notions of astronomy. The
manner in which he discovered the pole star is a good instance
of his perseverance. His observatory was at the top of a lofty
oak, where he had constructed a convenient seat for himself, and
fixed a tube made from a branch of elder, with the pith extracted,
in such a manner that it moved freely up and down, or to the
right and left. Now, all that Valentine knew about the pole star
was, that, unlike the other stars, it never changed its apparent
position, and that it was to be found somewhere in the northern
region of the sky. Which of the numerous stars in that quarter
was the important luminary round which all the others seem to
revolve, the poor lad could find nobody to tell him. On one star
after another did he bring his homely telescope to bear, and one
after another did they pass beyond the field of vision. At length,
196 LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL

to his great delight, he ascertained that his elder-tree tube, when

in a particular position, bore upon a star, which, at whatever hour
of the night he turned his gaze upon it, remained stationary.
This, he rightly concluded, was the pole star. Having purchased
in Luneville, with a little sum of money that he had carefully
hoarded, a celestial chart, Valentine gradually acquired a tolerably
correct knowledge of the various constellations.
But the more this undaunted scholar learned, the keener grew
his appetite for knowledge. All the books he had he knew by
heart : how he sighed for more ! The poor hermits paid him no
wages for his services ; and no money, no books. But where
there is a will there is a way. Valentine took to hunting foxes
and polecats, for the sake of selling their skins to the hatters and
furriers. He caught them in traps, or shot them with his bow
and arrows ; and as their numbers thinned, the poor student's
library increased. Whenever he had amassed a tolerable sum, he
used to hasten to Luneville, or even to Nancy, a town twenty
miles off, where there were larger shops, and, emptying his purse
on the counters of the booksellers, he would entreat of them not
to impose on a poor lad who did not know the real prices of their
books, but to give him the worth of his money. Then he would
return with joy to the hermitage laden with literature, but with-
out a farthing in his pocket. Just when his trade with the
furriers was failing, a happy accident made him acquainted with
an English gentleman residing at Luneville ; and the latter,
struck with Valentine's intelligence, invited him to his house, and
finally, by his generosity, increased his library to four hundred
volumes.
There was still better fortune in store for young Duval. One
day when he had taken his cows out into the woods as usual, and
was lying on the ground poring over a map, with his books scat-
tered about him, he was suddenly accosted by a stranger, richly
dressed, who asked him what he was doing.
" I am studying geography," said Duval.
" Do you understand anything of it ?" demanded the stranger.
" I don't meddle with what I don't understand," replied the
young man.
 LIFE OF VALENTINE DUVAL. 197

" Very well ; but what are you searching for ?" persisted the
gentleman.
" I am trying to make out the route to Quebec," said Duval ;
" for I wish to go and study at the University of that.town. I
have read of a seminary there where the children of poor people
receive instruction for nothing."
" There are other seminaries much more easily reached," re-
joined the stranger, " and I may perhaps be able to direct you to
one of them."
While this dialogue was going on, a number of other gentlemen
had come up and surrounded the speakers. These, too, were richly
dressed, but from their respectful bearing towards him who had
first accosted Duval, they appeared to be subordinates in rank.
The stranger was indeed the Prince of Lorraine, son of the reign-
ing Duke, who was no sooner told of the remarkable cowherd
found studying geographical charts in the woods, than he resolved
to take him under his protection. Duval was now maintained by
the Duke for two years at an excellent school, and afterwards
furnished with the means of visiting Paris and the Netherlands.
On his return the Duke made him his librarian ; and he was
also appointed teacher of history and antiquities in the College of
Luneville.
The librarian of the Duke of Lorraine was able now to benefit
those who had been kind to him in the days of his obscurity and
poverty. He rebuilt the hermitage of Luneville, and he did not
forget those of his relatives who still survived at Artonay, where
he also erected a new school-house. The son of his first protector
having become Emperor of Austria, invited him to Vienna, and
here, as superintendent of the imperial collection of coins, Valentine
Duval lived to the good old age of eighty-one, respected by the
whole imperial court, and maintaining to the last his early habits
of earnest investigation and diligent study.
198 THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. THE TURNIP.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and
sere ;
Heap'd in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie dead,
They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbits' tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy
day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung
and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood !
Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain
Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again.
BRYANT.

THE TURNIP.

A POOR working-man had reared in his garden a turnip of such

a size, that every one who saw it was amazed. " I shall go and
make a present of it to the mayor of our town," said he, " for he
likes to see us take good care of our fields and gardens." He
took the turnip to the mayor, who praised him for the skilful
manner in which he tilled his garden, and, besides kind and
cheering words, gave him a handsome sum of money by way of
encouragement.
A man that lived in the same place, a person both rich and
greedy of riches, hearing about the affair, said to himself, " I shall
go and offer the mayor the fattest of my cows. If he gives so
 PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING. 199

much money in return for a wretched, turnip, what will he not

give for a fine cow ?" He therefore led off the cow to the town-
house, and begged the mayor to be so good as accept of it. The
mayor was not long in finding out what induced this man to offer
him a present of such value, and of course refused to have the
cow ; but the man urged his request, and begged and prayed the
mayor so long not to turn him away, that at length the mayor
said, “ Well, then, I am forced to yield ; but as I do not wish to
treat you in a less handsome way than you treat me, I shall make
you a present which cost me double the value of your cow. " He
then gave the man the turnip that he knew so well.

PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING.

ONE evening Rollo's mother was trying to light a lamp to go

into her bedrom for something that she wanted. In a little vase
upon the mantel-piece, there were usually some lamp-lighters,
which were long, slender rolls of paper that Rollo had made for
this purpose .
They were kept in this vase upon the mantel- piece, in order
to be always ready for use. But the vase was now empty. The
last lamp-lighter had been used ; and so Rollo's mother folded up
a small piece of paper, and with that attempted to light the lamp
which she was going to carry into the bedroom.
But the wick would not take fire ; and Rollo saw that, while
his mother was continuing her efforts to make it burn, the flame
of the paper was gradually creeping up nearer and nearer to her
fingers.
At last, finding that there would soon be danger of burning
her fingers, she walked across the room toward a window which
was open, still endeavouring to light the lamp ; but it was all in
200 PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING.

vain. She reached the window just in time to throw out the end
of the paper, and save her fingers from being burned .
"Why will it not light ? " said Rollo . Rollo's father was
sitting upon a sofa, taking his rest after the labours of the day ;
and when he saw that the lamp failed of being lighted, he said,
" You will have to get a longer lamp- lighter, unless you have got
some spirit of turpentine¹ to put upon the wick."
" Spirit of turpentine ? " repeated Rollo.
" Yes," said his father. " In hotels, where they have a great
many lamps to light, they have a little bottle of spirit of turpen-
tine, with a wire running down into it ; and when they take out
the wire, a little drop of the spirit of turpentine hangs to the end
of it, and they apply this to the wick, and then it will light very
quickly."
66 Why, sir ? " asked Rollo.
" Because spirit of turpentine is very combustible, or rather in-
flammable."
" That means, it will burn very easily, I suppose," said Rollo.
" Yes," replied his father. " That makes me think of something
Jonas said, which I was going to ask you," said Rollo. " He
said that, in books burning is always called combustion, and I
told him I meant to ask you why they could not as well call it
burning." " I do not think that Jonas said exactly that," said
his father. 66 Yes, sir, he did," replied Rollo ; " at least I under-
stood him so."
" It is true, no doubt," added his father, " that in philosophical
books philosophical terms are very often used, instead of the
66
common language which we ordinarily employ." Why are they,
father ?" said Rollo. " I think the common words are a great
deal easier to understand."
""
Yes," said his father, " but they are not precise in their
signification. They are vague and ambiguous ; and so philoso-
phers, when they wish to speak accurately, employ other terms
which have an exact signification ." Rollo looked perplexed. He
did not understand at all what his father meant. In the mean-
1 Spirit of turpentine is obtained by distilling or boiling turpentine in water. The spirit
rises in vapour, and is condensed by passing through a tube immersed in cold water.
 PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING. 201

time, his mother had brought a fresh bundle of lamp-lighters

from the closet, and had lighted her lamp with one of them, and
was just going away. As she was going out, however, she said
to her husband, " Please to wait a minute until I come back ; for
I should like to hear what you are going to say.”
"Well," said he ; " and you, Rollo, may come and sit down
by me, and I will explain it to you when mother comes back.
So Rollo came and took a seat on the sofa by the side of his
father, saying, " Father, I wish you would have a bottle of spirit
of turpentine for us to light our lamps with." " It is not of
much advantage in a family," said his father, " where the lamps
are lighted in various parts of the house, and only a few in all to
be lighted. But where there are a great many, it is quite a
saving of time to have a little spirit of turpentine to tip the wicks
with. In an illumination, they always touch the wicks so, and
by that means they can light up suddenly."
" But, father, why does the wick light more quickly ? ".— " Why,
different substances take fire at different temperatures. For in-
stance, if you were to put a little heap of sulphur, and another
little heap of sawdust, on a shovel together, and put them over a
fire, so as to heat them both equally, the sulphur would take fire
very soon, but the sawdust would not until the shovel was very
nearly red hot. So if you were to put oil in a little kettle over
the fire, and spirit of turpentine in another kettle, and have the
fire the same under both, the spirit of turpentine would inflame
long before the oil. There is a great difference in different sub-
stances, in regard to the temperature at which they inflame. ”
" What do you mean by temperature, father ? " said Rollo.
66 Why, heat," said his father.
" Then why do you not say heat ? " said Rollo.
His father smiled.
"What are you smiling at, father ? " said Rollo.
66
Why, that is the same question you asked at first, and I
promised to wait till mother came before I explained it. So we
will wait until she comes."
They did not have to wait long, for Rollo's mother soon re-
turned ; and she put out her lamp by means of a little extin-
202 PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING.

guisher, which was attached to the stem of the lamp itself. Then
she sat down at the table, by the light of a great lamp which
was burning upon it, and took out her work.

PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING —Continued.

ROLLO's father then repeated to her what he had just been

telling Rollo, namely, that different substances take fire at different
degrees of heat ; and he said that it would be a very interesting
experiment to take a long iron bar, and put a small quantity of
several different substances upon it, in a row, and then heat the
bar gradually from end to end, all alike, until it was very hot,
and so see in what order the various substances would take fire.
" I would have," said he, " phosphorus, sulphur, sawdust, char-
coal, saltpetre, oil-we should have to make a little hollow in the
iron for the oil- alcohol, spirit of turpentine, and perhaps other
1
things. The phosphorus would take fire first, I suppose, and then
perhaps the sulphur, and others in succession."
66
Well, father," said Rollo, " I wish you would. I should
like to see the experiment very much." 66 No," said his father ;
" I cannot actually try such an experiment as that. I could not
get such a bar very conveniently ; and if I had the bar and all
the substances, it could not be done very well, except in a chemi-
cal laboratory. But it would be a very pretty experiment, if it
could be performed."
" Is there a very great difference," said Rollo's mother, " in
the degree of heat necessary to set fire to these different things ? "
" Yes," said Mr. Holiday ; " I believe the difference is very great.
Phosphorus inflames below the heat of boiling water, but it takes
almost a red heat to set wood on fire. And iron will not take
fire till it is white hot."
1 Phosphorus is obtained from the bones of animals, by a chemical process. Sulphur is
found in the vicinity of volcanoes, where it rises to the surface of the earth. Saltpetre is
found ready formed in the East Indies, Spain, and the limestone caves of our own country ;
it is also made artificially. Alcohol is obtained by the distillation of spirituous liquor.
 PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING. 203

" Iron " said Rollo, with surprise. " Yes," said his father,
“ iron will take fire and burn as well as wood, if you heat it hot
enough." " I never knew that," said Rollo.
" The ends of the poker and tongs do not burn," said his
father, " simply because the fire is never hot enough to set such
large pieces of iron on fire. But if we heat the end of a bar of
iron very hot indeed, in a furnace, it will take fire and burn ;
and so if we take a very minute piece of iron, as big as the point
of a pin, a common fire would be sufficient to heat that hot
enough to set it on fire."
" Well, father," said Rollo, " let us try it." " If we had some
iron filings, we might sprinkle them in the fire, or even in the
flame of a lamp, and they would burn. ” " I wish I had some
filings," said Rollo. " Yes," said his father ; 66 they burn beau-
tifully."
" How can I get some ? " asked Rollo. " You can get some
at a blacksmith's shop," said his father. " The filings commonly
accumulate behind the vice, and you can get plenty of them there.
The next time you pass a blacksmith's shop, you had better go in
and ask him to give you some." " Well," said Rollo, 66 SO I
will."
" And now do you understand," said his father, " why it is
that you can light a lamp more easily, when there is a little
spirit of turpentine on the wick ?" " Yes, sir," said Rollo. " The
spirit of turpentine need not get so hot before it takes fire, and so
you do not have to hold the lamp-lighter so long, and burn your
fingers. "
" Will oil always take fire when it gets to a certain degree of
heat ?" asked Rollo's mother. " Yes," said his father, " I sup-
pose so." " And yet," said she, " the lamp seems to take fire
much more easily at some times than at others."
" Yes," said Mr. Holiday, " that is true. If the wick is cut
square across, and rises up only a very little way above the tube,
it is very difficult to light it ; because the tube itself and the oil
below, keep the upper end of the wick cool. It is very hard to
heat it, in that case, hot enough to set it on fire. But if the
wick projects considerably out of the tube, then it is out of the
204 PHILOSOPHY OF LAMP-LIGHTING.

way of the cooling influence of the metal, and you can heat the
upper end more easily. ”
66
I never thought of that," said Rollo.
“That is the operation of it, ” said his father. “ And if you
push the wick open a little, so as to separate some of the fibres
of it from the rest, then it will take fire more easily still ; be-
cause the small part which is separated is more easily heated up
to the necessary point, than it was when it was closely in contact
with the rest, and so kept cool by it. That is the reason why a
thin shaving takes fire so much more easily than the outside of a
large piece of wood. The outside of a large piece is kept cool by ·
the parts of the wood behind it which touch it, while the shaving
is heated through very soon.”
" I did not know that before," said Rollo.
“ There is one thing more I want to tell you, and that will be
all I have to say about lamps to-night ; and that is, to explain to
you the philosophy of putting them out. You must understand
that two things are necessary to carry on combustion or burning.
First, there must be air ; and secondly, the body burning must
be kept above a certain degree of heat. Now, if you either sud-
denly shut off the air from the substance that is burning, or
suddenly cool the substance, it will go out. For instance, the
wick,—you have to heat it to a certain degree before it will take
fire. Now if, after it is burning, you suddenly cool it below
that degree, it will go out ; or if you shut out the air from it,
then it will go out ; for it cannot burn unless it continues hot,
and unless it continues to have a supply of air. Now, when we
blow out a lamp, we stop the burning by cooling it. The cool
air which we blow against it suddenly cools the upper end of the
wick below the point of combustion, and so it goes out. On the
other hand, when we put it out by an extinguisher, we stop the
burning by means of shutting out the air. Either mode will stop
the combustion." Аввотт.
 THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON. 205

THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, the poet, in his Pleasures of Hope, de-

scribes the character and adventures of " the hardy Byron," one
of the officers of the Wager man-of-war, which was wrecked rather
more than a century ago, eighteen leagues from the Straits of
Magellan, in South America. Campbell wrote from Byron's
" Narrative of the Loss of the Wager," which is a very truthful
and remarkable story. As you may not have seen Byron's book,
I will relate to you the most striking incidents it contains. I
think they must often bring to your minds the words of King
David, " Thy way is in the sea, and Thy path in the great
waters, and Thy footsteps are not known."
The man-of-war was sailing towards the Spanish American
coast. Weeds and birds appearing, told them that they were
near the shore. They saw one of the mountains of the Cordil-
leras. Then the captain and crew were alarmed for the safety of
the vessel, for it was driving right on the land, and the weather
was exceedingly tempestuous, and a hurricane of wind blew the
ship faster forward among the breakers, which you know are
waves breaking over rocks and sands. On one of the rocks the
ship struck, and for some time every soul on board expected to
perish. Some of the crew immediately became mad with horror.
One man stalked about the deck flourishing a cutlass about his
head, calling himself king of the country, striking every one he
came near, until he was knocked down. One of the bravest on
board was distracted by the sight of the foaming breakers around,
and, saying it was too shocking to bear, he would have thrown him-
self over the rails of the quarter-deck, into the midst of them, had
he not been prevented. Some were admirably firm and collected.
About a hundred and forty of the crew got safely to land, on
an island quite desolate and barren. They called it Wager's
Island ; and a steep mount upon it, they named Mount Misery.
They cut steps to ascend it, and made it their post of observation.
Having found an Indian hut in a wood, as many of the men as
possible crowded into it for shelter during a tempestuous rainy
206 THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON.

night. One of the company died in the hut in the night. Two
others perished of cold under a tree. During ten days following
many others died of hunger. But the sufferings of the crew
would have been much more endurable if they had not been
aggravated by selfish passions, always the bitterest ingredients of
misfortune. Byron, calm, brave, and patient, withdrew from all,
and built a little hut just big enough for himself and a poor
Indian dog that he found in the woods, and which could feed
itself by getting limpets along the shore at low water.
The patience, faithfulness, and affection of this poor dog might
have instructed the men. It guarded its kind master, and would
let no one approach his hut.
“ One day," says Byron, “ when I was at home in my hut
with my Indian dog, a party came to my door, and told me their
necessities were such that they must eat the creature or starve.”
We must feel for Byron, entreating in vain for the life of his
only friend and protector. They took the dog by force, and
killed and ate him. And how great must have been the wants
of Byron himself, when he could sit down with them, and par-
take of his favourite. " Three weeks after that, I was glad to
make a meal of his paws and skin, which, upon recollecting the
spot where they had killed him, I found thrown aside and rotten. ”
The provisions in the wreck were got at with infinite difficulty,
and proved quite inadequate. When the weather permitted, they
sought for wild fowl and shellfish. They met with many strange
adventures, roving along the wild shores, and in the gloomy
woods. One night, reposing in an old Indian wigwam, one of
the company was disturbed by the blowing of some animal at his
face, and, opening his eyes, the glimmering of the fire discovered
a large beast standing over him. He had the presence of mind
to snatch a brand from the fire, which was now very low, and
thrust it at the nose of the animal, which made off ; the man
then awakened his companions, and with horror on his counte-
nance told them of his narrow escape from being devoured. Fatigue
was, however, stronger than fear, and the party slept on till morn-
ing, when they traced on the sand impressions of a large, round
foot, well furnished with claws.
 THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON. 207

Another night they were alarmed by a strange cry which re-

sembled that of a man drowning. " Many of us," says Byron,
" ran out of our huts towards the place whence the noise pro-
ceeded, which was not far off shore ; where we could perceive,
but not distinctly (for it was then moonlight), an appearance like
that of a man swimming half out of water. The noise that this
creature uttered was so unlike that of any animal they had heard
before, that it made a great impression upon the men."
To these adventures Campbell alludes in the lines—
"Roused at each dreary cry, unheard before,
Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore. "

What the supposed mermaid, or merman, really was, it is diffi-

cult to conjecture ; but I fancy it was some unknown sea animal,
having a distant resemblance to man, for those seas are peopled
with many strange creatures.
When they endeavoured to leave the island, and sail farther
north in their two boats, their sufferings were increased . The
seas in those parts are truly terrific ; the men were obliged to sit
as close as possible, and receive the waves on their backs, to pre-
vent the boats filling and sinking, which was every moment ex-
pected ! It was a melancholy alternative, that of drowning, or
of throwing overboard their small supply of provisions. The first
night they escaped almost by a miracle into a harbour as calm
and smooth as a mill-pond. But there was no fuel for a fire, and
no food, and the rain fell in torrents, and the night was bitter
cold.
Daylight brought frost, and still hunger ! They tried the sea
again, and maintained through another day the difficult strife
with the raging billows. Night landed them on an island, a
mere swamp. Here, in rain and cold, with only sea tangle and
one goose that they shot for food, they spent three or four days,
enlivened, however, by a fire. They got on a little better, and
but a little, some days and nights after. Then their condition
became worse, in fact, quite hopeless. Night by night they lay
upon their oars exhausted, famished, so that they ate the raw
seal-skin shoes from off their feet. But they were most overcome
208 THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON.

by the dreadful wind and rain, the gloomy thickness of the atmos-
phere, and the appalling roar and swell of the breakers.

THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON- Continued.

AFTER two months of roving, without the least success, they

were glad to find themselves back in the island of Mount Misery,
whence they had started.
Hope revived with the appearance of two canoes of Indians,
headed by a chief or cacique, who was prevailed on to conduct
them towards some Spanish settlement. Few now remained of
the numerous crew of the man-of-war ; some had been murdered,
some had deserted, others had been deserted. Some were drowned,
but the greatest number had died of cold, famine, and fatigue.
The rest embarked in the only boat left, a barge, to follow the
Indian canoes. Days and nights were spent in the heavy toil of
rowing against these fearful seas, almost without sustenance.
One man at the oar dropped and died. Another, who had been
the stoutest of them all, fell, saying he should die very shortly.
As he lay, he would every now and then break out into the most
pathetic wishes for some little sustenance, saying two or three
mouthfuls might save his life.
The captain had a large piece of boiled seal by him, but with
a selfishness we must detest, he withheld his aid. Byron had
but five or six shellfish in his pocket to sustain his own failing
strength, but from time to time he put one in the sufferer's
mouth. When the crew landed, they had the sad task of burying
the two men in the sands. The coast they were now upon was
everywhere a deep swamp, in which the woods may be said to
float rather than to grow ; and still the clouds poured down a
deluge of rain. Such was the time chosen by six of the men to
make off with the only boat, while the Indians were about getting
seal ; so that the captain and his officers were left totally helpless.
Almost everything they had was taken away in the boat.
 THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON. 209

Providentially the cacique, with his wife and children, came

to their aid. After some interesting adventures among the na-
tive wigwams, or homes of the Indians, to which the cacique
conducted Byron and the captain, the party set forward once
more on their difficult route. The interest of the narrative now
entirely rests with Byron. Though wasted by sickness, the
result of famine, he toiled three days at the oar without any
kind of nourishment except a disagreeable root. What little
clothing he had on was tattered, and otherwise in a wretched
condition.
The party having to go some distance over land, everybody had
something to carry except the captain, " and he was obliged to
be assisted, or he would never have got over this march ; for a
worse than this, I believe, was never made. He, with the others,
set out some time before me. I waited for two Indians, who be-
longed to the canoes I came in." Byron had a piece of wet
heavy canvas, and some putrid seal of the captain's to carry
on his head ; " sufficient weight," he says, " for a strong man
in health through such roads, and a grievous burden to one in
my condition."
" Our way was through a thick wood, the bottom of which
was a mere quagmire, most part of it up to our knees, and often
to our middle ; and every now and then we had a large tree
to get over, for they often lay directly in our road. Besides this,
we were continually treading upon the stumps of trees, which
were not to be avoided, as they were covered with water ; and
having neither shoe nor stocking, my feet and legs were fre-
quently torn and wounded. Before I had got half a mile, the
two Indians had left me ; and, making the best of my way, lest
they should be all gone before I got to the other side, I fell off a
tree that crossed the road into a very deep swamp, where I very
narrowly escaped drowning by the weight of the burden on my
head. It was a long while before I could extricate myself from
this difficulty, and when I did, my strength was quite exhausted.
I sat down under a tree, and there gave way to melancholy
reflections. However, as I was sensible these reflections would
answer no end, they did not last long. I got up, and marking
210 THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE BYRON.

a great tree, I there deposited my load, not being able to carry

it any farther ;" and then—
"The hardy tar pursued ,
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued."
After some hours he rejoined his companions ; but, struck to
the heart by their total want of compassion for his disaster, and
by their reproaches for the loss of his burden, “ I got up, ” he
says, " and struck into the wood, and walked back at least five
miles to the tree I had marked, and returned just in time to
deliver it before my companions embarked with the Indians upon
a great lake."
This zeal, however, won him very little favour from the In-
dians to whom he had thus returned. They forbade his embarking
with them, and left him to " wait for some other Indians," not
even leaving a morsel of the putrid seal which he had suffered so
much for. How much is contained in his simple words :- I
was left alone upon the beach, and night was at hand. I
kept my eyes upon the boat as long as I could distinguish them,
and then returned into the wood, and sat myself down upon the
root of a tree, having ate nothing the whole ay but the stem of
a plant. • Quite worn out with fatigue, I soon fell asleep."
He was saved by some Indians. He travelled northward with
them, but they gave him scarce any food or shelter. One dark
night he slept alone on the beach half in the water, until awakened
in agonies of cramp. At last, having again met the captain and
officers, and passed
"O'er many a cliff sublime,
He found a warmer world, a milder clime."
The wanderers were now Spanish prisoners of war, and thrown
into a condemned hole, containing nothing but a heap of lime,
swarming with fleas. Whilst here, they suffered from a dreadful
shock of an earthquake. But at last, in St. Jago, the four who
remained of the crew of the Wager found
A home to rest, a shelter to defend ;
Peace and repose -a Briton and a friend ;"
this friend being a good Scotch physician, who kept them two
years in his house, and treated them as brothers. The prisoners
 WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY. 211

were now put on board a French vessel, and, after more adven-
tures, Byron lived to receive the joyful welcome of his family in
England.
Stories from History.

WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY.

Matthew. GOOD-DAY, neighbour Stephen ; I want to go a short

journey to-day, and am come to ask if you can lend me your
horse ?
Stephen. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, neighbour
Matthew, if I were not obliged to carry three sacks of corn to the
mill for my wife, who is out of flour.
M. The mill is not going to-day. I heard the miller tell
Thomas just now that the water was too low.
S. Indeed that is very awkward. I must ride as fast as I
can to town, then, for flour. My wife would be in a fine temper
if I didn't.
M. I can save you that trouble. I have a sack of good flour
at home, and will lend you as much as you want.
S. Ah, your flour would not suit my wife ; she is so particular.
M. If she were so a hundredfold, this might please her, seeing
I bought the grain of you, and you declared it was the best you
had ever sold.
S. Oh, if it came from my granary, it was sure to be good. I
never have any bad. Neighbour, you know that no one is better
pleased than I am to do a kindness, but my horse refused his hay
this morning. I am afraid he is not fit to go.
M. Never fear. I will give him plenty of oats on the way.
S. We are going to have a fog ; the roads will be very slippery.
You might break your neck.
M. There is no danger ; your horse is very safe. Did you not
talk just now of riding him as fast as you could ?
212 WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY.

S. How unlucky that my saddle is all to pieces, and the bridle

gone to be mended !
M. Fortunately I have a saddle and bridle at my house.
S. Your saddle would never fit my horse.
M. Well, I will borrow John Thompson's.
S. Nonsense ! it will not fit any better than yours.
M. I will go up to the squire's. The groom is a friend of
mine. He will be able to find one to fit among the twenty in
his saddle-room.
S. To be sure he would, neighbour ; and no one could have
more pleasure than I have in obliging a friend. You should have
the horse with all my heart, but he hasn't been curried this fort-
night. His mane isn't dressed either. Were he seen in such a
state, I should never be able to sell him for half his worth, if I
wished to part with him.
M. A horse is soon curried ; my man will do it in a quarter
of an hour.
S. To be sure he would. But now I come to think of it, he
wants shoeing.
M. Well, the blacksmith is but two doors off.
S. I daresay- a village blacksmith for my horse ! I wouldn't
trust him with my donkey. The king's blacksmith is the only
man capable of shoeing him well.
M. That is lucky, for my way leads past his door. I can get
him shoed as I pass.
S. (Seeing his servant in the distance, calls him) Frank, Frank.
F. (Approaching) What is it, master ?
S. Why, here is neighbour Matthew wants to borrow my
horse. You know he has a sore on his back as large as my hand.
(He winks at him.) Go, see if it has healed over (Frank makes
a sign that he understands, and goes out). I think it ought to
be by this time. So it is agreed, neighbour, I shall have the
pleasure of obliging you. We must lend each other a helping
hand in this life. If I had refused you point blank, you would
naturally have done the same by me another time. But I have
so much good-nature in me, I am always ready to help a friend
in need. (Frank returns. ) Well, Frank, how is the wound ?
 WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY. 213

F. How is it, master ? You talked about the size of your

hand- the breadth of my back you should have said. The poor
beast is not fit to go a step. And, besides, I had promised it to
farmer Blaire to take his wife to market.
S. Ah, neighbour, how sorry I am things should turn out thus.
I would have given the world to be able to lend you the horse.
I am quite in despair on your account, my dear Matthew.
M. I am grieved for you, my dear Stephen. For you must
know I have just had a note from his Lordship's steward, who
wants to see me immediately. It would have been a stroke of
business for both of us. He told me if I were there by noon he
would give me the felling of a part of the forest. It would have
been worth a good deal to me, and some fifteen or twenty pounds
to you for I thought of employing you- but
S. What fifteen or twenty pounds, did you say ?
M. Perhaps more ; however, as your horse is not in a fit state
to go, I will see if the other carpenter can lend me one.
S. You will affront me if you do, for mine is quite at your
service ; do you think I will refuse it to my best friend ?
M. But what will you do for flour ?
S. Oh, my wife can manage without for a fortnight to come.
M. And your saddle all to pieces.
S. It was the old one I spoke of. I have another and a
bridle, both quite new. I shall be delighted to give you the first
use of them.
M. Shall I have the horse shoed in the town, then ?
S. Why, really, I quite forgot I had him shoed the other day
by our blacksmith here, just by way of trial. To do him justice ,
he succeeded very well.
M. But if the poor beast has a wound on his back as large as
Frank says.
F. Oh, I know the rogue, he always exaggerates ; I'll bet any-
thing it is no larger than my little finger.
M. At any rate he must be curried a little ; for the last fort-
night you said . .
S. Curried ! I should like to see Frank neglect that for a
single day.
214 HUMILITY- THE INCHCAPE BELL.

M. Give him a feed first, then. Did you not tell me he had
refused to eat hay ?
S. That must have been because he had plenty of oats. Don't
fear, he'll carry you as swiftly as a bird flies. The road is dry—
no signs of a fog—a pleasant journey to you- and luck with the
steward. Come, come, jump up-don't lose a moment - I'll hold
your stirrup. From the French.

HUMILITY.

THE bird that soars on highest wing,

Builds on the ground her lowly nest ;
And she that doth most sweetly sing
Sings in the shade when all things rest :
In lark and nightingale we see
What honour hath humility.

The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown

In deepest adoration bends ;
The weight of glory bows him down
Then most, when most his soul ascends :
Nearest the throne itself, must be
The footstool of humility.

THE INCHCAPE BELL, OR RETRIBUTION.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as ship might be :
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock,

The waves flow'd over the Inchcape rock ;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
 THE INCHCAPE BELL. 215

The worthy abbot of Aberbrothock,

Had floated that bell on the Inchcape rock ;
On the waves of the storm it floated and swung,
And louder and louder it warning rung.

When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell,

The mariners heard the warning bell ;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And bless'd the priest of Aberbrothock.

The float of the Inchcape bell was seen,

A darker speck on the ocean green :
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck.

His eye was on the bell and float :

Quoth he, " My men put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape rock,
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothock."

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,

And to the Inchcape rock they go :
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And cut the warning bell from the float.

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles arose, and burst around ;
Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to this rock,
Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothock."

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,

He scour'd the seas for many a day ;
And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course to Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,

They cannot see the sun on high :
216 SAYINGS OF POOR RICHARD.

The wind had blown a gale all day,

At evening it had died away.

" Canst hear," said one, " the breakers roar ?

For yonder, methinks, should be the shore ;
Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell ! "

They hear no sound, the swell is strong,

Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shiv'ring shock-
Oh, heavens ! it is the Inchcape rock !

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,

He curst himself in his despair ;
But the waves rush in on every side,
And the vessel sinks beneath the tide.
SOUTHEY.

SAYINGS OF POOR RICHARD.

It would be thought a hard government that should tax its

people one-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service ;
but idleness taxes many of us much more : sloth, by bringing on
disease, absolutely shortens life. 66 Sloth, like rust, consumes
faster than labour wears, while the used key is always bright,"
as Poor Richard says. But, " dost thou love life, then do not
squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of," as Poor
Richard says . How much more than is necessary do we spend
in sleep forgetting that "the sleeping fox catches no poultry,”
and that " there will be sleeping enough in the grave, " as Poor
Richard says .
" If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must
be," as Poor Richard says, " the greatest prodigality ; " since, as
he elsewhere tells us, " Lost time is never found again ; and what
we call time enough, always proves little enough. Let us, then,
 SAYINGS OF POOR RICHARD. 217

up and be doing, and be doing to the purpose, so by diligence

shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things
difficult, but industry all easy : and he that riseth late must trot
all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night ;" while
" laziness travels so slowly, that poverty soon overtakes him.
Drive thy business, let not it drive thee ; and early to bed, and
early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise," as Poor
Richard says .
So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times ? We
may make these times better if we bestir ourselves. " Industry
need not wish, and he that lives upon hope will be fasting. There
are no gains without pains ; then help, hands, for I have no lands,
or if I have, they are smartly taxed. He that hath a trade hath
an estate ; and he that hath a calling hath an office of profit
and honour," as Poor Richard says ; " but, then, the trade must be
worked at, and the calling well followed, or neither the estate
nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are indus-
trious, we shall never starve ; for, at the working man's house,
hunger looks in, but dares not enter ; for Industry pays debts,
while Despair increaseth them." -What ! though you have found
no treasure, nor has any rich relation left you a legacy, Diligence
is the mother of good luck, and God gives all things to industry.
Then, " plough deep , while sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn
to sell and to keep. Work while it is called to-day, for you
know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow," as Poor
Richard says ; and further, 66 never leave that till to-morrow
which you can do to day." If you were a servant, would you
not be ashamed that a good master should catch you idle ? Are
you, then, your own master ? Be ashamed to catch yourself idle,
where there is so much to be done for yourself, your family, your
country, and your king. Handle your tools without mittens ; re-
member that " the cat in gloves catches no mice," as Poor Richard
says. It is true there is much to be done, and, perhaps, you
are weak-handed ; but stick to it steadily, and you will see great
effects ; for " constant dropping wears away stones, " and " by
diligence and patience the mouse ate in two the cable ;" and
" little strokes fell great oaks." FRANKLIN .
218 CONTENTMENT- DAILY LIFE.

CONTENTMENT.

THERE is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy,

No chemic art can counterfeit ;
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
The homely whistle to sweet music's strain ;
Seldom it comes, to few from Heaven sent ;
That much in little-all in nought- CONTENT.
A Piece of the 17th Century.

DAILY LIFE.

WHEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave

To do the like ; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God as flowers do to the sun ;
Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in Him sleep.

Walk with thy fellow-creatures : note the hush

And whisperings among them. Not a sprig
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each bush
And oak doth know I AM. - Canst thou not sing ?
Oh leave thy cares and follies, -go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

When the world's up, and every swarm abroad,

Keep well thy temper ; mix not with each clay ;
Despatch necessities ; life hath a load
Which must be carried on, and safely may :
Yet keep those cares without¹ thee ; let the heart
Be God's alone, and choose the better part.
HENRY VAUGHAN
(Died 1695).
1 Outside.
 NOW IS THE TIME. 219

NOW IS THE TIME.

THE bud will soon become a flower,

The flower become a seed ;
Then seize, O youth ! the present hour,-
Of that thou hast most need.

Do thy best always-do it now—

For, in the present time,
As in the furrows of a plough
Fall seeds of good or crime.

The sun and rain will ripen fast

Each seed that thou hast sown ;
And every act and word at last
By its own fruit be known.

And soon the harvest of thy toil

Rejoicing thou shalt reap ;
Or o'er thy wild, neglected soil
Go forth in shame to weep.

ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND.

In this alarming state (that is, when the ship was surrounded
with ice) a council was held, when the mate, Alexis Hinkof, in-
formed them that he recollected to have heard that some of the
people of Mesen, some time before, having formed a resolution of
wintering upon this island (East Spitzbergen), had carried from
that city timber proper for building a hut, and had actually
erected one at some distance from the shore. This information
induced the whole company to resolve on wintering there, if the
220 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND.

hut, as they hoped, still existed ; for they clearly perceived the
imminent danger they were in, and that they must inevitably
perish if they continued in the ship. They despatched, therefore,
four of their crew in search of the hut, or any other succour they
could meet with . These were Alexis Hinkof, the mate, Iwan
Hinkof, his godson, Stephen Scharassof, and Feodor Weregin.
As the shore on which they were to land was uninhabited, it
was necessary that they should make some provision for their
expedition. They had almost two miles to travel over those
ridges of ice, which, being raised by the waves, and driven against
each other by the wind, rendered the way equally difficult and
dangerous ; prudence, therefore, forbade their loading themselves
too much, lest, by being overburdened, they might sink between
the pieces of ice and perish. Having thus maturely considered
the nature of their undertaking, they provided themselves with a
musket and powder-horn, containing twelve charges of powder
with as many balls, an axe, a small kettle, a bag with about
twenty pounds of flour, a knife, a tinder-box and tinder, a bladder
filled with tobacco, and every man his wooden-pipe.
Thus accoutred, these four sailors quickly arrived on the island,
little expecting the misfortunes that would befall them. They
began with exploring the country, and soon discovered the hut
they were in search of, about an English mile and a half from
the shore. It was thirty-six feet in length, eighteen feet in height,
and as many in breadth. It contained a small ante-chamber about
twelve feet broad, which had two doors, the one to shut it up
from the outer air, the other to form a communication with the
inner room. This contributed greatly to keep the large room
warm when once heated. In the large room was an earthen
stove, constructed in the Russian manner, that is, a kind of oven
without a chimney, which served occasionally either for baking,
for heating the room, or, as is customary among the Russian
peasants in very cold weather, for a place to sleep upon. Our
adventurers rejoiced greatly at having discovered the hut, which
had, however, suffered much from the weather, it having now
been built a considerable time. They, however, contrived to pass
the night in it.
 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND. 221

Early next morning they hastened to the shore, impatient to

inform their comrades of their success, and also to procure from
their vessel such provision, ammunition, and other necessaries, as
might better enable them to winter on the island. I leave my
readers to figure to themselves the astonishment and agony of
mind these poor people must have felt, when, on reaching the
place of their landing, they saw nothing but an open sea, free
from the ice, which, but a day before, had covered the ocean. A
violent storm, which had risen during the night, had certainly
been the cause of this disastrous event ; but they could not tell
whether the ice, which had before hemmed in the vessel, agitated
by the violence of the waves, had been driven against her, and
shattered her to pieces, or whether she had been carried by the
current into the main, a circumstance which frequently happens
in those seas. Whatever accident had befallen the ship, they saw
her no more ; and, as no tidings were ever afterwards received of
her, it is most probable that she sank, and that all on board of
her perished.
This melancholy event depriving the unhappy wretches of all
hope of ever being able to quit the island, they returned to the
hut whence they had come, full of horror and despair.
Their first attention was employed, as may easily be imagined,
in devising means of providing subsistence, and for repairing their
hut. The twelve charges of powder which they had brought with
them soon procured them as many rein-deer, —the island, fortunately
for them, abounding in these animals. I have before observed,
that the hut which the sailors were so fortunate as to find, had
sustained some damage, and it was this : there were cracks in
many places between the boards of the building which freely ad-
mitted the air. This inconvenience was, however, easily remedied,
as they had an axe, and the beams were still sound (for wood in
those cold climates continues through a length of years unim-
paired by worms or decay), so it was easy for them to make the
boards join again very tolerably ; besides, moss growing in great
abundance all over the island, there was more than sufficient to
stop up the crevices which wooden houses must always be liable
to. Repairs of this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as
222 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND.

they were Russians, for all Russian peasants are known to be

good carpenters ; they build their own houses, and are very expert
in handling the axe. The intense cold which makes these climates
habitable to so few species of animals, renders them equally unfit
for the production of vegetables. No species of tree or even shrub
is found in any of the islands of Spitzbergen,—a circumstance of
the most alarming nature to our sailors.
Without fire, it was impossible to resist the rigour of the
climate, and, without wood, how was the fire to be produced or
supported ? However, in wandering along the beach, they col-
lected plenty of wood, which had been driven ashore by the waves,
and which at first consisted of the wrecks of ships, and afterwards
of whole trees with their roots, the produce of some more hospitable
(but to them unknown) climate, which the overflowings of rivers
or other accidents had sent into the ocean. Nothing proved of
more essential service to these unfortunate men, during the first
year of their exile, than some boards they found upon the beach,
having a long iron-hook, some nails of about five or six inches
long and proportionably thick, and other bits of old iron fixed in
them, the melancholy relics of some vessels cast away in those
remote parts. These were thrown ashore by the waves at the
time when the want of powder gave our men reason to apprehend
that they must fall a prey to hunger, as they had nearly consumed
those rein-deer they had killed. This lucky circumstance was
attended with another equally fortunate : they found on the
shore the root of a fir-tree, which nearly approached the figure of
a bow. As necessity has ever been the mother of invention, they
soon fashioned this root to a good bow by the help of a knife ;
but still they wanted a string and arrows. Not knowing how to
procure these at present, they resolved upon making a couple of
lances to defend themselves against the white bears, by far the
most ferocious of their kind, whose attacks they had great reason
to dread. Finding they could neither make the heads of their
lances nor of their arrows without the help of a hammer, they
contrived to form the above-mentioned large iron-hook into one,
by beating it and widening a hole it happened to have about its
middle, with the help of one of their largest nails ; this received
 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND. 223

the handle, and a round button at one end of the hook served for
the face of the hammer. A large pebble supplied the place of an
anvil, and a couple of rein-deer's horns made the tongs. By the
means of such tools they made two heads of spears, and, after
polishing and sharpening them on stones, they tied them as fast
as possible with thongs made of rein-deer's skins to sticks about
the thickness of a man's arm, which they got from some branches
of trees that had been cast on shore. Thus equipped with spears,
they resolved to attack a white bear, and, after a most dangerous
encounter, they killed the formidable creature, and thereby made
a new.supply of provisions. The flesh of this animal they relished
exceedingly, as they thought it much resembled beef in taste and
flavour. The tendons they saw with much pleasure could, with
little or no trouble, be divided into filaments of what fineness they
thought fit. This perhaps was the most fortunate discovery these
men could have made, for, besides other advantages, which will
be hereafter mentioned, they were hereby furnished with strings
for their bow.
The success of our unfortunate islanders in making the spears,
and the use these proved of, encouraged them to proceed, and
forge some pieces of iron into heads of arrows of the same shape,
though somewhat smaller in size than the spears above-mentioned.
Having ground and sharpened these like the former, they tied
them with the sinews of the white bears to pieces of fir, to which,
by the help of fine threads of the same, they fastened feathers of
sea-fowl, and thus became possessed of a complete bow and arrows.
Their ingenuity in this respect was crowned with success far beyond
their expectation, for, during the time of their continuance upon
the island, with these arrows they killed no less than two hundred
and fifty rein-deer, besides a great number of blue and white foxes.
The flesh of these animals served them also for food, and their
skins for clothing, and other necessary preservatives against the
intense coldness of a climate so near the Pole. They killed, how-
ever, not more than ten white bears in all, and that not without
the utmost danger, for these animals, being prodigiously strong,
defended themselves with astonishing vigour and fury. The first
our men attacked designedly ; the other nine they slew in defend-
224 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND.

ing themselves from their assaults, for some of these creatures even
ventured to enter the outer room of the hut, in order to devour
them. It is true that all the bears did not show (if I may be
allowed the expression) equal intrepidity, either owing to some
being less pressed by hunger, or to their being by nature less
carnivorous than the others ; for some of them which entered the
hut, immediately betook themselves to flight on the first attempt
of the sailors to drive them away. A repetition, however, of these
ferocious attacks threw the poor men into great terror and anxiety,
as they were in almost perpetual danger of being devoured .

ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND. - Continued.

THE rein-deer, the blue and white foxes, and the white bears,
were the only food these mariners tasted during their continuance
in this dreary abode. We do not at once see every resource : it
is generally necessity which quickens our invention, opening by
degrees our eyes, and pointing out expedients which otherwise
might never have occurred to our thoughts. The truth of this
observation our four sailors experienced in various instances. They
were for some time reduced to the necessity of eating their meat
almost raw, and without either bread or salt, for they were quite
destitute of both. The intenseness of the cold, together with the
want of proper conveniences, prevented them from cooking their
victuals in a proper manner. There was but one stove in the
hut, and that being set up agreeably to the Russian taste, was
more like an oven, and consequently not well adapted for boiling
anything. Wood, also, was too precious a commodity to be wasted
in keeping up two fires ; and the one they might have made ont
of their habitation, to dress their victuals, would in no way have
served to warm them. Another reason against their cooking in
the open air was, the continual danger of an attack from the white
bears. And here I must observe that, suppose they had made
the attempt, it would still have been practicable for only some
part of the year ; for the cold, which, in such a climate, for some
 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND. 225

months scarcely ever abates, from the long absence of the sun,
then enlightening the opposite hemisphere ; the inconceivable
quantity of snow, which is continually falling through the greatest
part of the winter, together with the almost incessant rains at
certain seasons ; all these were almost insurmountable obstacles
to that expedient. To remedy, therefore, in some degree, the
hardship of eating their meat half-raw, they bethought themselves
of drying some of their provisions, duringthe summer, in the
open air, and afterwards of hanging it up in the upper part of
the hut, which, as I mentioned before, was continually filled with
smoke down to the windows : it was thus dried thoroughly by
the help of that smoke. This meat, so prepared, they used for
bread, and it made them relish their other flesh the better, as
they could only half dress it. Finding this experiment answer
in every respect to their wishes, they continued to practise it dur-
ing the whole time of their confinement upon the island, and
always kept up, by that means, a sufficient stock of provisions.
Water they had in summer from small rivulets that fell from the
rocks, and in winter from the snow and ice thawed. This was,
of course, their only beverage and their small kettle was the
only vessel they could make use of for this and other purposes.
I have mentioned above, that our sailors brought a small bag of
flour with them to the island. Of this they had consumed about
one-half with their meat ; the remainder they employed in a dif-
ferent manner, equally useful. They soon saw the necessity of
keeping up a continual fire in so cold a climate, and found that,
if it should unfortunately go out, they had no means of lighting
it again ; for though they had a steel and flints, yet they wanted
both match and tinder. In their excursions through the island
they had met with a slimy loam, or a kind of clay, nearly in the
middle of it. Out of this they found means to form a utensil
which might serve for a lamp, and they proposed to keep it con-
stantly burning with the fat of the animals they should kill. This
was certainly the most rational scheme they could have thought
of for to be without a light in a climate where, during winter,
darkness reigns for several months together, would have added
much to their other calamities.
P
226 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND.

Having, therefore, fashioned a kind of lamp, they filled it with

rein-deer's fat, and stuck into it some twisted linen, shaped into a
wick but they had the mortification to find that, as soon as the
fat melted, it not only soaked into the clay, but fairly ran out of
it on all sides. The thing, therefore, was to devise some means
of preventing this inconvenience, not arising from cracks, but from
the substance of which the lamp was made being too porous.
They made, therefore, a new one, dried it thoroughly in the air,
then heated it red-hot, and afterward quenched it in their kettle,
wherein they had boiled a quantity of flour down to the consistence
of thin starch. The lamp being thus dried and filled with melted
fat, they now found to their great joy, that it did not leak ; but,
for greater security, they dipped linen rags in their paste, and
with them covered all its outside. Succeeding in this attempt,
they immediately made another lamp for fear of an accident, that
at all events they might not be destitute of light ; and, when they
had done so much, they thought proper to save the remainder of
their flour for similar purposes . As they had carefully collected
whatever happened to be cast on shore, to supply them with fuel,
they had found amongst the wrecks of vessels some cordage, and
a small quantity of oakum (a kind of hemp used for caulking
ships), which served them to make wicks for their lamps. When
these stores began to fail, their shirts and their drawers (which
are worn by almost all Russian peasants) were employed to make
good the deficiency. By these means they kept their lamp burn-
ing without intermission, from the day they first made it (a work
they set about soon after their arrival on the island) until that of
their embarkation for their native country.
The necessity of converting the most essential part of their
clothing, such as their shirts and drawers, to the use above speci-
fied, exposed them the more to the rigour of the climate. They
also found themselves in want of shoes, boots, and other articles
of dress and, as winter was approaching, they were again obliged
to have recourse to that ingenuity which necessity suggests, and
which seldom fails in the trying hour of distress. They had skins
of rein-deer and foxes in plenty, which had hitherto served them
for bedding, and which they now thought of employing in some
 ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND. 227

more essential service : but the question was how to tan them.
After deliberating on this subject, they took to the following
method : they soaked the skins for several days in fresh water,
till they could pull off the hair pretty easily ; they then rubbed
the wet leather with their hands till it was nearly dry, when they
spread some melted rein-deer fat over it, and again rubbed it well.
By this process the leather became soft, pliant, and supple, proper
for answering every purpose they wanted it for. Those skins
which they designed for furs, they only soaked for one day, to
prepare them for being wrought and then proceeded in the
manner before mentioned, except only that they did not remove
the hair. Thus they soon provided themselves with the necessary
materials for all the parts of dress they wanted. But here another
difficulty occurred : they had neither awls for making shoes or
boots, nor needles for sewing their garments. This want, how-
ever, they soon supplied by means of the pieces of iron they had
occasionally collected. Out of these they made both, and by their
industry even brought them to a certain degree of perfection. The
making eyes to their needles gave them indeed no little trouble,
but this they also performed with the assistance of their knife ;
for, having ground it to a very sharp point, and heated red-hot a
kind of wire forged for that purpose, they pierced a hole through
one end, and, by whetting and smoothing it on stones, brought
the other to a point ; and thus gave the whole needle a very toler-
able form . Scissors to cut out the skin were what they next had
occasion for ; but, having none, their place they supplied with the
knife ; and, though there was neither shoemaker nor tailor amongst
them, yet they had contrived to cut out their leather and furs well
enough for their purpose. The sinews of the bears and the rein-
deer, which, as I mentioned before, they had found means to split,
served them for thread : and, thus provided with the necessary
implements, they proceeded to make their new clothes.
After they had lived more than six years upon this dreary and
inhospitable coast, a ship arrived there by accident, which took
three of them on board, and carried them in safety to their own
country. The fourth was seized with a dangerous disease, called
the scurvy ; and, being of an indolent temper, and therefore not
228 ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS.

using the exercise which was necessary to preserve his life, after
having lingered some time, he died, and was buried in the snow
by his companions.

ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS.

ICEBERGS are formed in three principal ways :-1st, By gla-

ciers descending to the shore, and being borne seawards by land-
winds ; 2d, By river-ice packed during spring, when the upper
reaches of the rivers begin to thaw ; 3d, By coast-ice.

I. There is an upper stratum of the atmosphere characterized ,

by intense cold, and called the region of perpetual snow. It
covers the earth like a great arch, the two ends resting, one on
the arctic, the other on the antarctic zone, while the centre, being
about 16,000 feet above the sea, rises directly over the tropics.
Wherever a mountain is sufficiently lofty to pierce this upper
stratum, its summit is covered with snow, and, as the snow never
melts, it is plain that, from the accumulations of fresh snow-drifts,
the mountain-tops, by gradually increasing in height and width,
would become the supporting columns of vast hills of ice, which,
breaking up at last from their weight and width, would roll down
the mountain-sides and cover vast areas of country with a ruin
and desolation more terrible than that of an avalanche. By a
beautiful arrangement this undue growth is prevented, so that
the hill-tops never vary much in height above the sea. The cone
of ice and snow which covers the higher part of the mountain,
sends down into each of the diverging valleys a long sluggish
stream of ice, with a motion so slow as to be almost imperceptible.
These streams are called glaciers. As they creep down the ravines
and gorges, blocks of rock detached by the frosts from the cliffs
above, fall on the surface of the ice, and are slowly carried along
with it. The bottom also of the glaciers is charged with sand,
gravel, and mud, produced by the slow-crushing movement ; large
rocky masses become eventually worn down into fragments, and
the whole surface of the hard rock below is traversed by long
 ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS. 229

parallel grooves and striæ in the direction of the glacier's course.

Among the Alps, the lowest point to which the glacier descends
is about 8500 feet. There the temperature gets too high to
allow of its further progress, and so it slowly melts away, choking
up the valleys with piles of rocky fragments called moraines, and
giving rise to numerous muddy streams that traverse the valleys,
uniting at length into great rivers such as the Rhone, which enters
the Lake of Geneva turbid and discoloured with glacial mud.
In higher latitudes, where the lower limit of the snow-line
descends to the level of the sea, the glaciers are often seen pro-
truding from the shore, still laden with blocks that have been
carried down from valleys far in the interior. The action of
storms and tides is sufficient to detach large masses of the ice,
which then floats off, and is often wafted for hundreds of miles
into temperate regions, where it gradually melts away. Such
floating islands are known as icebergs.

II. In climates such as that of Canada, where the winters are

very severe, the rivers become solidly frozen over, and if the frost
be intense enough, a cake of ice forms at the bottom. In this
way sand, mud, and rocky fragments strewing the banks or the
channel of the stream, are firmly enclosed. When spring sets in,
and the upper parts of the rivers begin to thaw, the swollen waters
burst their wintry integuments, and the ice is then said to pack.
Layer is pushed over layer, and mass heaped upon mass, until
great floes are formed. These have often the most fantastic
shapes, and are borne down by the current, dropping, as they go,
the mud and boulders with which they are charged, until they
are stranded along some coast line, or melt away in mid-ocean.

III. But icebergs are also produced by the freezing of the

water of the ocean. In high latitudes, this takes place when the
temperature falls to 28.5 ° of Fahrenheit. The surface of the sea
then parts with its saline ingredients, and takes the form of a
sheet of ice, which, by the addition of successive layers, augmented
sometimes by snow-drifts, often reaches a height of from thirty to
forty feet. On the approach of summer these ice-fields break up,
230 ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS.

crashing into fragments with a noise like the thundering of cannon.

The disparted portions are then carried towards the equator by
currents, and may be encountered by hundreds floating in open
sea. Their first form is flat, but, as they travel on, they assume
every variety of shape and size.
On the shores of brackish seas, such as the Baltic, or along a
coast where the salt water is freshened by streams or snow-drifts
from the land, sheets of ice also frequently form during severe
frosts. Sand and boulders are thus frozen in, especially where a
layer of ice has formed upon the sea-bottom. The action of gales
or of tides is sufficient to break up these masses, which are then
either driven ashore and frozen in a fresh cake of ice, or blown
away to sea. The bergs formed in this way have originally a low
flat outline, and many extend as ice-fields over an area of many
miles, while, at a later time, they may be seen towering precipi-
tously as great hills, some 200 or 300 feet high.
Few sights in nature are more imposing than that of the huge,
solitary iceberg, as, regardless alike of wind and tide, it steers its
course across the face of the deep far away from land. Like one
of the " Hrim-thursar," or Frost-giants of Scandinavian mythology,
it issues from the portals of the north armed with great blocks of
stone. Proudly it sails on. The waves that dash in foam against
its sides shake not the strength of its crystal walls, nor tarnish
the sheen of its emerald caves. Sleet and snow, storm and tem-
pest, are its congenial elements. Night falls around, and the stars
are reflected tremulously from a thousand peaks, and from the
green depths of " caverns measureless to man." Dawn again
arises, and the slant rays of the rising sun gleam brightly on
every projecting crag and pinnacle, as the berg still floats steadily
on ; yet, as it gains more southern latitudes, what could not be
accomplished by the united fury of the waves, is slowly effected
by the mildness of the climate. The floating island becomes
gradually shrouded in mist and spume, streamlets everywhere
trickle down its sides, and great crags ever and anon fall with a
sullen plunge into the deep. The mass becoming top heavy, reels
over, exposing to light, rocky fragments still firmly imbedded.
These, as the ice around them gives way, are dropped one by
 ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS. 231

one into the ocean, until at last the iceberg itself melts away, the
mists are dispelled, and sunshine once more rests upon the dimpled
face of the deep. If, however, before this final dissipation, the
wandering island should be stranded on some coast, desolation and
gloom are spread over the country for leagues. The sun is obscured,
and the air chilled ; the crops will not ripen ; and, to avoid the
horrors of famine, the inhabitants are fain to seek some more
genial locality until the ice shall have melted away ; and months
may elapse before they can return again to their villages.

ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS. - Continued.

THE iceberg melts away, but not without leaving well-marked

traces of its existence . If it disappear in mid-ocean, the mud
and boulders, with which it was charged, are scattered athwart
the sea-bottom. Blocks of stone may thus be carried across pro-
found abysses, and deposited hundreds of miles from the parent
hill ; and it should be noticed, that this is the only way, so far
as we know, in which such a thing could be effected. Great cur-
rents could sweep masses of rock down into deep gulfs, but could
not sweep them up again, far less repeat this process for hundreds
of miles. Such blocks could only be transported by being lifted
up at the one place and set down at the other ; and the only agent
we know of, capable of carrying such a freight, is the iceberg. In
this way, the bed of the sea in northern latitudes must be covered
with a thick stratum of mud and sand, plentifully interspersed
with boulders of all sizes, and its valleys must gradually be filled
up as year by year the deposit goes on.
But this is not all. The visible portion of an iceberg is only
about one-ninth part of the real bulk of the whole mass, so that
if one be seen 100 feet high, its lowest peak may perhaps be away
down 800 feet below the waves. Now it is easy to see that such
a moving island will often grate across the summit and along the
sides of sub-marine hills ; and when the lower part of the berg
is roughened over with earth and stones, the surface of the rock
over which it passes will be torn up and dispersed, or smoothed
232 ICEBERGS AND BOULDERS.

and striated, while the boulders imbedded in the ice will be striated
in turn.
But some icebergs have been seen rising 300 feet over the sea ;
and these, if their submarine portions sank to the maximum depth,
must have reached the enormous total height of 2700 feet- that
is, rather higher than the Cheviot hills.¹ By such a mass, any
rock or mountain-top existing 2400 feet below the surface of the
ocean would be polished and grooved, and succeeding bergs deposit-

sea line

Iceberg grating along the sea-bottom and depositing mud and boulders.

ing mud and boulders upon it, this smoothed surface might be
covered up and suffer no change until the ocean-bed should be
slowly upheaved to the light of day. In this way, submarine
rock surfaces at all depths, from the coast line down to 2000 or
3000 feet, may be scratched and polished, and eventually entombed
in mud.
And such has been the origin of the deep clay, which, with its
included and accompanying boulders, covers so large a part of our
country. When this arctic condition of things began, the land must
have been slowly sinking beneath the sea ; and so, as years rolled
past, higher and yet higher zones of land were brought down to
the sea-level, where floating ice, coming from the north-west,
1 In the American Journal of Science for 1843, p. 155, mention is made of an iceberg
aground on the Great Bank of Newfoundland. The average depth of the water was about
500 feet, and the visible portion of the berg from 50 to 70 feet high, so that its total height
must have been little short of 600 feet, of which only a tenth part remained above water.
 THE POWER OF GOD. 233

stranded upon the rocks, and scored them all over as it grated
along. This period of submergence may have continued until
even the highest peak of the Grampians disappeared, and, after
suffering from the grinding action of ice-freighted rocks, eventually
lay buried in mud far down beneath a wide expanse of sea, over
which there voyaged whole argosies of bergs. When the process
of elevation began, the action of waves and currents would tend
greatly to modify the surface of the glacial deposit of mud and
boulders, as the ocean-bed slowly rose to the level of the coast line.
In some places the muddy envelope was removed, and the sub-
jacent rock laid bare, all polished and grooved. In other localities,
currents brought in a continual supply of sand, or washed off the
boulder mud and sand, and then re-deposited them in irregular
beds ; hence resulted those local deposits of stratified sand and
gravel so frequently to be seen resting over the boulder clay.
ARCHIBALD GEIKIE.

THE POWER OF GOD.

THOU art, O God, the life and light

Of all this wondrous world we see ;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
1 Are but reflections caught from Thee !
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.
When day with farewell beam delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven,
Those hues that mark the sun's decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are Thine.
When night, with wings of stormy gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark beauteons bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with a thousand eyes,
234 FILIAL LOVE.

That sacred gloom, those fires divine,

So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,

Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh,
And every flower the summer wreaths
Is born beneath that kindling eye :
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things bright and fair are Thine.
MOORE.

FILIAL LOVE.

DUTY to parents is of the first consequence ; and would you,

my young friends, recommend yourselves to the favour of your
God and Father ; would you imitate the example of your adorable
Redeemer, and be made an inheritor of His precious promises ;
would you enjoy the peace and comforts of this life, and the good
esteem of your fellow-creatures - reverence your parents. Be it
your constant endeavour, as it will be your greatest satisfaction,
to witness your high sense of, and to make some returns for, the
obligations you owe to them, by every act of filial obedience and
love.
Let their commands be ever sacred in your ears, and implicitly
obeyed, where they do not contradict the commands of God ;
pretend not to be wiser than they, who have had so much more
experience than yourselves ; and despise them not, if haply you
should be so blest as to have gained a degree of knowledge or of
fortune superior to them. Let your carriage towards them be
always respectful, reverent, and submissive ; let your words be
always affectionate and humble, and especially beware of pert and
ill-seeming replies-of angry, discontented, and peevish looks.
Never imagine, if they thwart your wills, or oppose your inclina-
tions, that this ariseth from anything but love to you. Solicitous
 TO MY MOTHER. 235

as they have ever been for your welfare, always consider the same
tender solicitude as exerting itself, even in cases most opposite to
your desires ; and let the remembrance of what they have done
and suffered for you, ever preserve you from acts of disobedience,
and from paining those good hearts which have already felt so
much for you, their children.
The Emperor of China, on certain days of the year, pays a
visit to his mother, who is seated on a throne to receive him ;
and four times on his feet, and as often on his knees, he makes
her a profound obeisance, bowing his head even to the ground.
Sir Thomas More seems to have emulated this beautiful ex-
ample ; for, being Lord Chancellor of England at the same time
that his father was a Judge of the King's Bench, he would always,
on his entering Westminster Hall, go first to the King's Bench,
and ask his father's blessing before he went to sit in the Court
of Chancery, as if to secure success in the great decisions of his
high and important office. DR. DODD.

TO MY MOTHER.

AND canst thou, mother, for a moment think

That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink ?
Sooner the sun from his bright sphere shall sink
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,
Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought !—where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home ;
While pity bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.
H. K. WHITE.
236 TRAVELLERS ' WONDERS .

TRAVELLERS' WONDERS.

ONE winter's evening, as Captain Compass was sitting by the

fireside with his children all round him, little Jack said to him,
“ Papa, pray tell us some stories about what you have seen in
your voyages. I have been vastly entertained, whilst you were
abroad, with Gulliver's Travels, and the Adventures of Sinbad the
Sailor ; and I think, as you have gone round and round the world,
you must have met with things as wonderful as they did. "
" No, my dear," said the Captain, " I never met with Lilli-
putians, or Brobdignagians, I assure you, nor ever saw the black
loadstone mountain, or the valley of diamonds ; but, to be sure, I
have seen a great variety of people, and their different manners
and ways of living, and, if it will be any entertainment to you, I
will tell you some curious particulars of what I observed."
" Pray do, papa, ” cried Jack and all his brothers and sisters ;
so they drew close round him, and he began as follows :—
66
Well, then, I was once about this time of the year in a
country where it was very cold, and the poor inhabitants had
much ado to keep themselves from starving. They were clad
partly in the skins of beasts, made smooth and soft by a particular
art, but chiefly in garments made from the outer covering of a
middle-sized quadruped, which they were so cruel as to strip off
his back while he was alive. They dwelt in habitations, part of
which was sunk under ground. The materials were either stones,
or earth hardened by fire ; and so violent in that country were
the storms of wind and rain, that many of them covered their
roofs all over with stones . The walls of their houses had holes
to let in the light ; but to prevent the cold air and wet from
coming in, they were covered by a sort of transparent stone made
artificially of melted sand or flints . As wood was rather scarce, I
know not what they would have done for firing, had they not
discovered in the bowels of the earth a very extraordinary kind
of stone, which, when put among burning wood, caught fire and
flamed like a torch."
 TRAVELLERS' WONDERS. 237

" Dear me," said Jack, " what a wonderful stone ! I suppose
it was somewhat like what we call fire-stones, that shine so when
we rub them together. "
" I don't think they would burn," replied the Captain ; " be-
sides, these are of a darker colour. Well, but their diet, too, was
remarkable. Some of them ate fish that had been hung up in
the smoke till they were quite dry and hard ; and along with it
they ate either the roots of plants, or a sort of coarse black cake
made of powdered seeds. These were the poorer class ; the richer
had a whiter kind of cake, which they were fond of daubing over
with a greasy matter that was the product of a large animal among
them. This grease they used, too, in almost all their dishes, and
when fresh, it really was not unpalatable. They likewise de-
voured the flesh of many birds and beasts when they could get it,
and ate the leaves and other parts of a variety of vegetables
growing in the country, some absolutely raw, others variously
prepared by the aid of fire. Another great article of food was
the curd of milk, pressed into a hard mass and salted. This had
so rank a smell, that persons of weak stomachs often could not
bear to come near it. For drink, they made great use of the
water in which certain dry leaves had been steeped. These leaves,
I was told, came from a great distance. They had likewise a
method of preparing a liquor of the seeds of a grass-like plant
steeped in water, with the addition of a bitter herb, and then set
to work or ferment. I was prevailed upon to taste it, and thought
it at first nauseous enough, but in time I liked it pretty well.
When a large quantity of the ingredients is used, it becomes per-
fectly intoxicating. But what astonished me most, was their use
of a liquor so excessively hot and pungent, that it seems like
liquid fire. I once got a mouthful of it by mistake, taking it for
water, which it resembles in appearance ; but I thought it would
instantly have taken away my breath. Indeed people are not
unfrequently killed by it ; and yet many of them will swallow it
greedily whenever they can get it. This, too, is said to be pre-
pared from the seeds above-mentioned , which are innocent and
even salutary in their natural state, though made to yield such a
pernicious juice. The strangest custom that I believe prevails in
238 TRAVELLERS' WONDERS.

any nation, I found here, which was, that some take a mighty
pleasure in filling their mouths full of stinking smoke, and others
in thrusting a nasty powder up their nostrils."
" I should think it would choke them," said Jack.
" It almost did me, only to stand by while they did it," an-
swered his father ; " but use, it is truly said, is second nature."

TRAVELLERS' WONDERS-Continued.

" I WAS glad enough to leave this cold climate ; and about
half a year after, I fell in with a people enjoying a delicious
temperature of air, and a country full of beauty and verdure.
The trees and shrubs were furnished with a great variety of fruits,
which, with other vegetable products, constituted a large part of
the food of the inhabitants. I particularly relished certain berries
growing in bunches, some white and some red, of a very pleasant
sourish taste, and so transparent that one might see the seeds at
their very centre. Here were whole fields full of extremely
odoriferous flowers, which, they told me, were succeeded by pods
bearing seeds that afforded good nourishment to man and beast.
A great variety of birds enlivened the groves and woods, among
which I was entertained with one that, without any teaching,
spoke almost as articulately as a parrot, though indeed it was all
the repetition of a single word. The people were tolerably gentle
and civilized, and possessed many of the arts of life. Their dress
was very various. Many were clad only in a thin cloth made of
the long fibres of the stalk of a plant cultivated for the purpose,
which they prepared by soaking in water, and then beating with
large mallets. Others wore cloth woven from a sort of vegetable
wool, growing in pods upon bushes. But the most singular ma-
terial was a fine glossy stuff, used chiefly by the richer classes,
which, as I was credibly informed, is manufactured out of the
webs of caterpillars-a most wonderful circumstance, if we con-
sider the immense number of caterpillars necessary to the produc-
 TRAVELLERS' WONDERS. 239

tion of so large a quantity of the stuff as I saw used. This people

are very fantastic in their dress, especially the women, whose
apparel consists of a great number of articles impossible to be
described, and strangely disguising the natural form of the body.
In some instances they seem very cleanly, but in others the
Hottentots can scarce go beyond them, particularly in the manage-
ment of their hair, which is all matted and stiffened with the fat
of swine and other animals, mixed up with powders of various
colours and ingredients.¹ Like most Indian nations, they use
feathers in the head-dress . One thing surprised me much, which
was, that they bring up in their houses an animal of the tiger
kind, with formidable teeth and claws, which, notwithstanding its
natural ferocity, is played with and caressed by the most timid
and delicate of their women.'""
" I am sure I would not play with it," said Jack
" Why, you might chance to get an ugly scratch if you did,"
said the Captain.
" The language of this nation seems very harsh and unintel-
ligible to a foreigner, yet they converse among one another with
great ease and quickness. One of the oddest customs is that
which men use on saluting each other. Let the weather be what
it will, they uncover their heads, and remain uncovered for some-
time, if they mean to be extraordinarily respectful."
" Why, that's like pulling off our hats," said Jack.
" Ah ! ah ! papa," cried Betsey, " I have found you out. You
have been telling us of our own country, and what is done at
home, all this while."
66
But," said Jack, " we don't burn stones, or eat grease and
powdered seeds, or wear skins and caterpillars' webs, or play
with tigers."
" No !" said the Captain. Pray, what are coals but stones ;
and is not butter, grease ; and corn, seeds ; and leather, skins;
and silk, the web of a kind of caterpillar ; and may we not as
well call a cat an animal of the tiger-kind, as a tiger an animal
of the cat-kind ? So, if you recollect what I have been describing,
you will find, with Betsey's help, that all the other wonderful
1 This refers to the powdered head-dresses of George the Third's reign.
240 THE GOLD REPEATER.

things I have told you of are matters familiar among ourselves.

But I meant to show you, that a foreigner might easily represent
everything as equally strange and wonderful among us, as we
could do with respect to his country ; and also to make you
sensible that we daily call a great many things by their names,
without ever inquiring into their nature and properties ; so that,
in reality, it is only their names, and not the things themselves,
with which we are acquainted."
Evenings at Home.

THE GOLD REPEATER.

I was almost fifteen years old, had been apprenticed to my

uncle, and wished for nothing so much as a good punctual watch,
such as each of the shopmen had. It was the best proof you could
give, I thought, of being no longer a mere boy, if you could take
the watch from your pocket and tell the time of day whenever
you were asked.
Well, Christmas was coming on, when good friends give each
other presents ; when one secretly tries to ascertain what the other
would most like to have, and having found it out, can scarcely
be silent enough about it, but pleases himself with the thought of
the agreeable surprise he is preparing for his friend. For my
part, I longed most ardently that somebody would present me
with a watch ; but I did not allow a single person to know of my
wish, not even my favourite sister. If such a thing as a watch,
however, happened to be mentioned in my hearing, I trembled
with agitation ; and if anybody asked me what o'clock it was, I
became positively angry. This must have betrayed me, as you
shall see from what occurred.
One day, at dinner-time, just as I was about to step into the
sitting-room, I heard my father say to my mother : "Wife, quick-
put away Adam's gold repeater ! " Something was then hastily
wrapped up in paper and concealed. My mother looked annoyed,
but I made as if I had seen and heard nothing, and was in the
 THE GOLD REPEATER. 241

best possible humour. From that day forward I walked more

proudly through the streets, and thought everybody must see what
a golden future I had before me. I was only sorry that it was
the custom to carry watches covered up in the pocket, and not
openly before all the world ; nay, I even persuaded myself—so
easily do we become the dupes of vanity- that it would be a much
more benevolent thing if watches were worn exposed to public
view, as then poor people would always see the hours and minutes
exactly. I often stood long at the windows of the watchmakers'
shops ; and I now removed my penknife permanently into my
right waistcoat-pocket, as the left was destined to something higher.
I once dreamed that my gold repeater had been stolen from me ;
and when I awoke I was overjoyed that I had not yet got it. I
could not restrain myself from communicating to my comrades
what it was that kept me in such high spirits ; but I did not tell
them the whole secret, and spoke mysteriously to the effect that
on Christmas-day they would open their eyes and ears when I
ran
showed them something which could both point and speak. I
away before they could guess what it was.
My own eyes and ears were now to be opened.
Christmas Eve had come, and the joyous Christmas-tree was
lighted up. When at length the folding-doors were thrown open,
we children rushed in, and then again stood still in expectation.
My heart beat violently. All right ! there lay a watch for me on
the table ; but, alas ! it was a silver one. My delight was thus
cooled down a little ; still I endeavoured to conceal my vexation,
and said to myself : No matter, silver is much whiter and thicker,
and of course it repeats- ring-a-ting. Here I pressed upon the
lever with all my might, but it did not yield, and produced no
sounds. Frightful was the burst of sorrow that now overwhelmed
me ; my disappointment was complete. I put the watch back upon
the table, quickly left the room, went up to my own dark chamber,
and wept and lamented, as if my very heart would break. The
thought passed through my mind that I would kill myself, because
I had not got a gold repeater ! and then again I wept at the
thought that I should die so young, with all my hopes blasted.
My mother soon came with a light, and when I sobbed out to
242 THE GOLD REPEATER.

her my complaint at being so grievously disappointed, she shook

her head, pressed her lips together, and looked at me with those
sincere, loving eyes, that I always see open when I think of her,
though death has long since closed them. She explained to me
my folly, reminding me that I would have been content with a
plain watch, if I had known nothing about a gold repeater. My
father, she said, had wished to lower my vanity a little, and to
teach me the lesson that we ought to be glad even though we get
less than we expect, and not to be ungrateful towards God or
towards men. In this way she spoke to me in her gentle, affec-
tionate tones ; and when I had cried my fill, I went down stairs
with her. I was no longer sad ; but neither was I glad. After
all, it was a good, steady-going watch that was now my own.
After I went to bed, the evil spirit came over me again ; I got
into a rage, and thought I would rise and throw my watch out
of the window. On second thoughts, however, I remembered it
would be very cold out of bed, so I lay comfortably still. Bad
actions are often prevented by very trifling circumstances ; and
that should have the effect of making us rather humble about our
virtues.
Wearied out with crying and violent emotions, I soon fell fast
asleep, and next morning, when I awoke, I was pleased to hear
the merry ticking of my watch. For eight days, however, I took
care to keep out of the way of all my companions ; a piece of
unnecessary trouble, for they had not thought my bragging of so
much importance as to remember it long. I wore the watch a
long time before I showed it to any one, and the pleasure I had
in it was none the less on that account.
It is forty years since that Christmas Eve ; and here I have
the watch still, and it never loses a minute. During these forty
years I have learned to understand the meaning of my mother's
words, and to feel the value of the lesson I received. When I
see a man who cannot be content with what comes to him, because
he has always been expecting something grander, I think to myself,
he has been hoping for a gold repeater. When a piece of business
does not fall out exactly according to my expectations, and I am
irritated about it, I say to myself, have you still that gold repeater
 TO THE GRASSHOPPER. 243

in your head ? In short, in a thousand instances this incident of

my youth has been instructive to me. It does no harm when we
long and strive for what is highest and best ; on the contrary, if
we do not so long and strive, we shall never exert ourselves pro-
perly ; but, on the other hand, we must also know how to acquiesce
in what is granted, and to let well alone. I am content with this
watch, and would not part with it at any price.
Abridged from AUERBACH.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER.

HAPPY insect what can be

In happiness compared to thee ?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine !
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,
Happier than the happiest king !
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants, belong to thee ;
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plough ;
Farmer he, and landlord thou !
Thou dost innocently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy.
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year !
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life's no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect ! happy thou
Dost neither age nor winter know.
244 HUMANITY .

But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung

Thy fill, the flow'ry leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
COWLEY.

HUMANITY.

DURING the retreat of the famous King Alfred at Athelney,

in Somersetshire, after the defeat of his forces by the Danes,
the following circumstance happened, which shows the extremi-
ties to which that great man was reduced, and gives a striking
proof of his pious and benevolent disposition. A beggar came
to his little castle, and requested alms. His queen informed
him that they had only one small loaf remaining, which was
insufficient for themselves and their friends, who were gone
abroad in quest of food, though with little hope of success.
But the king replied, " Give the poor Christian one half of
the loaf. He that could feed five thousand with five loaves
and two fishes, can certainly make that half of the loaf suffice
for more than our necessities." Accordingly, the poor man was
relieved ; and this noble act of charity was soon recompensed by
a providential store of fresh provisions, with which his people
returned.

Sir Philip Sydney, at the battle near Zutphen, displayed the

most undaunted courage. He had two horses killed under him ;
and, whilst mounting a third, was wounded by a musket-shot out
of the trenches, which broke the bone of his thigh. He returned
about a mile and a half on horseback to the camp ; and being
faint with the loss of blood, and parched with thirst from the
heat of the weather, he called for drink. It was presently
brought him ; but, as he was putting the vessel to his mouth, a
poor wounded soldier, who happened to be carried along at that
instant, looked up to it with wistful eyes. The gallant and gene-
rous Sydney took the flagon from his lips, just when he was going
 DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY. 245

to drink, and delivered it to the soldier, saying, " Thy necessity

is greater than mine."

Frederick, King of Prussia, one day rang his bell, and nobody
answered, on which he opened the door, and found his page
fast asleep in an elbow-chair. He advanced towards him, and
was going to awaken him, when he perceived a letter hanging
out of his pocket . His curiosity prompting him to know what it
was, he took it out and read it. It was a letter from the young
man's mother, in which she thanked him for having sent her
part of his wages to relieve her in her misery, and finished with
telling him that God would reward him for his dutiful affection.
The king, after having read it, went back softly into his chamber,
took a bag full of ducats, and slipped it with the letter into the
page's pocket. Returning to his chamber, he rang the bell so
violently that he awakened the page, who instantly made his ap-
pearance. " You have had a sound sleep," said the king. The
page was at a loss how to excuse himself, and, putting his hand
into his pocket by chance, to his utter astonishment he there
found a purse of ducats. He took it out, turned pale, and look-
ing at the bag, burst into tears without being able to utter a
single word. "What is that ?" said the king ; " what is the
matter ?" "Ah, sire !" said the young man, throwing himself on
his knees, 66 somebody seeks my ruin ! I know nothing of this
money which I have just found in my pocket !" "My young
friend," replied Frederick, " God often does great things for us
even in our sleep. Send that to your mother, salute her on my
part, and assure her that I will take care of both her and you."
Beauties of History.

DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY.

I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth ;

She is my Maker's creature ; therefore, good :
246 DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY.

She is my mother, for she gave me birth ;

She is my tender nurse, she gives me food ;
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee !
Or what's my mother, or my nurse to me !

I love the air : her dainty sweets refresh

My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ;
Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh,
And with their polyphonian notes delight me :
But what's the air or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to Thee !

I love the sea she is my fellow-creature,

My careful purveyor ; she provides me store ;
She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater ;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore ;
But Lord of oceans, when compared with Thee,
What is the ocean or her wealth to me ?

Without Thy presence earth gives no refection ;

Without Thy presence sea affords no treasure ;
Without Thy presence air's a rank infection ;
Without Thy presence heaven itself no pleasure :
If not possessed, if not enjoyed in Thee,
What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me ?

The highest honours that the world can boast,

Are subjects far too low for my desire ;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire :
The brightest flames that earth can kindle, be
But nightly glow-worms, if compared to Thee.

Without Thy presence wealth is bags of cares ;

Wisdom but folly ; joy- disquiet, sadness :
 KNOWLEDGE. 247

Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ;

Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness :
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have they being, when compared with Thee.

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I ?

Not having Thee, what have my labours got ?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I ?
And, having Thee alone, what have I not ;
I wish nor sea nor land ; nor would I be
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of Thee.
FRANCIS QUARLES .

KNOWLEDGE.

"WHAT an excellent thing is knowledge !" said a sharp-looking,

bustling little man to one who was much older than himself.
" Knowledge is an excellent thing ! Knowledge is power !" re-
peated he ; " my boys know more at six and seven years of age
than I did at twelve.
66 They can read all sorts of books, and talk on all sorts of
subjects. The world is a great deal wiser than it used to be.
Everybody knows something of everything now. Do you not
think, sir, that knowledge is an excellent thing ?"
" Why, sir,” replied the old man, looking gravely, “ that de-
pends entirely upon the use to which it is applied. It may be
either a blessing or a curse. Knowledge is only an increase of
power, and power may be a bad as well as a good thing.".
“ That is what I cannot understand, " said the bustling little man.
" How can power be a bad thing ?"
" I will tell you," meekly replied the old man ; and thus he
went on : " When the power of a horse is under restraint, the
animal is useful in bearing burdens, drawing loads, and carrying
248 THE AMBITIOUS WEED.

his master ; but when that power is unrestrained, the horse breaks
his bridle, dashes his carriage to pieces, or throws his rider."-
" I see ! I see !" said the little man.
"When the water of a pond is properly conducted by trenches,
it renders the fields around fertile ; but when it bursts through
its banks, it sweeps everything before it, and destroys the produce
of the field."- " I see ! I see !" said the little man ; " I see !"
"When a ship is steered aright, the sail that she hoists enables
her the sooner to get into port ; but if steered wrong, the more
sail she carries, the further she will go out of her course."
" I see ! I see !" said the little man ; " I see clearly !"

THE AMBITIOUS WEED ;

OR, THE DANGER OF SELF-CONFIDENCE.

AN idle weed that used to crawl
Unseen behind the garden wall
(Its most becoming station),
At last, refreshed by sun and showers,
Which nourish weeds, as well as flowers,
Amused its solitary hours
With thoughts of elevation.

These thoughts encouraged day by day,

It shot forth many an upward spray,
And many a tendril band ;
But as it could not climb alone,
It uttered oft a lazy groan
To moss and mortar, stick and stone,
To lend a helping hand.

At length, by friendly arms sustained

The aspiring vegetable gained
 THE AMBITIOUS WEED. 249

The object of its labours :

That which had cost her many a sigh,
And nothing else would satisfy-
Which was not only being high
But higher than her neighbours.

And now this weed, though weak, and spent

With climbing up the steep ascent,
Admired her figure tall :
And then (for vanity ne'er ends
With that which it at first intends)
Began to laugh at those poor friends
Who helped her up the wall.

But by and by, my lady spied

The garden on the other side,
And fallen was her crest,
To see, in neat array below,
A bed of all the flowers that blow-
Lily and rose-a goodly show,
In fairest colours drest.

Recovering from her first surprise,

She soon began to criticise :-
" A dainty sight, indeed !
I'd be the meanest thing that blows
Rather than that affected Rose ;
So much perfume offends my nose,"
Exclaimed the vulgar weed.

"Well, ' tis enough to make one chilly,

To see that pale consumptive Lily
Among these painted folks.
Miss Tulip too looks wondrous odd,
She's gaping like a dying cod ; -
What a queer stick is Golden-Rod !
And how the Violet pokes !
250 WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER.

"Not for the gayest tint that lingers

On Honeysuckle's rosy fingers,
Would I with her exchange :
Since this, at least, is very clear,
Since they are there and I am here,
I occupy a higher sphere—
Enjoy a wider range."

Alas ! poor envious weed !-for, lo !

That instant came the gardener's hoe
And lopped her from her sphere :
But none lamented when she fell ;
No passing zephyr sighed " Farewell ; "
No friendly bee would hum her knell ;
No fairy drop a tear :-

While those sweet flowers of genuine worth

Inclining towards the modest earth,
Adorn the vale below ;
Content to hide in sylvan dells
Their rosy buds and purple bells ;
Though scarce a rising zephyr tells
The secret where they grow.
JANE TAYLOR.

WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER.

It is impossible to visit the shades of Mount Vernon (where

Washington resided, and now lies buried), to stand near the tomb
where the father of his country reposes, to see the gardens which
he cultivated, the mansion where he rested from the toils of the
war, the piazza where he so often lingered to view the setting sun
gild the mighty River Potomac, without desiring to be acquainted
with his domestic life, and save from oblivion every circumstance
 WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER. 251

respecting him . Many anecdotes of his early years are treasured

in this land of his nativity. Some of the most interesting ones
were derived from his mother, a dignified and pious matron, who,
by the death of her husband while her children were young, be-
came the sole conductress of their education. To the inquiry,
what course she had pursued in rearing one so truly illustrious,
she replied, " Only to require obedience, diligence, and truth."
These simple rules, faithfully enforced, and incorporated with the
rudiments of character, had a powerful influence over his future
greatness.
He was early accustomed to accuracy in all his statements, and
to speak of his faults and omissions without prevarication or dis-
guise. Hence arose that noble openness of soul, and contempt
of deceit in others, which ever distinguished him . Once, by an
inadvertence of his youth, a considerable loss had been incurred,
and of such a nature as to interfere immediately with the plans
of his mother. He came to her with a frank acknowledgment of
his error, and she replied, while a tear of affection moistened her
eye, “ I had rather it should be so, than that my son should have
been guilty of a falsehood. "
She was careful not to enervate him by luxury or weak indul-
gence. He was inured to early rising, and never permitted to be
idle. Sometimes he engaged in labours which the children of
wealthy parents would now account severe, and thus acquired
firmness of frame and a disregard of hardship. The systematic
improvement of time, which from childhood he had been taught,
was of great service when the weight of a nation's concerns de-
volved upon him. It was then observed by those who surrounded
his person, that he was never known to be in a hurry, but found
time for the transaction of the smallest affairs in the midst of the
greatest and most conflicting duties. Such benefit did he derive
from attention to the counsels of his mother. His obedience to
her commands, when a child, was cheerful and strict ; and as he
approached to maturer years, the expression of her slightest wishes
was a law.
Her common influence over him was strengthened by that
dignity with which strength of mind had invested her. This
252 WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER.

imparted to her great elevation of feeling. During some periods

of the revolutionary war, when the fears of the people were
wrought up to a distressing anxiety, many mistaken reports were
in circulation, which agonized the hearts of those whose friends
occupied posts of danger. It would sometimes be said to her,
“ Madam, intelligence has been received that our army is defeated,
and your son a prisoner." " My son," she would reply, " has
been in the habit of acting in difficult situations.”
At length America having secured her independence, and the
war being terminated, Washington, who for eight years had not
tasted the repose of home, hastened with filial reverence to ask
his mother's blessing. The hero, " first in war, first in peace, first
in the hearts of his countrymen," came to lay his laurels at her
feet who had first sown their seeds in his soul.
This venerable woman continued, until past her ninetieth year,
to be respected and beloved by all around her. At length the
wasting agony of a cancer terminated her existence, at the resi-
dence of her daughter, in Fredericsburg, Virginia. Washington
was with her in the last stages of life, to mitigate the severity of
her sufferings by the most tender offices of affection. With pious
grief he closed her eyes, and laid her in the grave which she had
selected for herself. It was in a beautiful and secluded dell, on
the family estate, partly overshadowed by trees, where she fre-
quently retired for meditation, and where the setting sun beams
with the softest radiance. Travellers who visit the tomb at
Mount Vernon will find it interesting to extend their visit to this
spot, where the mother of our hero, whom he was thought, in
person and manners, greatly to resemble, rests without a stone.
We have now seen the man, who was the leader of victorious
armies, the conqueror of a mighty kingdom, and the admiration
of the world, in the delightful attitude of an obedient and affec-
tionate son. We have traced many of his virtues back to that
sweet submission to maternal guidance which distinguished his
early years. She whom he honoured with such filial reverence,
said that " he had learned to command others by first learning to
obey."
Let those, therefore, who in the morning of life are ambitious
 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 253

of future eminence, cultivate the virtue of filial obedience, and

remember that they cannot be either fortunate or happy while
they neglect the injunction, " My son, keep thy father's command-
ment, and forsake not the law of thy mother."

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

THE stately homes of England,

How beautiful they stand !
Amidst their tall ancestral trees !
O'er all the pleasant land !
The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
The swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England !

Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light !
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told ;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The cottage homes of England !

By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brook,
And round the hamlet-fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves ;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As birds beneath their eaves.
254 THE SAVAGE AND THE CIVILIZED MAN.

The free fair homes of England !

Long, long in hut and hall
May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall.
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.
MRS. HEMANS.

THE SAVAGE AND THE CIVILIZED MAN.

PERSONS in general attribute to statesmen and warriors a much

greater share in the work of improving and civilizing the world
than really belongs to them. What they have done is in reality
little. The beginning of civilisation is the discovery of some useful
arts by which men acquire property, comforts, or luxuries. The ne-
cessity or desire of preserving them leads to laws and social institu-
tions. The discovery of peculiar arts gives superiority to particular
nations ; and the love of power induces them to employ this
superiority to conquer other nations, who learn their arts, and
ultimately adopt their manners ; so that in reality the origin, as
well as the progress and improvement of civil society, is founded
in mechanical and chemical inventions. No people have ever
arrived at any degree of perfection in their institutions, who have`
not possessed in a high degree the useful and refined arts.
Look at the condition of man in the lowest state in which we
are acquainted with him. Take the native of New Holland, ad-
vanced only a few steps above the brute creation, and that princi-
pally by the use of fire,-naked, defending himself against wild
beasts, or killing them for food, by weapons made of wood hard-
ened in the fire,-living only in holes dug out of the earth, or in
huts rudely constructed of a few branches of trees covered with
grass, having no approach to the enjoyment of luxuries, or even
 A FOX STORY. 255

comforts, having a language scarcely articulate, relating only to

the great objects of nature, or to his most pressing wants, and,
living solitary or in single families, unacquainted with religion,
government, or laws. How different is man in his highest state
of cultivation !-every part of his body covered with the products
of different chemical and mechanical arts. He creates out of the
dust of the earth instruments of use and ornament- he extracts
metals from the rude ore, and gives to them a hundred different
shapes for a thousand different purposes-he selects and improves
the vegetable productions with which he covers the earth- he
tames and domesticates the wildest, fleetest, and the strongest in-
habitants of the wood, the mountain, and the air-he makes the
winds carry him on every part of the immense ocean, and compels
the elements of air, water, and even fire, as it were, to labour for
him-he concentrates in small space, materials which act as the
thunderbolt, and directs their energies so as to act at immense
distances he blasts the rock, removes the mountain, carries water
from the valley to the hill- and he perpetuates thought in im-
perishable words, rendering immortal the exertions of genius, and
presenting them as common property to the world.
SIR HUMPHRY Davy.

A FOX STORY.

ONE of the most amusing stories I ever heard of animals was

lately told by a sober Quaker from new Jersey, who said it was
related to him by the eye-witness, himself a member of the same
serious, unembellishing sect.
He was one day in a field near a stream where several gee
were swimming. Presently he observed one disappear under the
water, with a sudden jerk. While he looked for her to rise again,
he saw a fox emerge from the water, and trot off to the woods with
the unfortunate goose in his mouth. The fox chanced to go in a
direction where it was easy to watch his movements. He carried
256 A FOX STORY.

his burden to a recess under an overhanging rock ; here he

scratched away a mass of dry leaves, scooped a hole, hid his
treasure within, and covered it up very carefully. Then off he
went to the stream again, entered some distance behind the flock
of geese, and floated noiselessy along, with merely the tip of his
nose visible above the surface. But this time he was not so for-
tunate in his manoeuvres. The geese, by some accident, took the
alarm, and flew away with loud cackling.
The fox, finding himself defeated, walked off in a direction op-
posite to the place where his victim was buried. The man went
to the place, uncovered the hole, put the goose in his basket, re-
placed the leaves carefully, and stood patiently at a distance to
watch further proceedings. The sly thief was soon seen returning
with another fox, that he had apparently invited to dine with him.
They trotted along right merrily, swinging their tails, snuffing the
air, and smacking their lips in anticipation of a rich repast.
When they arrived under the rock, Reynard eagerly scratched
away the leaves ; but, lo ! his dinner had disappeared ! He
looked at his companion, and plainly saw, by his countenance,
that he more than mistrusted whether any goose was ever there,
as pretended. His companion evidently considered his friend's
hospitality a sham, and himself insulted. His contemptuous ex-
pression was more than the mortified fox could bear. Though
conscious of generous intentions, he felt that all assurances to that
effect would be regarded as lies.
Appearances were certainly very much against him . His tail
slunk between his legs, and he held his head down, looking side-
ways, with a sneaking glance, at his disappointed companion.
Indignant at what he supposed to be an attempt to get up a
character for generosity on false pretences, the offended guest
seized his unfortunate host, and cuffed him most unmercifully.
Poor Reynard bore the infliction with the utmost patience, and
sneaked off, as if conscious that he had received no more than
might naturally be expected under the circumstances.
MRS. CHILD.
 THE FOX AND THE MASK. 257

THE FOX AND THE MASK.

A Fox walked round a toyman's shop

(How he came there, pray do not ask),
But soon he made a sudden stop,
To look and wonder at a mask.

The mask was beautiful and fair,

A perfect mask as e'er was made ;
And which a lady meant to wear
At the ensuing masquerade.

He turned it round, with much surprise,

To find it prove so light and thin ;
" How strange !" astonished Reynard cries,
" Here's mouth and nose, and eyes and chin ;

"And cheeks and lips, extremely pretty ;

And yet, one thing there still remains
To make it perfect-what a pity,
So fine a head should have no brains !"

Thus, to some boy or maiden pretty,

Who to get learning takes no pains,
May we exclaim, " Ah ! what a pity,
So fine a head should have no brains !"

LETTER FROM THOMAS HOOD TO A LITTLE GIRL

AT THE SEA-SIDE.¹

DEVONSHIRE LODGE, July 1, 1844.

MY DEAR MAY,-How do you do, and how do you like the
sea ? Not much, perhaps, it's " so big." But shouldn't you like
1 This lesson is given to awaken in the pupil a sense of fun and humour. The perception
of the fun in an extract like this is an excellent intellectual exercise.
R
258 LETTER FROM THOMAS HOOD TO A LITTLE GIRL.

a nice little ocean that you could put in a pan ? Yet the sea,
although it looks rather ugly at first, is very useful, and if I were
near it this dry summer, I would carry it all home to water the
garden with at Stratford, and it would be sure to drown all the
blights, May-flies, and all ! I remember that when I saw the sea,
it used sometimes to be very fussy and fidgety, and did not
always wash itself quite clean ; but it• was very fond of fun.
Have the waves ever run after you yet, and turned your little
two shoes into pumps, full of water ? If you want a joke you
might push Dunnie into the sea, and then fish for him as they
do for a Jack. But don't go in yourself, and don't let the baby
go in and swim away, although he is the shrimp of the family.
Did you ever taste the sea-water ? The fishes are so fond of it
they keep drinking it all the day long. Dip your little finger in,
and then suck it to see how it tastes. A glass of it warm, with
sugar, and a grate of nutmeg, would quite astonish you ! The
water of the sea is so saline, I wonder nobody catches salt fish
in it. I should think a good way would be to go out in a butter-
boat, with a little melted for sauce. Have you been bathed yet
in the sea, and were you afraid ? I was the first time, and the
time before that ; and dear me, how I kicked and screamed—or,
at least, meant to scream ; but the sea, ships and all, began to
run into my mouth, and so I shut it up. I think I see you
being dipped in the sea, screwing your eyes up, and putting your
nose like a button, into your mouth, like a buttonhole, for fear
of getting another smell and taste ! By the by, did you ever dive
your head under water with your legs up in the air like a duck,
and try whether you could cry " Quack ?" Some animals can !
I would try, but there is no sea here, and so I am forced to dip
into books. I wish there were such nice green hills here as there
are at Sandgate. They must be very nice to roll down, especially
if there are no furze-bushes to prickle one, at the bottom ! Do
you remember how the thorns stuck in us like a penn'orth of
mixed pins at Wanstead ? I have been very ill, and am so thin
now I could stick myself into a prickle. My legs, in particular,
are so wasted away, that somebody says my pins are only needles ;
and I am so weak, I daresay you could push me down on the
 THE LYING SERVANT. 259

floor, and right through the carpet, unless it was a strong pattern.
I am sure if I were at Sandgate, you could carry me to the post-
office, and fetch my letters. Talking of carrying, I suppose you
have donkeys at Sandgate, and ride about on them. Mind and
always call them " donkeys," for if you call them asses it might
reach such long ears ! I knew a donkey once that kicked a man
once for calling him Jack instead of John. There are no flowers,
I suppose, on the beach, or I would ask you to bring me a bouquet
as you used at Stratford. But there are little crabs ! If you
would catch one for me, and teach it to dance the polka, it would
make me quite happy ; for I have not had any toys or playthings
for a long time. Did you ever try, like a little crab, to run two
ways at once ? See if you can do it, for it is good fun ; never
mind tumbling over yourself a little at first. It would be a good
plan to hire a little crab, for an hour a day, to teach baby to
crawl if he can't walk, and, if I was his mamma, I would too !
Bless him ! But I must not write on him any more ; he is soft,
and I have nothing but steel-pens. And now good-bye : Fanny
has made my tea, and I must drink it before it gets too hot, as
we all were last Sunday week. They say the glass was 88 in
the shade, which is a great age ! The last fair breeze I blew
dozens of kisses for you, but the wind changed, and I am afraid
took them all to Miss H- " or somebody that it shouldn't.
Give my love to everybody, and my compliments to all the rest ;
and remember, I am, my dear May, your loving friend,
THOMAS HOOD.
P.S.-Don't forget my little crab to dance the polka, and pray
write to me as soon as you can't, if it's only a line.

THE LYING SERVANT.

THERE lived in Bavaria a certain lord, pious, just, and wise,

to whose lot it fell to have a serving man, a great rogue, and,
above all, addicted to the vice of lying. The name of the lord is
260 THE LYING SERVANT.

not in the story ; therefore the reader need not trouble himself
about it.
This fellow was given to boast of his wondrous travels. He
had visited countries which are nowhere to be found on the map,
and seen things which mortal eye never beheld. He would lie
through the twenty-four hours of the clock ; for he dreamed false-
hoods in his sleep, to the truth of which he swore when awake.
His lord was a shrewd as well as a virtuous man, and used to
see the lies in the valet's mouth ; so that he was often caught—
hung, as it were, in his own untruths, as in a trap. Nevertheless
he persisted still the more in his lies, and when any one said,
"How can that be ?" he would answer, with fierce oaths and
protestations, that it was so.
It chanced, one pleasant day in spring, after the rains had
fallen heavily, and swollen the floods, that the lord and his ser-
vant rode out together, and their way was through a silent and
shady forest. Suddenly appeared an old and well-grown fox.
" Look !" exclaimed the master ; " what a huge beast ! Never
before have I seen a reynard so large." " Doth this beast sur-
prise thee by its hugeness ?" replieth straight the serving-man,
casting his eye slightingly on the animal, as he fled away for fear :
" I have been in a kingdom where the foxes are as big as the bulls
in this." Whereupon, hearing so vast a lie, the lord answered
calmly, but with mockery in his heart, " In that kingdom there
must be excellent lining for cloaks, if furriers can there be found
to dress skins so large."
And so they rode on, the lord in silence ; but soon he began
to sigh heavily. Still he seemed to wax more and more sad in
spirit, and his sighs grew deeper and more quick. Then the ser-
vant inquired of the lord what sudden affliction or cause of sorrow
had happened. " Alas !" replied the wily master, " I trust in
Heaven's goodness that neither of us two hath to-day, by any
frowardness of fortune, chanced to say the thing which is not ;
for, assuredly, he that hath so done must this day perish." The
servant, on hearing these doleful words, and perceiving real sor-
row to be depicted on his master's countenance, instantly felt as
if his ears grew more wide, so that not a word or syllable of so
 THE LYING SERVANT. 261

strange a discovery might escape his troubled sense. And so,

with eager exclamation, he demanded of the lord to ease his sus-
pense, and to explain why so cruel a doom was now about to
befall him who had spoken an untruth.
" Hear, then," answered the lord, " since thou must needs
know ; and may no trouble come to thee from what I shall say.
To-day we ride far, and in our course is a vast and heavy-rolling
flood, of which the ford is narrow, and the pool is deep ; to it
hath Heaven given the power of sweeping down into its dark
holes all dealers in falsehood who may rashly venture to put
themselves within its truth-loving current. But to him who hath
told no lie there is no fear of the river. Spur we our horses,
for to-day our journey must be long."
Then the servant thought, " Long, indeed, must the journey be
for some who are now here ;" and as he spurred, he sighed more
deeply than his master had done before him , who now went
gaily on. They soon came to a brook. Its waters were small,
and its channel such as a boy might leap across. Yet, neverthe-
less, the servant began to tremble, and falteringly asked, " Is this
the river where harmless liars must perish ?" " This ? Ah, no,"
replied the lord ; " this is but a brook ; no liar need tremble
here." Yet was the servant not wholly assured ; and stammer-
ing, said, " My gracious lord, thy servant now bethinks him, that
he to-day hath made a fox too huge ; that of which he spake
was not so large as an ox, but as big as a good-sized deer." The
lord replied with wonder in his tone, " What of this fox concerneth
me ? If large or small, I care not. Spur we our horses, for to-
day our journey must be long. "
66' Long, indeed," still thought the serving-man ; and in sadness
he crossed the brook. Then came they to a stream, running
quickly through a green meadow, the stones showing themselves
in many places above its frothy water. The varlet started, and
cried aloud, " Another river ! Surely of rivers there is to-day no
end was it of this thou spakest heretofore ?" "No," replied
the lord, " not of this." And more he said not ; yet marked he
with inward gladness his servant's fear. " Because, in good
truth," rejoined the rogue, " it is on my conscience to give thee
262 THE LYING SERVANT.

note that the fox of which I spake was not bigger than a calf. ”
66 Large or small, let me not be troubled with the fox ; the
beast
concerneth not me at all."
As they quitted the wood, they perceived a river in the way,
which gave sign of having been swollen by the rains ; and on it
was a boat. " This, then, is the doom of liars, " said the serving-
man ; and he looked earnestly towards the ferry-boat. " Be in-
formed, my good lord, that reynard was not larger than a fat
sheep." The lord seemed angry, and answered, " This is not yet
the grave of falsehood : why torment me with this fox ? Rather
spur we our horses, for we have far to go."
Now the day declined, and the shadows of the travellers
lengthened on the ground ; but darker than the twilight was the
sadness on the face of the knave. And as the wind rustled the
trees, he ever and anon turned pale, and inquired of his master
if the noise were of a torrent or stream of water. Still, as the
evening fell, his eyes strove to discover the course of a winding
river. But nothing of the sort could he discern ; so that his
spirits began to revive, and he was fain to join in discourse with
the lord. But the lord held his peace, and looked as one who
expects an evil thing.
Suddenly the way became steep, and they descended into a low
and woody valley, in which there was a broad and black river,
creeping fearfully along, without bridge or bark to be seen near.
" Ah, miserable me !" said the servant, turning deadly pale ; " this,
then, is the river in which liars must perish." " Even so," said
the lord ; "this is the stream of which I spake ; but the ford is
sound and good for true men. Spur we our horses, for the night
approacheth, and we have yet far to go."
"My life is dear to me, " said the trembling serving- man, “ and
thou knowest that if it were lost, my wife would be disconsolate.
In sincerity, then, I declare that the fox which I saw in the dis-
tant country was not larger than that which fled from us in the
wood this morning."
Then laughed the lord aloud, and said, " Ho, knave ! wert
thou afraid of thy life ? And will nothing cure thy lying ? Is
not falsehood, which kills the soul, worse than death which has
 A FOREST ON FIRE. 263

mastery only over the body ? This river is no more than any
other, nor hath it a power such as I feigned. The ford is safe,
and the waters gentle as those we have already passed ; but who
shall pass thee over the shame of this day ? In it thou needs
must sink, unless penitence come to help thee over, and cause
thee to look back on the gulf of thy lies, as on a danger from
which thou hast been delivered by Heaven's grace." And as he
reproved his servant, the lord rode on into the water, and both in
safety reached the opposite shore. Then vowed the serving-man
that from that time forward he would duly measure his words ;
and glad was he so to escape.
Such is the story of the lying servant and the merry lord, by
which let the reader profit.

A FOREST ON FIRE.

WE were sound asleep one night, when about two hours before
day, the snorting of horses and lowing of our cattle which were
ranging in the woods, suddenly awoke us . I took my rifle, and
went to the door to see what beast had caused the hubbub,
when I was struck by the glare of light reflected on all the trees
before me, as far as I could see through the woods. My horses
were leaping about, snorting loudly, and the cattle ran among
them in great consternation.
On going to the back of the house, I plainly heard the crack-
ling made by the burning brushwood, and saw the flames coming
toward us in a far-extended line. I ran to the house, told my
wife to dress herself and the child as quickly as possible, and
take the little money we had, while I managed to catch and
saddle two of the best horses. All this was done in a very short
time, for I felt that every moment was precious to us.
We then mounted our horses, and made off from the fire. My
wife, who is an excellent rider, stuck close to me ; and my
daughter, who was then a small child, I took in one arm . When
making off, I looked back and saw that the frightful blaze was
264 A FOREST ON FIRE.

close upon us, and had already laid hold of the house. By good
luck there was a horn attached to my hunting clothes, and I
blew it to bring after us, if possible, the remainder of my live
stock, as well as the dogs. The cattle followed for a while ; but
before an hour had elapsed, they all ran, as if mad, through the
woods, and that was the last of them. My dogs, too, although
at all other times extremely tractable, ran after the deer, that in
great numbers sprang before us, as if fully aware of the death
that was so rapidly approaching.
We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbours, as we pro-
ceeded, and knew that they were in the same predicament. In-
tent on striving to the utmost, to preserve our lives, I thought of
a large lake, some miles off, which might possibly check the
flames ; and, urging my wife to whip up her horse, we set off at
full speed, making the best way we could over the fallen trees
and the brush heaps, which lay like so many articles placed on
purpose to keep up the terrific fires, that advanced with a broad
front upon us.
By this time, we could feel the heat ; and we were afraid that
our horses would drop down every instant. A singular kind of
breeze was passing over our heads, and the glare of the atmos-
phere shone over the daylight. I was sensible of a slight faint-
ness, and my wife looked pale. The heat had produced such a
flush in the child's face, that when she turned toward either of
us, our grief and perplexity were greatly increased. Ten miles,
you know, are soon gone over on swift horses ; but, notwith-
standing this, when we reached the borders of the lake, covered
with sweat and quite exhausted , our hearts failed us.
The heat of the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing
fire flew over us in a manner beyond belief. We reached the
shore, however, coasted the lake for a while, and got round to
the lee-side. There we gave up our horses, which we never saw
again. Down among the rushes we plunged, by the edge of the
water, and laid ourselves flat, to wait the chance of escaping from
being burned or devoured. The water refreshed us, and we en-
joyed the coolness.
On went the fire, rushing and crashing through the woods.
 A FOREST ON FIRE. 265

Such a night may we never again see ! The heavens themselves,

I thought, were frightened ; for all above us was a red glare,
mixed with clouds and smoke, rolling and sweeping away. Our
bodies were cool enough, but our heads were scorching ; and the
child, who now seemed to understand the matter, cried so as
nearly to break our hearts.
The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many wild beasts
came plunging into the water beside us, and others swam across
to our side, and stood still. Although faint and weary, I man-
aged to shoot a porcupine, and we all tasted its flesh. The night
passed, I cannot tell you how. Smouldering fires covered the
ground, and the trees stood like pillars of fire, or fell across each
other. The stifling and sickening smoke still rushed over us, and
the burnt cinders and ashes fell thick about us. How we got
through that night, I really cannot tell ; for about some of it, I
remember nothing.
When morning came, all was calm ; but a dismal smoke still
filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. What was
to become of us, I did not know. My wife hugged the child to
her breast, and wept bitterly ; but God had preserved us through
the worst of the danger, and the flames had gone past, so I
thought it would be both ungrateful to Him, and unmanly, to
despair now. Hunger once more pressed upon us, but this was
soon remedied. Several deer were standing in the water, up to
the head, and I shot one of them. Some of its flesh was soon
roasted, and after eating it, we felt wonderfully strengthened.
By this time, the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight,
although the ground was burning in many places, and it was
dangerous to go among the burnt trees. After resting awhile, we
prepared to commence our march. Taking up the child, I led
the way over the hot ground and rocks ; and after two weary
days and nights, during which we shifted in the best manner we
could, we at last reached the hard woods, which had been free
from the fire. Soon after we came to a house, where we were
kindly treated. Since then, I have worked hard and constantly
as a lumberman ; and, thanks to God, we are safe, sound, and
happy ! AUDUBON.
266 A SCOTTISH COTTAGE.

A SCOTTISH COTTAGE.
GILBERT AINSLIE was a poor man, and he had been a poor
man all the days of his life, which were not few, for his hair was
now waxing grey. He had been born and bred on the small
moorland farm which he now occupied, and he hoped to die
there, as his father and grandfather had done before him, leaving
a family just above the more bitter wants of this world. Labour,
hard and unremitting, had been his lot in life ; but, although
sometimes severely tried, he had never repined, and through all
the mist and gloom, and even the storms that had assailed him,
he had lived on from year to year in that calm and resigned
contentment which unconsciously cheers the hearthstone of the
blameless poor. With his own hands he had ploughed, sowed,
and reaped his often scanty harvest, assisted, as they grew up, by
three sons, who, even in boyhood, were happy to work along with
their father in the fields. Out of doors or in, Gilbert Ainslie
was never idle. The spade, the shears, the plough-shaft, the
sickle, and the flail, all came readily to hands that grasped them
well, and not a morsel of food was eaten under his roof, or a
garment worn there, that was not honestly, severely, nobly earned.
Gilbert Ainslie was a slave, but it was for those he loved with a
sober and deep affection. The thraldom under which he lived
God had imposed, and it only served to give his character a shade
of silent gravity, but not of austerity ; to make his smiles fewer,
but more heartfelt ; to calm his soul at grace before and after
meals ; and to kindle it in morning and evening prayer.
There is no need to tell the character of the wife of such a man.
Meek and thoughtful, yet gladsome and gay withal, her heaven
was in her house, and her gentle and weaker hands helped to bar
the door against want. Of ten children that had been born to
them, they had lost three ; and as they had fed, clothed, and
educated them respectably, so did they give them a respectable
funeral. The living did not grudge to give up for a while some
of their daily comforts for the sake of the dead ; and bought, with
the little sums which their industry had saved, decent mourning,
worn on the Sabbath, and then carefully laid by. Of the seven
 A SCOTTISH COTTAGE. 267

that survived, two sons and a daughter were farm-servants in the

neighbourhood, while two daughters and two sons remained at
home, growing, or grown up, a small, happy, hard-working household.
Many cottages are there in Scotland like Moss-side, and many
such humble and virtuous cottagers as were now beneath its roof
of straw. The eye of the passing traveller may mark them, or
mark them not, but they stand peacefully in thousands over all
the land ; and most beautiful do they make it, through all its
wide valleys and narrow glens-its low holms encircled by the
rocky walls of some bonny burn- its green mounts with their
little crowning groves of plane-trees- its yellow corn-fields-
its bare pastoral hill-sides, and all its heathy moors, on whose
black bosoms lie shining or concealed glades of excessive verdure,
inhabited by flowers, and visited only by the far-flying bees.
Moss-side was beautiful to a careless or hasty eye ; but when
looked on and surveyed, it seemed a pleasant dwelling. Its roof,
overgrown with grass and moss, was almost as green as the
ground out of which its weather-stained walls appeared to grow.
The moss behind it was separated from a little garden by a nar-
row slip of arable land, the dark colour of which showed that it
had been won from the wild by patient industry, and by patient
industry retained. It required a bright sunny day to make Moss-
side fair ; but then it was fair indeed ; and when the little brown
moorland birds were singing their short songs among the rushes
and the heather, or a lark, perhaps lured thither by some green
barley-field for its undisturbed rest, rose ringing all over the en-
livened solitude, the little bleak farm smiled like the paradise of
poverty, sad and affecting in its lone and extreme simplicity.
The boys and girls had made some plots of flowers among the
vegetables that the little garden supplied for their homely meals ;
pinks and carnations, brought from walled gardens of rich men
farther down in the cultivated strath, grew here with somewhat
diminished lustre ; a bright show of tulips had a strange beauty
in the midst of that moorland ; and the smell of roses mixed well
with that of the clover, the beautiful fair clover that loves the
soil and the air of Scotland, and gives the rich and balmy milk
to the poor man's lips. PROFESSOR WILSON.
268 THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN.

THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN.

" I AM a Pebble, and yield to none ! "

Were the swelling words of a tiny stone ;
" Nor change nor season can alter me,
I am abiding while ages flee.
The pelting hail and drizzling rain
Have tried to soften me long in vain ;
And the tender dew has sought to melt,
Or to touch my heart,-but it was not felt.

" None can tell of the Pebble's birth ;

For I am as old as the solid earth.
The children of men arise, and pass
Out of the world like blades of grass ;
And many a foot on me has trod
That's gone from sight and under the sod !
I am a Pebble ! but who art thou,
Rattling along from the restless bough ? "

The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute,

And lay for a moment abashed and mute.
She never before had been so near
This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere ;
And she felt for a while perplexed to know
How to answer a thing so low.

But to give reproof of a nobler sort

Than the angry look or the keen retort,
At length she said, in a gentle tone,
" Since it has happened that I am thrown
From the lighter element, where I grew,
Down to another so hard and new,
And beside a personage so august,
Abased I will cover my head with dust,
 THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. 269

And quickly retire from the sight of one

Whom time nor season, nor storm nor sun,
Nor the gentler dew nor the grinding wheel,
Has ever subdued or made to feel."

And soon in the earth she sunk away

From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay ;
But it was not long ere the soil was broke,
By the peering head of an infant oak ;
And as it arose, and its branches spread,
The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said—

"A modest Acorn ! never to tell

What was enclosed in her simple shell-
That the pride of the forest was then shut up
Within the space of her little cup !
And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,
To prove that nothing could hide her worth.
And, oh ! how many will tread on me,
To come and admire that beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering towards the sky,
Above such a worthless thing as I.

" Useless and vain, a cumberer here,

I have been idling from year to year ;
But never from this shall a vaunting word
From the humble Pebble again be heard,
Till something without me, or within,
Can show the purpose for which I've been !"
The Pebble could not its vow forget,
And it lies there wrapped in silence yet.
MISS GOULD .
270 THE SCHOOLBOY'S PILGRIMAGE.

THE SCHOOLBOY'S PILGRIMAGE.

NOTHING could be more easy and agreeable than my condition

when I was first summoned to set out on the road to learning, and it
was not without letting fall a few ominous tears that I took the first
step. Several companions of my own age accompanied me on the
outset, and we travelled pleasantly together a good part of the way.
We had no sooner entered upon our path, than we were accosted
by three diminutive strangers. These we presently discovered to be
the advanced guard of a Lilliputian army, which was seen advanc-
ing towards us in battle array. Their forms were singularly
grotesque some were striding across the path, others standing
with their arms akimbo ; some hanging down their heads, others
quite erect ; some standing on one leg, others on two ; and one,
strange to say, on three ; another had his arms crossed, and one
was remarkably crooked ; some were very slender, and others as
broad as they were long. But, notwithstanding this diversity of
figure, when they were all marshalled in line of battle, they had
a very orderly and regular appearance. Feeling disconcerted by
their numbers, we were presently for sounding a retreat ; but
being urged forward by our guide, we soon mastered the three who
led the van, and this gave us spirit to encounter the main army,
who were conquered to a man before we left the field. We had
scarcely taken breath after this victory, when, to our no small
dismay, we descried a strong reinforcement of the enemy, stationed
on the opposite side. These were exactly equal in number to the
former army, but vastly superior in size and stature ; they were,
in fact, a race of giants, though of the same species with the
others, and were capitally accoutred for the onset. Their appear-
ance discouraged us greatly at first, but we found their strength
was not proportioned to their size ; and, having acquired much
skill and courage by the late engagement, we soon succeeded in
subduing them, and passed off the field in triumph. After this
we were perpetually engaged with small bands of the enemy, no
longer extended in line of battle, but in small detachments of two,
three, and four in company. We had some tough work here, and
 THE SCHOOLBOY'S PILGRIMAGE. 271

nów and then they were too many for us. Having annoyed us
thus for a time, they began to form themselves into close columns,
six or eight abreast ; but we had now attained so much address,
that we no longer found them formidable.
After continuing this route for a considerable way, the face of
the country suddenly changed, and we began to enter upon a vast
succession of snowy plains, where we were each furnished with a
certain light weapon peculiar to the country, which we flourished
continually, and with which we made many light strokes, and
some desperate ones. The waters hereabouts were dark and
brackish, and the snowy surface of the plain was often defaced by
them. Probably, we were now on the borders of the Black Sea.
These plains we travelled across and across for many a day.
Upon quitting this district, the country became far more dreary :
it appeared nothing but a dry and sterile region, the soil being re-
markably hard and slaty. Here we saw many curious figures,
and we soon found that the inhabitants of this desert were mere
ciphers. Sometimes they appeared in vast numbers, but only to
be again suddenly diminished .
Our road, after this, wound through a rugged and hilly country,
which was divided into nine principal parts or districts, each under
a different government, and these again were reduced into endless
subdivisions. Some of them we were obliged to decline. It was
not a little puzzling to perceive the intricate ramifications of the
paths in these parts. Here the natives spoke several dialects,
which rendered our intercourse with them very perplexing. How-
ever, it must be confessed that every step we set in this country
was less fatiguing and more interesting. Our course at first lay
all up hill ; but when we had proceeded to a certain height, the
distant country, which is most richly variegated, opened freely to
our view.
I do not mean at present to describe that country, or the differ-
ent stages by which we advance through its scenery. Suffice it
to say, that the journey, though always arduous, has become more
and more pleasant every stage ; and though, after years of travel
and labour, we are still very far from the Temple of Learning,
yet we have found on the way more than enough to make us
272 THE WORLD REVEALED BY THE MICROSCOPE.

thankful to the kindness of the friends who first set us on the

path, and to induce us to go forward courageously and rejoicingly
to the end of the journey.

THE WORLD REVEALED BY THE MICROSCOPE.

A FACT not less startling than would be the realization of the

imaginings of Shakspere and of Milton, or of the speculations of
Locke and of Bacon, admits of easy demonstration, namely, that
the air, the earth, and the waters teem with numberless myriads
of creatures, which are as unknown and as unapproachable to the
great mass of mankind, as are the inhabitants of another planet.
It may, indeed, be questioned whether, if the telescope could
bring within the reach of our observation the living things that
dwell in the worlds around us, life would be there displayed in
forms more diversified, in organisms more marvellous, under con-
ditions more unlike those in which animal existence appears to
our unassisted senses, than may be discovered in the leaves of
every forest, in the flowers of every garden, and in the waters of
every rivulet, by that noblest instrument of natural philosophy, the
Microscope.
To an intelligent person, who has previously obtained a general
idea of the nature of the objects about to be submitted to his in-
spection, a group of living animalcules, seen under a powerful
microscope for the first time, presents a scene of extraordinary
interest, and never fails to call forth an expression of amazement
and admiration. This statement admits of an easy illustration :
for example, from some water containing aquatic plants, collected
from a pond on Clapham Common, I select a small twig, to which
are attached a few delicate flakes, apparently of slime or jelly ;
some minute fibres, standing erect here and there on the twig, are
also dimly visible to the naked eye. This twig, with a drop or
two of the water, we will put between two thin plates of glass,
and place under the field of view of a microscope, having lenses
 TO-DAY. 273

that magnify the image of an object 200 times in linear dimen-

sions.
Upon looking through the instrument, we find the fluid swarm-
ing with animals of various shapes and magnitudes. Some are
darting through the water with great rapidity, while others are
pursuing and devouring creatures more infinitesimal than them-
selves. Many are attached to the twig by long delicate threads,
several have their bodies enclosed in a transparent tube, from one
end of which the animal partly protrudes and then recedes, while
others are covered by an elegant shell or case. The minutest
kinds, many of which are so small that millions might be con-
tained in a single drop of water, appear like mere animated
globules, free, single, and of various colours, sporting about in
every direction.
MANTELLS ' Thoughts on Animalcules.

TO DAY.

HERE hath been dawning

Another blue day ;
Think wilt thou let it
Slip useless away !
Out of eternity
This new day is born,
Into Eternity
At night will return.
Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did ;
So soon it for ever
From all eyes is hid.
Here hath been dawning
Another blue day,
Think wilt thou let it
Slip useless away !
S
 SECTION FOURTH.

LESSONS ON MINING AND QUARRYING, MINERALS AND

STONES, TIMBER AND CORN-PLANTS.

ON MINING AND THE PRODUCE OF MINES.

THE miner has assuredly one of the most dreary and dangerous
of occupations. Engaged during all his hours of labour far under
the surface of the earth, cheered only by the feeble light of a
small lamp, and in a space so contracted that he must work con-
tinually, either sitting or lying, on the damp floor of the mine, his
operations are such as can never be witnessed without a feeling´
of commiseration.
The various materials obtained through the operations of the
miner occur either in parallel layers called strata or seams, or
they penetrate the rents and fissures of rocks, and form what are
called veins or lodes. Of the former, coal, limestone, and clay
iron-ore are examples ; and of the latter, the ores of lead, copper,
tin, zinc, and of most of the metals. Of course the mode of
mining a seam and a vein must so far differ ; but as all the modes
of operation more or less resemble each other, it will be sufficient
to describe the manner of obtaining coal, one of the most useful
and familiar of our minerals.

Mining for Coal.

A coal mine has been not inaptly compared to an old-fashioned

window-frame, where the bars represent the galleries or roads,
 MINING FOR COAL. 275

and the small panes the square masses of coal, which are either
partly or entirely worked out according to the nature and thick-
ness of the seam. To follow the actual operations, let us suppose
that preliminary boring with iron rods has determined the exist-
ence of a seam of coal, say a hundred fathoms below the surface.
When this has been ascertained, the first thing thereafter is to .
sink a perpendicular opening or shaft, in size about twelve feet
by five, till it reaches the coal seam, and to place at the top of it
a windlass, worked by a horse or steam- engine, to hoist the men
and materials from the workings below. At the bottom of the
shaft a well or sump, as it is generally called, is made to collect
water, which is never absent from under-ground works ; a pump
being carried from the well to the surface to draw off the constant
accumulations.
To see the further proceedings, we had better put on a col-
lier's dress of coarse woollen cloth, and go below with him ;
first providing ourselves with his little tallow-lamp. The cages
in which we descend the shaft are simple square " platts " of
timber, resembling the square flat scales of a weighing beam,
and hung to the rope of the windlass by a rigid iron rod. Two
cages are always used, and counter-balanced by each other, so
that when one ascends the other descends. In a second or
two we reach the bottom of the shaft, where the coal presents
itself in a seam or seams, each of a pretty uniform thickness,
and we shall suppose horizontal, although they almost always
form a kind of basin with many minor undulations and interrup-
tions. Arrived at the bottom of the shaft, the miners begin their
work, and first drive a horizontal passage, termed the level or main
level, forming on one side of it as they proceed a gutter or condee,
which serves both as a guide for their level, and as a channel to
convey the superfluous water to the well at the bottom of the
shaft. From this main level, cross roads are set off, generally at
right angles, but frequently also in other directions. These vary
from three to five feet in height, and are about six feet wide.
They are lined where necessary with strong pieces of wood, and
the floor is laid with two narrow lines of rails, on which the little
waggons, called corves or hutches, for containing the coal, are
276 MINING FOR COAL.

drawn backwards and forwards between the end of the passages

and the bottom of the shaft. These roads or galleries are at con-
siderable distances from each other, and the mass of the coal-seam
between them is left to be worked out by the colliers, the part of
the seam on which they are actually engaged being called the
coal-faces, or simply faces.
The method in which the coal is excavated has been the
cause of many a disaster. The miner first undercuts the bottom
of the coal-seam for a foot or two with a light pick, thus
forming a cavity, just as we have seen a river hollow out an
upright bank of sand or gravel. This process of undercutting is
technically termed holing. Iron wedges are next driven in at
the top, which break down the coal in masses to the extent
it has been hollowed out below. When the coal is too hard
to be loosened by wedges, it is blasted with gunpowder. It
will be at once apparent that this system of undercutting the
coal-seam places the workmen in jeopardy wherever he encounters
loosely adhering masses ; and although experience generally en-
ables him adroitly to detect falling pieces by a slight crushing
noise, yet from his always working in a crouching or lying posture,
he cannot make a sudden escape, and too often in this way meets
a sad fate in the midst of his dreary labour. Other sources of
danger continually beset the collier in his dark, confined work-
shop ; such as the sudden breaking in of wastes of water from
old workings ; the presence of foul damp from defective ventila-
tion, or other causes ; and the terrible catastrophe called fire-damp
explosions. Fire-damp is an inflammable gas which, if mixed
with air, explodes on contact with flame, causing frightful destruc-
tion of life to all within its reach. To prevent accidents of this
kind the famous " Safety," or "Davy Lamp," invented by Sir
H. Davy (whence its name), is adopted. It is simply an ordinary
lamp enclosed in a wire-gauze cage, the meshes of which by their
cooling action prevents the flame from kindling the fire-damp out-
side the wire-work.
Returning for a moment to the coal-faces, where we left the
masses of coal just loosened from their bed, we shall find that
the next step is to break them into pieces, and to drag them in
 IRONSTONE, METALS, ETC. 277

hutches to the bottom of the shaft, whence it is hoisted in cages

to the surface.

Ironstone, Metals, etc.

The mining of clay ironstone, which is by far the most abund-
ant ore of iron in the British Islands, is pursued precisely in the
same way as that of coal ; and indeed it is very frequently found
accompanying the latter, and both are wrought simultaneously.
The great source of coal and clay iron-ore, is what is called by the
geologist the Carboniferous formation,¹ which is largely developed
both in England and Scotland, and extends over a surface of
several thousand square miles. Great Britain produces annually
about sixty-five million tons of coal, and three million tons of
pig- iron. By a similar mode of operation are obtained fire-clay,
rock-salt, the shales yielding alum, and other minerals that occur
in beds or seams.
The ores of lead, copper, tin, zinc, silver, nickel, cobalt, and
most other metals, are all obtained much in the same way ;-gold
not being found as an ore, but native, that is, pure and not
combined with other substances. As those ores, however, occur
in narrow and often tortuous veins, more or less upright, instead
of vast horizontal seams or strata, they are necessarily procured
by a series of workings of a perpendicular kind adapted to the
vertical and winding nature of a vein. Rich veins of lead-ore
are worked in the north, and several other parts of England,
and to some extent also in Scotland, Ireland, and the Isle of
Man. They produce about seventy thousand tons of lead an-
nually. Of late years a beautiful process has been in operation
for extracting the silver which lead-ore generally contains. By
the application of this process the lead-ore wrought in Great
Britain now yields upwards of five hundred thousand ounces
of silver in the course of a year. Most of our British cop-
per and tin is obtained from the mines in Cornwall, but a
considerable quantity is also produced in Devonshire, the total
1 The carboniferous rocks also abound in vast masses of valuable sandstone and lime-
stone, but these occur largely in other geological formations as well.
278 IRONSTONE, METALS, ETC.

annual yield of copper being above fourteen thousand tons, and

of tin about half that quantity. Tin is the metal for which
ancient Britain was most famous, and that for which the Phoeni-
cians were first induced to visit it. There are no silver mines,
properly so called, in the British Islands, but they occur in differ-
ent parts of Europe. Those of Mexico, Chili, and Peru, however,
are the most productive known. They are situated in the great
mountain chain of the Andes, which contain many very large
veins of silver- ore among other mineral treasures. Gold is said
to be more generally distributed throughout the world than any
other metal, except iron, but in most places it will not repay the
labour of obtaining it. This metal is found diffused through
quartz veins in gneiss or granite, but the greater quantity is ob-
tained from alluvial deposits of sand, gravel, or clay, which have
1
arisen from the wearing down of granitic or metamorphic rocks, ¹
and generally containing the gold in fine particles called gold-dust.
The annual produce of the world is now about eight million ounces,
of which California and Australia furnish nearly nine-tenths.
A large amount of our comforts and wealth is due to the
minerals which the skill of man thus procures out of the bowels
of the earth. The export and import of various minerals form a
leading feature of the commerce of the globe, employing and
enriching alike the inhabitants of those countries which send
away and those which receive them. Of iron alone, about a
million tons are annually exported from Britain, while she in turn
imports several million ounces of gold. The procuring of the
various minerals, and the manufacturing of them into articles
of use, such as machinery from iron, water-pipes from lead,
boilers and other vessels from copper, culinary utensils from tin
and its alloys, and watches and ornaments from silver and gold,
afford occupation to thousands of our fellow-men, and give a field
for the exercise of ingenuity and invention to those who work in
them.
We, in particular, have reason to be grateful to the Creator,
who has placed us on an island abounding in mineral resources
1 Sedimentary rocks which have been metamorphosed by the action of fire. (See Sixth
Reading-Book.)
 ON IRON. 279

such as few other countries possess, and none other can turn to so
many useful ends. They form the raw material from which we
supply a great number of our wants, our desires, and the means
of civilisation ; and upon them the prosperity and greatness of
our country in a great measure depend.

ON IRON.

Smelting Ore- Cast Iron.

IRON greatly excels all other metals in importance. The more

closely we study its employment in the arts, the more we wonder
at and admire its multitudinous and widely different uses . We
see it in the ponderous fly-wheel of the steam-engine, amounting
sometimes to a mass of many tons, and can trace it through a
million gradations of smaller objects, in all of which it scarcely
admits of a substitute, till we come to the most delicate watch-
spring. Often, too, it admirably replaces other materials, as
timber or stone, with the advantages of greater strength, or light-
ness, or beauty, as in the Leviathan steam-ship, the Menai Bridge,
and the Crystal Palace. In combination with oxygen, it dyes
calico an orange-yellow, and along with madder,¹ tinges it lilac,
or purple, or black. In a similar way it colours glass orange-
green, or olive, bricks red, and gives delicate tints to several
gems. To it also is due alike the welcome reddish tints of many
of our country roads, and the unwelcome brownish stains on many
of our town buildings. Iron is also extensively employed in the
manufacture of ink, dyes, and pigments ; and in medicine as well
as in photography. But, before we dwell longer on the manifold
uses of this most interesting metal, we must look at the mode in
which it is extracted from its ores, and converted into Cast Iron ,
Malleable Iron, and Steel.
Of the three ores of iron from which the metal is obtained for
commercial purposes, two are oxides ; that is, they are composed
1. Madder, a plant largely used in dyeing.
280 SMELTING OF ORE.

simply of oxygen and iron. They are named, respectively, black

oxide or magnetic iron ore, and red oxide or hæmatite. The
black oxide differs from the red only in containing, proportionally,
a little more iron. Both abound in several parts of the world,
magnetic ore being largely wrought in Sweden, and hæmatite in
Lancashire and Cumberland in England. The metal can be ob-
tained from those ores by simply heating them with charcoal, the
black oxide especially yielding the finer kinds of iron. The third
ore we are to consider is by far the most abundant in Great Bri-
tain, namely, clay iron-ore, otherwise called ironstone, and when
impregnated with much coaly matter, blacklead. In other words,
the iron is intimately united with the gaseous body called oxygen,
as well as with clay and the gas carbonic acid. The mode in
which the metal is obtained from the ore may be thus shortly
explained :-
A peculiar conical furnace is erected to receive the ore and the
materials for reducing it. Those who have visited the iron dis-
tricts of the north of England, some parts of Wales, and Lanark-
shire in Scotland, need not be told of the striking appearance of
these blast-furnaces, as they are called, with their summits flam-
ing ceaselessly all the year round. They are especially striking
when the darkness of night leaves them to light up the country
for miles around. Even when hills hide them from the spectator,
the flame is powerful enough to shed a glowing reflection on the
sky, puzzling to the stranger.
An iron blast furnace is internally a double cone ; that is,
like two flower-pots placed mouth to mouth, one on the top
of the other. It is built of fire-bricks, and resembles a large
chimney ; but, unlike a chimney, it has no fireplace or grate
below. Externally, it takes the form of a single cone, or
sugar-loaf, on account of the mass of building at the base, and
is not unfrequently fifty feet high, and thirty feet in diameter
at the bottom. Around the summit a gallery runs, to which the
ore and other materials are conveyed by a hoisting machine from
below, or by a railway passing from a suitable elevation. From
this gallery an excellent bird's-eye view may generally be obtained
of the operations of an iron-work. In one direction large open
 IRON. 281

heaps of ironstone, intermingled with burning fuel, are seen under-

going the process of " roasting," or " calcination," during which
the ore loses everything but oxide of iron and clay. Beside these
are piles of coal for the fuel, to feed the blast furnace, and lime-
stone, which acts as a " flux ;" that is, confers fusibility on the
other materials. The roasted or calcined ore, the coal, and the lime,
are each in their turn conveyed to the openings at the top of the
chimney, and thrown down in layers into the body of the furnace,
which is kept constantly burning. Powerful currents of heated
air are blown through pipes into the lower part of the furnace by
means of a steam-engine, to increase the intensity of the heat.
After several hours, the clay of the ore fuses with the lime into a
coarse glass or slag in the upper part of the furnace, whilst the
metallic iron being thus separated, sinks by its weight through
the mass of burning fuel. In so descending, however, it un-
avoidably unites with charcoal, and becoming, in consequence,
much more fusible, settles as a molten mass at the bottom, where
a cavity below the blowers receives it, the lighter slag floating
on the top of the fused metal. At the end of every eight or
twelve hours a plug is removed from an opening in front of the
furnace, and the melted metal runs off and is conducted into
channels or short narrow grooves made in a bed of sand. When
the melted masses have cooled in these grooves they are called
pigs, from a fanciful notion that they resemble, when in the
sand, a litter of pigs suckled by their parent.
This pig-iron is also called cast-iron, because it can be easily
melted or cast, and contains about five parts in the hundred
(by weight) of carbon or charcoal. Cast-iron is used for so
many purposes, that it is vain attempting to detail them.
Of it are made all the massive as well as many of the finer parts
of large machines, steam-engines, iron buildings and bridges ;
boilers of all kinds, pipes, pots, kettles, and culinary vessels gene-
rally ; gates, railings, balconies, lamp-pillars, grates, fenders, and
other larger kinds of more or less ornamental work ; and of
purely decorative articles we have statuettes, vases, flower-stands,
and even bracelets, earrings, and breastpins, scarcely inferior in
finish and beauty to those executed in the costlier metals- bronze,
282 MALLEABLE IRON AND STEEL.

silver, and gold. Its general utility in the arts arises from its
ready fusibility and susceptibility for being cast in moulds,
whereas malleable iron must be hammered, forged, or rolled.

Malleable or Wrought-Iron .
It is necessary, however, to have the metal in such a condi-
tion that it can be worked by the hammer into any given form.
Iron of this kind is called malleable, and is made from cast-iron
by re-melting it in an open furnace, through which streams of air
are blown. The effect of this re-melting is to burn off the carbon
in the cast-iron, and consequently to remove from it all impurities.
The aim of the manufacturer, indeed, is to render the iron abso-
lutely pure, but in actual practice he only approaches to this.
After being puddled as it is called, that is, stirred about in a
close furnace raised to a high heat, till it becomes a spongy
solid, it is gathered by the puddling rod into balls or blooms, and
then removed from the furnace to be formed with heavy hammers
into bars, or with rollers into sheets. Wrought-iron has the valu-
able property of welding, by which two pieces admit of being
hammered together at a white heat, so as to form one solid mass.
As contrasted with cast-iron , it can be bent or drawn out at plea-
sure, but it is much more liable to rust where exposed to the atmos-
phere. The uses of this kind of iron are quite as numerous as
the last, and indeed the two are very often employed together.
It is largely used for steam-ships, for bridges, for roofs, for imple-
ments, instruments, and tools ; for chains, ropes, and wire-work
of every kind ; for locks, keys, nails, pins, and all the countless
articles of the hardware merchant. For those purposes it has the
advantages of freedom from brittleness, at the same time that
it is tough and tenacious.

Steel.

Steel is pure iron, with an addition of a little more than one

part in the hundred of carbon. It is thus intermediate between
cast-iron, containing much carbon, and malleable iron, which is
 POTTERY. 283

best when containing none. It is commonly made by heating

wrought-iron embedded in powdered charcoal till it absorbs the
necessary amount of carbon. Its properties differ considerably
from those of malleable-iron ; steel is harder, more brittle, more
elastic, and takes a finer and more lasting cutting edge it also
admits of a higher polish, and is less easily rusted. Various
degrees of elasticity and hardness can be given to steel by heating
it to different temperatures, and then suddenly cooling it. This
is called the tempering of steel. Like the other varieties of iron,
it is manufactured into an immense variety of implements, tools,
and ornamental articles. It is invaluable for sharp, cutting in-
struments, as swords, knives, edge-tools, scissors, and the like
for files, boring tools, and many kinds of hammers ; and not least,
for the various kinds of fine springs, needles, and steel-pens. To
such an extent is the division of labour carried in the manufac-
ture of even the smallest of these objects, that a single needle
often passes through the hands of seventy different workers before
it is ready for the market.

POTTERY.
POTTERY is one of the most ancient as well as one of the most
interesting of the arts. From its simplicity it has probably been
one of the first manufactures of every nation, sun-dried bricks
being one of its earliest products. The chief substance used by
the potter is the well-known material clay. Alumina (the oxide
of the metal aluminum) , united with silica or sand, forms what
may be called a typical clay. But most clays contain in addition
lime, magnesia, potash, oxide of iron, and other ingredients.
Clays which contain little or no oxide of iron are either naturally
white or they burn white in the kiln . Such clays are rare, and
are highly prized for the finer kinds of pottery.
Bricks, tiles, drain-pipes, and common brown earthenware
vessels, as basins, cans, flower-pots, and the like, are made of
ordinary clay, which always burns red in consequence of the pre-
sence of iron in its composition. Fire-bricks and chimney-cans
284 POTTERY.

are made of a more refractory kind with a buff colour which is

due to a smaller proportion of iron oxide.
For the white ware of our tables the finer clays of Cornwall,
Devonshire, and Dorsetshire are alone used ; the beautiful china
clay from the decomposing granites of Cornwall being the chief
ingredient in English china or porcelain. A similar material has
been in use for centuries in making the famous Chinese porcelain ;
but it has been known in Europe only since the beginning of the
eighteenth century. Potters' clay is always mixed with a certain
proportion of ground flints, and great care and labour are bestowed
upon its preparation. Grinding-mills and sieves of various kinds
are used to free it from lumps, and to bring it to a fine general
consistency resembling dough. The prepared clay is called the
body or paste, and is afterwards either " thrown " on a wheel, or
66
pressed " into moulds which give it the desired form.
The chief machine used in the construction of clay vessels is
the potter's wheel, which has come down to us from the most
ancient times with scarcely any improvement. It is simply an
upright revolving shaft surmounted by a flat disc or small round
table. Motion is communicated to it by the potter or " thrower,"
as he is called, or by an assistant turning a driving-wheel. The
process of throwing is a remarkably pretty one. A piece of shape-
less clay is placed upon the disc, to which it adheres by its own
tenacity. The thrower, seizing this with his hands, passes it
rapidly, aided by the whirling motion of the disc, through several
symmetrical forms, till he gets the sides of the vessel to the right
thickness. He then continues, by a similar manipulation, to bring
the teapot into its desired shape ; the time occupied with the
whole being only a few minutes. When completed , it is cut off
its seat by means of a wire. A better finish is afterwards given
to the surface by turning the thrown vessel on a lathe.
The teapot has still to get its spout and handle, which cannot
be formed on the wheel but must be made in moulds of stucco or
plaster of Paris. This operation is called " pressing ; " the flattened-
out clay being squeezed or pressed into the mould till it takes the
shape required. Vessels departing much from a circular form are
made entirely by moulds.
 POTTERY . 285

The teapot is now carefully dried, and then, along with other
articles, put into cylindrical pans of fire-clay. These pans, or
seggars, are put up in piles inside a fire-brick chamber, termed a
kiln or oven. It is some sixteen feet in diameter, and twenty
feet high, and is surrounded by fires which are kept burning from
two to three days. The ware is then removed from the kiln in a
porous state, called biscuit. From twenty to thirty thousand
pieces of pottery are fired in the kiln at one time.
If the teapot is to have a pattern, it is put on it while in the
biscuit state. Suppose a blue-coloured pattern is wished : oxide
of cobalt (the metal cobalt combined with oxygen gas), powdered
glass and oil, are mixed together and painted on the vessel. The
oil is afterwards driven off by heat, and the teapot is then ready
to be glazed. It is the curious process of glazing, that is, covering
the surface with a glass, which gives to pottery the valuable pro-
perty of being so easily kept clean. The glaze is put on by simply
dipping the ware into a tub containing the ingredients of glass
mixed up to the consistency of cream. The porous vessel readily
absorbs a coating of the glazing material, which obscures all ap-
pearance of the pattern, till it is fused into a transparent glass
by a second firing in a kiln, when the pattern again becomes
visible through the glassy surface.
Porcelain or china differs from common pottery or earthenware,
mainly in the addition of some vitreous or glassy matter to the
clay. It is also fired at a higher heat than earthenware. Porce-
lain has a translucent appearance when viewed by transmitted
light. Pottery, on the other hand, is quite opaque.
Notwithstanding the fragile nature of baked clay, manufacturers
have not hesitated to cover vases and other objects of this material
with the most beautiful and costly decorations. A plate of Italian
majolica (a coarse enamelled earthenware of the fifteenth century) ,
has been sold for more than a hundred pounds, owing to the
value of the picture painted upon it ; while some richly-decorated
porcelain vases, scarcely more than a foot high, executed at the
celebrated French manufactory at Sèvres, have brought prices
little short of a thousand pounds each.
286 BUILDING-STONES AND QUARRYING .

BUILDING-STONES AND QUARRYING.

BUILDING-STONES are derived from the harder kinds of rocks,

and are included in one or other of the two great classes called
by geologists the stratified and the unstratified. The former are
also termed aqueous or sedimentary rocks, and are composed of
layers of mud, sand, shells, and the like, which have been de-
posited at the bottom of seas, lakes, or estuaries, and have been
afterwards more or less compressed and indurated, forming clay-
slate, sandstone, limestone, and marble.¹ The unstratified or
igneous rocks are so called from having been once fused or melted
by heat ; and have, in most cases at least, been thrown up to the
surface of the earth by volcanic action. They are massive and
crystalline, and include granite, porphyry, greenstone, and lava.
Stones, however, admit of being divided into two groups in
another way, which, perhaps, brings out their general character
in a clearer light, so far as building purposes are concerned. One
group comprises all siliceous stones, or those which are mainly
composed of silica (of which sand or flint is an example), and
includes all the igneous rocks besides sandstone, clayslate, and
several others. Those included in this division are, generally
speaking, the most durable, being, as a class, hard, compact, and
not easily worn by rain or the atmosphere. The other group
comprehends all calcareous stones, or those which are chiefly com-
posed of lime, and includes all the varieties of marble, common
limestone, magnesian limestone, and alabaster. Some of these,
such as magnesian and oolitic limestones, generally endure well ;
but many of them are unsuited for external work in moist climates,
especially fine marble and alabaster, which being to some extent
soluble in rain-water, are soon affected bythe weather. The great use
of limestone in this country is to burn into lime, which is so much
required for mortars, cements, and many other purposes in the arts.
Edinburgh and Aberdeen may be instanced as examples of
cities built of siliceous stone ; -the former of sandstone from the
great beds of the carboniferous formation, the latter of the granite
1 See Lessons on Geology in the Sixth English Reading Book.
 BUILDING-STONES AND QUARRYING. 287

which abounds in its neighbourhood . London and Oxford, on the

other hand, have most of their public edifices built of different
kinds of limestone.
We shall now take a look at the operations of the quarryman,
and in doing so it will be well to bear in mind the distinction
between a bedded or stratified rock like sandstone or limestone,
and a non-bedded rock like greenstone or porphyry. Blasting
consists in making a hole like a gun-barrel in the solid rock, and
then charging and firing it. Large masses of stone are thus sepa-
rated by the force of the powder. The hole is generally about an
inch and a half in diameter, and from two to four feet deep,
and is made with an iron rod called a jumper, which has a wedge-
shaped end of steel. The quarryman bores by a continuous and
tedious revolving with this tool, water being poured in at inter-
vals to keep the jumper cool, while another workman strikes the
head of the rod with a heavy hammer. This operation lasts for
several hours. When finished, a charge of large-grained gun-
powder is inserted, and some hay or turf firmly stemmed or pressed
in above it. The shot is then fired with a match or fuse, which
burns long enough to allow the workmen time to reach a place
of safety before the powder ignites.
In the case of stratified rocks, which always separate in layers
or fakes, as they are called by the workmen, much of the material
can often be obtained by wedging, without the aid of gunpowder.
Indeed, the more this is done the better, as blasting often shatters
and rends the stone far more than is desirable. Unstratified rocks,
on the contrary, must nearly always be loosened in the first in-
stance with gunpowder. But however separated from the parent
rock, the masses of stone are next cut up into smaller blocks by
means of iron-wedges and hammers of various sizes. The stones
are then roughly dressed with a pick into the forms required for
foundations, ashler, door and window rybats, lintels, sills, steps,
and the like. Those pieces which are too small for hewn-work
are used for rubble.
There are many very large quarries in the British Islands, of
which we may instance those of Aberdeenshire and Cornwall for
granite, those of Midlothian for sandstone, those of Forfar and
288 GAS-LIGHT.

Caithness for flagstones ; the quarries of Derbyshire, and some

parts of Ireland, for marbles, of Yorkshire for magnesian lime-
stones, and of Wales and Argyllshire for roofing-slates. The
famous slate-quarries of Penrhyn, in North Wales, produce one
hundred and fifty thousand tons of slates per annum, and employ
above two thousand hands.
In the construction of the stonework of a building, two classes
of mechanics are required ;-the one called hewers, who dress or
fashion the stones ; the other styled builders, who erect the walls.

GAS- LIGHT.

JUST half a century ago ( 1810), London began to be lighted

with gas, which was the first attempt to introduce it into the
streets and buildings of a city, although one or two individuals
had so lighted their houses some years earlier. Gas-lighting, then ,
is entirely a modern achievement. Curiously enough, however, the
Persian fire-worshippers have been burning marsh-gas (the chief
ingredient in coal-gas), as it issues from the ground, for some forty
centuries. The Chinese have done the same, but they have used
it for light and heat to their salt-works instead of for altar-fires.
There is a village in America, and another in England, which
either are or can be lighted with the same gas, owing to the pro
fusion with which it exhales from the ground.
Gas is now almost wholly manufactured from coal.¹
Coal is mineralized vegetable matter, and has been happily
described as the locked-up sun-light and sun-heat of former ages.
It may be divided into two leading kinds :-The one termed
anthracite, or blind coal, which is nearly all carbon, and burns
with little or no flame ; on this account it is unsuited for gas-
1 The gas obtained from both oil and resin is purer, and gives a brighter light, but the
comparatively high cost forbids the use of either wherever gas-coal can be conveniently ob-
tained. Gas for illuminating purposes can also be procured from other substances, as wood
and peat ; and there are works at Rheims, in France, where it is made from a rather
singular source, namely, the waste soapy water from the woollen-mills, or, more properly
speaking, from the fatty matters contained in it.
 GAS-LIGHT. 289

making. The other is called bituminous coal, from its containing

the waxy material, bitumen, in addition to carbon, which always
preponderates : it burns for a time with a bright flame. Gas can
be manufactured from any bituminous coal ; the most suitable,
however, is a variety called cannel, from its flaming like a candle.
It is also named parrot, from its crackling noise when thrown
upon the fire. This coal is rich in hydrogen, which, when com-
bined with carbon, forms the useful compounds in gas.
The greater portion of coal-gas consists of a compound of carbon
and hydrogen. Light carburetted hydrogen, called also marsh-gas,
and by miners fire-damp, forms about half its bulk ; heavy car-
buretted hydrogen, or olefiant gas, is present to a smaller extent,
but adds greatly to its illuminating power. These two gases are
the only constituents required for the production of light and heat,
but there exist also as offensive impurities, carbonic acid, sulphur-
etted hydrogen, ammonia, prussic acid, and occasionally others .
In the manufacture of gas, a closed vessel, called a retort, is
used for distilling the coal. It is made of cast-iron or fire-clay, and
in most cases is either cylindrical or D-shaped. In size, it is usually
from six to nine feet long, and one foot wide. When of iron, and
cylindrical in form, it somewhat resembles a large cannon, but with
a wider bore and thinner walls. In large works where a great many
retorts are necessary, several are built into one furnace or oven,
and are placed horizontally. The workman in charging a retort
throws in the coals with a shovel, and then immediately screws
on the lid. The distillation is then allowed to go on for a period
varying from four to six hours, during which a glowing red heat
is maintained . An upright pipe on the front of each retort con-
ducts the gas, as fast as it is distilled, to a larger horizontal pipe
termed the hydraulic main. Here a large portion of the tar and
water, which is always mixed with the gas, condenses, that is,
passes from a gaseous into a liquid state, and flows over into a
pit called the tar-well. The hydraulic main is always kept half
full of liquid, into which the gas-pipes dip, for the purpose of
preventing the retorts from communicating with each other. The
gas is next conducted through a series of upright pipes called the
condensers, where it is thoroughly cooled, and any water and tarry
T
290 WOOD AND ITS APPLICATIONS.

vapours still suspended in it are separated. It is now ready for

purification by chemical means.
The purifiers are large iron-chests, either square or round, and
contain several wire-cloth trays above each other. Upon these
quicklime is spread, which has the property of absorbing carbonic
acid and sulphuretted hydrogen, the two principal impurities of
coal-gas. Ammonia, another impurity, is removed by passing the
gas through weak vitriol, or sometimes only through water. The
gas then passes straight to the gas-holder, a large capacious vessel
built of sheets of malleable iron, which has no bottom. It is set
in a tank of water, and counterpoised with iron-weights, to enable
it to rise and fall according as it is more or less filled. The water
thus forms a kind of bottom to imprison the gas. From this it
is distributed in pipes through the town ready for use.
In London there are more than a dozen gas companies, which
supply on an average above ten millions cubic feet of gas per day,
and which requires for its production about one thousand tons of
coal. The estimated length of main pipes in the streets is up-
wards of two thousand miles.

WOOD AND ITS APPLICATIONS.

TREES are not more distinguished for the variety of their beau-
tiful and majestic forms when growing, than for the many pur-
poses of utility and ornament to which their wood is applied.
Timber holds a rank among the products of the vegetable kingdom
analogous to that of iron in the mineral, and, to a great extent,
competes with it for different purposes in the arts.
The term wood is applied to the stems of trees and shrubs,
which are strong, firm, and solid ; but roots also yield wood of a
peculiar kind. Stems of trees are divisible into two great groups,
namely, exogenous stems, which increase on the outside by annual
zones or layers of wood arranged around a central pith, the
whole being enclosed by an outer layer of bark ; and endogenous
stems, whose new woody matter develops itself towards the centre
 WOOD AND ITS APPLICATIONS. 291

of the trunk. The latter have no concentric layers, but merely

a ground of one kind studded with specks of another, as in palm-
trees. There is a third kind of stem furnished by tree ferns,
which is made up of a succession of bases of leaves. It is termed
acrogenous, but is unimportant in an economical sense.
Nearly all the wood of commerce is furnished by exogenous
trees. The outer portion of these stems immediately within the
bark, being the newest, contains the most juice, and on this ac-
count is called the sapwood. The inner and more solid portion
is termed the heartwood. In trees which are well developed by
age, the difference between the outer and inner layers is not so
marked as in younger wood ; the former accordingly yield the
best timber. Heartwood being freest of sap is the least liable
to decay ; but in many trees, such as the pines, the heartwood is
brittle and corky, and is never so strong as the outer portion of
the stem, especially when the latter has been well seasoned.
The thorough drying, or as it is called the seasoning of timber,
is of great importance. Newly felled wood contains nearly a third
of its weight of water, but it contains least when cut down in
winter, which is therefore the best season for felling. The object
of seasoning is to dissipate the sap as well as the perishable in-
gredients contained in it, and so allow the woody fibres to con-
tract and adjust themselves into a compact structure. When
trees are felled, the new logs are exposed for a time to the weather,
to allow the sap to evaporate as much as possible. When after-
wards sawn into planks, they are carefully placed in a position
where the air may circulate freely around them, and are so left
from one to several years before they are dry enough to be used
for building or other purposes. If not properly seasoned, wood
is liable to destruction from several causes, but especially from
dry rot, a species of decay arising from the development of a
minute fungous plant.
We pass now to some of the applications of wood. Between
two and three million loads of foreign timber are annually con-
sumed in Great Britain, in addition to the produce of our own
forests. The greater part of this is employed in large construc-
tive works, as ship-building, house-building, mill-machinery, and
292 WOOD AND ITS APPLICATIONS.

on railways for sleepers and the like. A large man-of-war is said

to be composed of about three thousand loads of timber. For
building purposes generally, various species of pine, as spruce,
larch, and Scotch fir are most largely used, being all compara-
tively soft and easily worked. Elm, ash, and beech are also in
considerable demand. Oak is pre-eminently strong and durable,
and is much employed, especially in ship-building. It is, how-
ever, a costly wood to work, on account of its hardness. Teak,
an excellent Indian timber, is now to some extent used instead of
oak for marine purposes.
Furniture and ornamental woods are very numerous, and
many of them are very beautiful. Mahogany stands highest
in importance. It is, perhaps, the best known of all woods, as it
forms part of the furniture of almost every house. The finer
kinds are very costly, and are cut up into veneers or thin sheets
to face inferior woods. Three logs of mahogany, the produce of
a single tree, have been known to sell for £3000. Oak, birch,
walnut, bird's-eye maple, zebra wood, tulip wood, camphor wood,
and a multitude of others, are all used by the cabinet-maker, who
has no lack of varied material to satisfy the caprices of fashion.
Marquetry, or inlaid work, is a branch which requires the greatest
number of contrasted colours. Many of the rarer woods are
therefore used for this purpose alone. Fine specimens of inlaying
will sometimes cost £ 12 and upwards the square yard.
Some woods are peculiarly adapted for special purposes, as
ebony for turning, lime-tree for carving, boxwood for wood-engrav-
ing, and a species of juniper for pencil-making. In the form of
thin shavings, wood is often used as a substitute for paper, in
order to save the duty, while paper itself is now manufactured
from the raspings of poplar, Scotch fir, and other trees.
Wood also yields many valuable chemical products, among
others, charcoal, dyes, resin, turpentine, camphor, perfumes, wood
alcohol, and wood-vinegar. Cork, and materials for tanning
leather, are obtained from bark.
The chief artificers who work in wood are the Carpenter, the
Joiner, the Millwright, the Cabinet-maker, and the Turner.
 THE CORN - PLANTS. $93

THE CORN-PLANTS.

THRESHING-MILLS- FLOUR-MILLS- BAKING.

THE plants which yield the greatest supply of food to man are
wheat, oats, barley, rye, rice, and maize or Indian corn ; all of
them belonging to the vast family of the grasses, the natural order
Graminacea of the botanist. They are also termed the cereals
(from Ceres the goddess of corn) or corn-plants. The grass family
also includes the sugar-cane, besides a large number of plants in-
valuable as herbage and fodder for animals. Rice and maize are
mostly cultivated in tropical and sub-tropical climates ; while
wheat, oats, barley, and rye belong more to the temperate regions,
although wheat also thrives well in the warmer countries. It is
said that the greatest number of the human race derive their
support from rice. The bread furnished by wheat, however, being
the prevailing food of the British Islands, and indeed of Europe
generally, although oats and rye are much used also, we shall
devote what follows to the various processes it undergoes before
reaching our tables as bread.
It may be said that there are three distinct processes through
which wheat passes before it presents itself in the form of bread.
1. Threshing the plant to separate the seeds of grain : 2. Grind-
ing the grain into flour and, 3. Preparing the bread from the
flour.

The Threshing Mill. —The Threshing-mill in former times was

commonly driven either by horse or water power, but steam has now,
to a great extent, supplanted both ; so much so, indeed, that many
farmers find it more economical to hire a portable steam threshing-
machine than to use the horse-mill attached to their own farm . A
threshing-machine consists essentially of three parts, namely, a drum
to beat or rub the corn ; a shaker to shake the loose seeds out of
the straw ; and fanners to blow off the chaff. The drum, as its
name implies, is a hollow cylinder, some four feet long and two
in diameter, upon which are several projections placed lengthwise,
294 THE FLOUR MILL.

called beaters. The chief difference between what are termed the
Scotch and the English modes of threshing lies in the way these
beaters act ; in the former they strike the grain while it is held
by the feeding-rollers, in the latter they rub the corn against a
concave wire grating. In either case the object is to separate
the seeds from the ears. Adjoining the drum is the shaker, which
next receives the straw mixed with grain. It is of various forms,
but all of them are adapted by a vibratory or other motion to shake
the loose seeds of grain through a sparred screen, the straw being
carried forward and thrown out at the farther end of the machine.
Somewhere under the drum and shaker a fanner is placed, which
consists of an enclosed wheel commonly with four arms, with
vanes or flat boards at their extremities. When set in rapid
motion the fan creates a powerful blast, and thus blows off the
chaff while the grain is in the act of falling into a suitable receiver.

The Flour Mill.-We have now traced the wheat to the stage
where the farmer hands it over to the miller to be ground into
flour. Few persons, even among the very young, are wholly un-
acquainted with the appearance of a flour-mill, especially those
which are driven by water-power. There is, in truth, scarcely a
considerable stream in this country which does not drive mill-
wheels in different parts of its course, and they are often situated
in some romantic spot where the current acquires additional
force from a water-fall or cascade ; the mill itself generally adding
much to the picturesqueness of the scene.
Flour-mills are set in motion either by steam, by water, or not
unfrequently by both combined ; wind being occasionally, but now
rarely, employed. Water-wheels are of three kinds, namely, the
overshot-wheel, where the water is admitted near the top into
buckets disposed on the outer rim ; the undershot-wheel, which
has its underside dipping into the stream, and is turned round by
flat float-boards instead of buckets ; and lastly, the breast-wheel,
where the falling current is introduced somewhere near the level of
the centre of the wheel, and which may be moved either by
buckets or float-boards.
The essential parts of a flour-mill are the same whatever the
 BAKING. 295

kind of power employed, so that the following description of one

driven by water will suffice. On the same axis as the large
water-wheel there is a smaller one with teeth, called a cog-wheel,
and both, of course, move round in a vertical direction ; the
latter moves another still smaller, but now horizontal wheel, in
the centre of which is fixed the upright spindle or shaft, which
passes through a hole in the centre of the lower millstone and has
the upper one fixed upon it. These stones are circular, and are
enclosed in a box, the lower stone being immovable, and the upper
revolving with the shaft already referred to. On the top of the
enclosing case there is a square box or hopper with a narrow
opening at the bottom. Here the grain is introduced, and, de-
scending through a hole in the upper millstone, finds its way into
the narrow space between the two stones, and is there ground to
flour. On the grinding surface of both stones a number of narrow
grooves or channels are cut, radiating from the centre to the cir-
cumference, each groove having one side sharper than the other,
and so arranged that the sharp sides of those on the upper stone
work against the corresponding ones on the lower, and thus cut
the grain like a pair of scissors. Those shreds or cuttings are
then ground into flour by the plain parts of the stones, and there-
after thrown out between them on all sides by the centrifugal
motion. Finally, the flour falls through a spout under the mill-
stone into a bin or other receiving vessel.
The next business is the dressing of the flour ; that is, the
dividing of it into about half-a-dozen sorts, each having a different
degree of fineness. This is done by a slanting cylinder of wire-
cloth divided lengthways into compartments, with different-sized
openings between the wires, and having a series of brushes re-
volving inside, which force out the flour between the meshes, the
finest coming through the first division, the second through the
next, and so on ; the bran, from its coarseness, being discharged
at the lower end of the cylinder, without passing through the
wire-cloth at all. Corresponding divisions below the cylinder
receive the different varieties of the flour.

! Baking. The flour next comes into the hands of the baker,
296 BAKING.

whose operations we shall now take a glance at. His first object
is to get a dough made which is light and porous, and fit to be
fired in the oven. This is usually attained by mixing the flour
with water and brewers' yeast, and adding a little salt, to give it
an agreeable taste. The mixture is then left in a trough or chest
for twelve hours, at a temperature of about 70 degrees, during
which time a portion of the starch becomes first sugar, and
thereafter is fermented into alcohol (spirit of wine) and carbonic
acid gas. The latter being generated through the whole mass, is
confined by the tough nature of the dough, and causes it to
swell, and become what the baker calls sponge. Instead of adding
yeast, leaven is sometimes employed to cause fermentation.
Leaven is dough kept twenty-four hours in a warm place till it
ferments of itself, and when this is mixed with new dough, the
action spreads through the whole mass, and a sponge is obtained as
above. A third part more of flour, with a little water, is now
added to the sponge, which is weighed out into pieces for the
loaves, well kneaded, and then placed in the oven.

EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE,
PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY.
 LIST OF PUBLICATIONS

INCLUDING

CONSTABLE'S EDUCATIONAL SERIES

ISSUED BY

JAMES GORDON, EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER

51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH.

 THE undersigned begs to state that he will in future carry on the
business of an EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER at No. 51 , Hanover Street,
Edinburgh. Besides other Publications, the Works issued under the
title of CONSTABLE'S EDUCATIONAL SERIES have passed into
his hands, and important additions to the List are in preparation.

JAMES GORDON,
Ofthe late Firm of Thomas Constable & Co.

51, HANOVER STREET,

EDINBURGH, 30th June 1860.
 51, HANOVER STREET, Edinburgh,
September 1860.

Constable's Educational Series.

Copies ofany of the Books of this Series sent on inspection to Teachers

applying to the Publisher.

I.
Second Edition.

Advanced Reading Book, Literary and Scien-

tific, Price 48.
Containing original Lessons on—·
ZOOLOGY, by R. Patterson, Esq. (Belfast).
PHYSICS, by Professors Kelland ( Edinburgh), and Tyndall (London) .
THE HUMAN BODY, by Dr. Struthers ( Edinburgh) .
VEGETABLE PRODUCTS AND THEIR USES, by Professor Archer (Liver-
pool).
SOCIAL ECONOMY, by W. A. Shields, Esq. (Peckham.)
BOTANY, by Professor Balfour (Edinburgh).
Besides numerous selected Literary Extracts.
Books of this class are the very things which are now wanted.- Literary
Gazette.
Schoolmasters will be doing justice to their pupils, and will save them-
selves much unnecessary trouble in the shape of teaching, by introducing
this really valuable Class Book into their schools without delay.- EDWIN
ADAMS, English Master, Grammar School, Chelmsford, and Author of " The
Geographical Word Expositor, " &c., &c.

II.
ELEMENTARY READING BOOKS.

1. First English Reading Book.

Part I., 2d. Part II., 4d. Part III., 6d.
2. Second English Reading Book. Price 9d.

3. Fourth English Reading Book. Price 1s. 8d.

4. Fifth English Reading Book. Price 2s. 6d.

5. Sixth English Reading Book. Price 3s
 JAMES GORDON, EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER,

III.

School Geography. By JAMES CLYDE, LL.D.,

Author of " Greek Syntax, with a Rationale of the Construc-
tions," &c. Third Edition. Price 48.

We have been struck with the ability and value of this work, which is a
great advance upon previous Geographic Manuals. . . Almost for the first
time, we have here met with a School Geography that is quite a readable
book,—one that, being intended for advanced pupils, is well adapted to make
them study the subject with a degree of interest they have never yet felt in
it... Students preparing for the recently-instituted University and Civil
Service examinations, will find this their best guide.—Athenæum.
Dr. Clyde's work has many excellent and original features, which entitle
it to be placed on a level with the best works on the subject which have
come under our notice. It is written with great vigour and power of pic-
turesque language and arrangement, and is particularly valuable for the skill
with which the most important geographical facts are selected from the great
mass of topographical details with which most books on geography abound,
and graphically and strikingly put in a way which cannot fail to make a per-
manent impression on the memory. - Educational Times.
The best work of the kind that we have seen. The author enters in spirit
upon the green soil of a kingdom, and commences to explain its expanse of
hill and dale. His comprehensive glance detects the lines of division which
nature herself has drawn with a strong and sweeping hand. These he uses
in portioning out the land. At the same time, he describes, in concise and
graphic language, the outstanding features of each section... Having com-
pleted this minute investigation, he glances at the condition of the people,
their manners, customs, government, and religion. . . His book is unsurpassed
for comprehensive method and condensed learning.- Scottish Guardian.
The facts mentioned in connexion with each country and locality are
selected with unusual tact, and combine the element of interest with that of
practical utility most successfully. . . Dr. Clyde, far from being a mere
compiler, is a cultivated man of extensive , general information, who has
himself seen a great deal more than falls within the range of the ordinary
writers of Geographies . We are confident the practical teacher will
be grateful to us for the recommendation of such a work.— Witness.

IV.

Elementary Geography. By JAMES CLYDE,

LL.D. Second Edition. Price 1s. 6d.
 51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH. 5

V.
A Concise History of England in Epochs.
By J. F. CORKRAN. With Maps and Chronological Tables.
Price 28. 6d.
In this short History of England the writer has endeavoured to convey a
broad and full impression of its great Epochs, and to develop with care, but
in subordination to the rest of the narrative, the growth of Law and of the
Constitution . This he could attain within the limits prescribed only by
confining himself to the mere summarizing of events of minor importance-
none of which, however, has been left unnoticed. Where illustrious charac-
ters were to be brought into relief, or where the story of some great achieve-
ment merited a full narration, he has occupied more space than the length
of the history might seem to justify ; for it is his belief that a mere narration
of the Deeds of England in her struggles for liberty and for a high place
among the nations of the world, is more fertile in instruction to youth, and
more stimulating to a healthy and laudable ambition than any other mode of
treating our past. * * * * *
Recent events have been treated with more than usual fulness, as being
those under the influence of which our youth are rising into manhood, and
out of which must flow that history, in the formation of which they, as
citizens, must bear a part.- Preface.
Excellently adapted for the instruction of senior classes of schools and
junior students of our Training Colleges . - Scotsman.
Possesses numerous useful features, which distinguish it from most books
of its class.- EDWIN ADAMS, English Master, Grammar School, Chelmsford.

VI.
Latin Grammar for Elementary Classes.
By D'ARCY W. THOMPSON, M.A. CANTAB., Classical Master in
the Edinburgh Academy. Second Edition. Price 2s.
As far as I can judge, but that is not far, this seems the ne plus ultra of
a Grammar,-short and clear, comprehensive and compact ; I wish I had
had anything like it five-and-thirty years ago.-Dr. JOHN BROWN, Author of
"Hora Subsecivæ," " Rab and his Friends, " &c.; and Member of the
University Court, Edinburgh.
A new and valuable addition to the common stock of smaller Grammars.
Within little more than 100 pages, it condenses not only all that School
Latin Grammars usually give, but every now and then is enlivened by some
of the more easy and interesting results with which the modern science of
Comparative Philology is year by year enriching the study of language.-
Scotsman .
6 JAMES GORDON, EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER,

VII.

Morell's Grammar of the English Language,

together with an Exposition of the Analysis of Sentences.
Thirty-third Thousand. Price 2s., or with EXERCISES, 2s. 6d.

A Series of Graduated Exercises. Adapted

to MORELL'S " GRAMMAR AND ANALYSIS." Thirty-third Thou-
sand. Price 8d.; or in Limp Cloth, price 9d.

Morell's Essentials of English Grammar and

Analysis. Seventh Edition, Enlarged. Price 8d.; or in Limp
Cloth, price 9d.

From the Very Rev. THE DEAN OF HEREFORD.

I cannot help writing to tell you with what pleasure I have perused your
Grammar of the English Language and Series of Graduated Exercises, and
how well I think them fitted for the purposes for which you intended them ;
you do not overburthen us with words : they are truly useful, and exactly the
kind of books on this subject wanted for our pupil-teachers and school-
teachers, in all schools connected with the Committee of Council, and in all
others of a similar kind.
From JOHN ST. CLAIR, Esq. , Lecturer on English Language and Litera-
ture, Normal Institution, Castle Terrace, Edinburgh, and formerly
(for seven years) Teacher ofthe Parochial School, Arbroath.
In the old, but perhaps still extant method of teaching English Grammar
and Composition, certain fragmentary facts of the language were alone
exhibited, while the pupil was expected, by dint of trial and blunder, to
discover for himself some few of those principles of composition which
impart to the bare facts meaning and coherence . The few who succeeded,
more or less, in making that discovery, owed nothing to the system under
which they had been trained, and the great majority who necessarily failed,
much less.
Syntax and Composition cannot be really taught at all, unless based on the
principles so clearly enunciated and developed by Morell in his Analysis of
Sentences. These principles are nowhere else treated with any approach to
the same elegant simplicity. In that work they have been brought so com-
pletely within the grasp of average boyhood, that, during a pretty extensive
experience as teacher of a large elementary school, I have not found many
children unable easily to comprehend and practically apply them. In the
more recently published " Grammar and Analysis " the subject is still further
 51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH .

simplified. There, the fundamental principles underlying the Rules of

Grammar and Composition are first simply stated, then illustrated in the
actual practice of the language, and lastly, wrought into the pupil's habits of
thought and expression, by means of copious and admirable exercises . As
culture differs from cram, so does this method from that which it is destined
to supersede.

From G. BICKERTON, Esq., Edinburgh Institution.

The best proof I can offer of the high opinion I entertain of Mr. Morell's
Method of Analysis is, that I have followed his system for the last two years
in the instruction of the more advanced classes in the Edinburgh Academy.
By combining the Analysis with the Grammar, a great advantage has
been gained. In former treatises only one side of the Syntax or Sentence-
grammar of the language was exhibited ; and while, as regards the arrange-
ment, clearness, and accuracy of the Rules, Morell's may claim a place in
the first rank, the addition of the section that treats of the Analysis of Sen-
tences, gives it a completeness possessed by no other English Grammar that
I have hitherto seen.
From WALTER SCOTT DALGLEISH, A.M., Grange House School,
Edinburgh.
I have been led to entertain the highest opinion of Mr. Morell's new
English Grammar, not only as a means of communicating a thorough and
philosophical knowledge of the English language, but also as a most efficient
instrument of intellectual culture. In both these respects, but particularly
in the latter, I have no hesitation in saying that it excels all existing works
of a similar kind ; and accordingly I have introduced it into the higher classes
in this establishment. I have always considered Mr. Morell's " Analysis of
a Sentence " the best introduction to the art of English Composition, and it
is thus one great advantage of the present work, that it combines in one vol-
ume the best means of imparting instruction in the more advanced as well as
in the earlier stages of the study of the English language.

VIII.

Tables for Wall Use (From Morell's Grammar and Analysis) .

Size, 4 feet 3 inches by 3 feet 9 inches. Mounted on Cloth,
Price 5s. each, or with Rollers and Varnished , Price 8s. each.
I. TABLE OF PARTS OF SPEECH.
II. TABLE OF PARSING AND ANALYSIS.
8 JAMES GORDON, EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER.

IX.

The Principles and Practice of Early and In-

fant School-Education. With an Appendix of Hymns and Songs,
with Appropriate Melodies. By JAMES CURRIE, M.A., Principal
of the Church of Scotland Training College, Edinburgh. Second
Edition. Price 4s.

From R. DUNNING, Esq., Professor of the Art of Teaching, Home and

Colonial Training College, Gray's Inn Road, London.
[ Extract from a Letter to the Publishers. ]
Mr. Currie clearly knows the relative importance, and also the relative
position of principles and practice, and with a master hand puts them in
their respective places, and preserves their position. He has his compeers
in an effort to base the practice of the schoolroom on the recognised princi-
ples of childhood, but he outstrips them all in the way he has executed his
task. Perhaps in no point does he more excel other writers than in the
degree to which the practice he prescribes approximates to the principles he
unfolds . These principles are no mere flourishes with Mr. Currie, either
never applied, or applied very partially, or what is worse, contradicted in
every part of his practice. In confining his attention to Infant School-Edu-
cation, Mr. Currie has been enabled to treat the subject very distinctly,
broadly, and thoroughly, as well as to present what is fundamental. All
this he has done with an amount of clearness, discrimination, comprehensive-
ness, and felicity, which will render him a safe and successful guide to the
teacher and nursery- governess .

From the REV. C. H. BROMBY, Principal ofthe Church of England

Training College, Cheltenham.
I think highly of Mr. Currie's work, not only for what it actually accom-
plishes, but still more for what it suggests.
From the REV. J. G. CROMWELL, Principal of the Diocesan Training
College, Durham.
One ofthe most sensible, talented, and practical Treatises that have yet
issued from the English Press on the subject of Education.
Contains matters of the highest interest and practical value for parents and
all who have charge of the young. The principles as well as the details of
 51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH .

this most difficult branch of education are fully and ably laid down. Strong
good sense, kindly feeling, and large experience, are qualifications which
have enabled the author to produce a work which fills up an important place
in the literary aids to the art of tuition.- Literary Gazette.
A volume of excellent practical suggestions. -Leader.
We sincerely hope that every schoolmaster and mistress will read and study
this most useful and judicious work. -English Journal of Education.
The production of a wise and noble mind, rich with the fulness of experi-
ence only possible when powerful thought is combined with perpetual and
acute observation. We think it the best and wisest book on elementary
education we have ever read. If parents and teachers of children
will study with heart and soul this little book, the benefits to themselves and
their children cannot but be incalculable. -Manchester Examiner.

X.

The Elements of Musical Analysis. A Manual

for Normal Students and Elementary Teachers. By JAMES
CURRIE , M.A. , Author of " The Principles and Practice of Early
and Infant School-Education." Second Edition . Price 4s. 6d.
A book exactly suited to the requirements of pupil-teachers , and those
Schoolmasters who are preparing for Government Examinations , to whom we
especially recommend it.—English Journal of Education.
We have examined these Elements carefully, and cannot but congratulate
students of music on their having placed within their reach a manual of clear
arrangement and moderate price. Many elementary text-books on music
have fallen in our way, but none that we think so highly of as this . It is
very simple, and yet enters more into the rationale of music than any other
work we know of, in a moderate compass ; its method and exposition are
clear and forcible, and show the hand of a master in teaching. Mr. Currie's
Musical Analysis will, we are sure, be favourably received by all those
students who seek a thorough elementary knowledge of the subject.-Papers
for the Schoolmaster.
Mr. Currie appears to have performed his task with judgment and skill.
The examples given as illustrations are copious and well selected, the ex-
planations clear and practical.- Courant.
By the help of this book, without going further, the amateur will be
enabled, if not to compose, yet to understand, enjoy, and join in performing
the works of the greatest performers.- Spectator.
10 JAMES GORDON , EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER,

XI.

Household Economy. A Manual intended for

Female Training Colleges and the Senior Classes of Girls' Schools.
By MARGARET MARIA GORDON, Author of " Work ; or, Plenty
to do and how to do it ;" " Sunbeams in the Cottage ;" " Little
Millie and her Four Places," &c. &c. Third Edition. Price 2s.
Written in a plain, genial, attractive manner, and constituting, in the best
sense ofthe word, a practical domestic manual. -Athenæum.
Earnest, simple, cheerful, pointed cleverly throughout with anecdote and
illustration.-Examiner.
We considered it to be our duty to place this little book in the hands of a
lady who is well posted up in all these branches of domestic lore. Our adviser
states without hesitation , that Miss Brewster's Manual is a very clever one,
containing much useful matter in brief space, and conveyed in terms easily
understood .-Glasgow Herald.
It ought to be in every school, and in the hands and head of every artizan's
wife, while every wife and servant will derive good from its perusal. It is
just what such a book should be,-clear, sensible, wise, practical, pleasant to
read, easy to understand, and cheap to purchase.- Edinburgh Christian
Magazine.

XII.

Constable's School Registers.

1. REGISTER OF ADMISSION, PROGRESS, and WITHDRAWAL. Space for
1020 Names, and Alphabetical Index. Oblong post 4to, Stiffened
Cover. Price 38.
2. CLASS REGISTER OF ATTENDANCE, FEES, SCHOOL-WORK, AND MERIT.
Space for 48 Weeks, 4 Quarterly Summaries, and 1 Yearly Sum-
mary. Oblong Post 4to, Paper Cover. Price 6d.
3. SUMMARY OF ATTENDANCE AND FEES-Weekly, Quarterly, and Yearly
Summaries FOR WHOLE SCHOOL, for Five Years. Oblong Post 4to,
Stiffened Cover. Price 18. 6d.
4. DAILY REGISTER AND SUMMARY OF ATTENDANCE AND FEES FOR IN-
FANT-SCHOOL. Quarterly and Yearly Summaries for two Years.
Large Post 4to, Stiffened Cover. Price 28.
*** These Registers are arranged on a simple and concise plan, and are
so constructed as to furnish all the information required by Government and
Presbyteries.
 51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH. 11

XIII.

Book-keeping for the Class-Room and Counting-

House, by Double and Single Entry. With an Appendix on
• Commercial Forms. By JOHN MACLEAN, Teacher of Writing
and Book-keeping in the Edinburgh Academy, and in the Church
of Scotland Training College. Second Edition. Price 2s. 6d.

Key to the above. Price 4s.

This work has been prepared with a view to supply a clear and practical
manual for the learner, whether at school or at business. It has been care-
fully adapted to modes of Book-keeping actually in use, and has been sub-
mitted in MS. to gentlemen of extensive mercantile experience.
A superior work.- Athenæum .
As good an explanation of the principles of book-keeping by double and
single entry, illustrated by as clear an exposition of the practice as we re-
member to have met. -Spectator.
The author is a complete master of his subject, and has handled it in a
satisfactory manner. -Oxford and Middle Class Reporter.
A mercantile guide-book, as well as an educational work. We deem it
admirably adapted to both the ends which the author has had in view in its
production.-Manchester Weekly Advertiser.
A valuable book of reference .- Leader.
We know of no work on this topic, —and our acquaintance with the biblio-
graphy of the subject is somewhat extensive, at once so full and so concise,
so clear and so artistic and formatively correct, so exhaustive and so con-
densed, so perfect in theoretical exposition , so apt for practice. -The British
Controversialist.

XIV.

Theoretical and Practical Italian Grammar.

With Numerous Exercises and Examples, illustrative of every
Rule, and a Selection of Phrases and Dialogues. By E. LEMMI,
LL.D. of the University of Pisa, Advocate of Florence ; ITALIAN
TUTOR TO H. R. H. THE PRINCE OF WALES, &c. Fourth Edition.
Price 5s.
From COUNT SAFFI, Professor of the Italian Language at Oxford.
I have adopted your Grammar for the elementary instruction of students
of Italian in the Taylor Institution, and find it admirably adapted to the
purpose, as well for the order and clearness of the rules, as for the practical
excellence and ability of the exercises with which you have enriched it.
12 JAMES GORDON , EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER,

From L'ECO DI SAVONAROLA.- This work has to us five especial claims

to excellence :-It is complete in its rules and exceptions ; it says much, or
rather everything in a few words ; it is distinguished from others by its
superior clearness ; it is arranged with admirable order throughout ; Signor
Lemmi has presented to the youth of England an original Grammar,
containing numerous exercises and examples, which, while, on the one
hand, facilitating the study of the Italian language, offer, on the other, moral
instruction.

All who wish to master the Italian language for the purpose of seriously
studying its literature , will find in Dr. Lemmi's Grammar a faithful guide
and a most satisfactory book of reference ; those who aspire not only to read,
but also to write and speak Italian, if they think it worth while to secure
intelligibility by attaining accuracy, will find Dr. Lemmi's work an indis-
pensable complement to the merely practical manuals through which they
may have commenced their acquaintance with the language.-Morning Post.

This is one of the easiest and best Italian Grammars we have ever seen.
To all not mere children, who would begin Italian, and to all who would
maintain their acquaintance with it by conscientious study, we cordially com-
mend Dr. Lemmi's book.-English Journal ofEducation.

Clear, simple, and well arranged. The pupil is led on step by step from
what is plain and easy of apprehension, to what is more complicated and
difficult. The rules are enunciated with brevity and precision, and exempli-
fied by well-selected exercises.- Scotsman.

Brief, pithy rules, applied practically in numerous examples and exercises,

which are skilfully graduated from the opening to the closing lessons, and
embody most of the familiar expressions of daily life, as well as matter of
classical and literary interest, form the basis of the author's system, which
possesses the elements of simplicity and clearness in an eminent degree.-
Scotsman- second notice.

There is one portion of every Italian Grammar which may be regarded as

a test of its quality-we mean the chapter on pronouns, the extraordinary
richness of the language in those essential parts of speech, and their various
uses in connexion with the verb, making this chapter unusually complex.
We have therefore turned to Dr. Lemmi's exposition of the difficulties, and
find that nearly fifty pages are devoted to them, and that the information
and rules are given with great clearness and precision. The examples and
exercises also appear to be selected with good judgment.- Courant.
 51 HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH . 13

XV.

Object Lesson Cards ; on the Vegetable Kingdom.

Set of Twenty in a Box, price £1 , 1s. The Objects themselves are
affixed to the Cards, on which the Lessons are printed, showing
the uses of the Objects.
CONTENTS.
Plants cultivated for their Seed.
1. WHEAT.- Wheat- Straw-plait-Biscuit- Paper made of Wheat-
Straw- Macaroni.
2. COFFEE.- Leaf- Seed.
Plant cultivated for its Root.
3. GINGER. The Root-Leaf of Ginger Plant-Specimen of a cruci-
ferous flower and seed-pod.
Plants cultivated for their Timber.
4. SCOTCH FIR AND LARCH.-Specimen of leaves of each, and cones.
5. THE WILLOW TREE.- Osier Twigs-Willow-plait for Bonnets-
Material for bonnet frames.
6. OAK.- Leaf-Oak-bark- Acorn-Untanned leather-Tanned leather.
7. THE BEECH TREE.- Leaf- Beech-nut.
8. THE ASH TREE.- Leaf and Seed.
9. THE CHESTNUT.-Leaf and Nut.
10. THE BIRCH.-Leaf-Bark.
11. THE WALNUT TREE - Leaf and Nut.
12. THE CYPRESS AND CEDAR OF LEBANON.-Leaves of each.
13. THE SYCAMORE OR PLANE TREE.-Leaf.
Plants cultivated for their Fibre.
14. FLAX.- Specimen of plant before it is sent to the mill-Fibre of the
stalks-Thread- Linen.
15. HEMP.-Fibre of the stalks- Sail Cloth- Cord.
Plants cultivated for their Bark.
16. THE CORK TREE.-Bark- Bark prepared.
17. THE PAPYRUS OR BULRUSH OF THE NILE.- Specimen of the Reed,
and Filaments of the Crown.
Plants cultivated for their Leaves.
18. THE MULBERRY.- Silkworm's Cocoon- Silk- Satin- Velvet.
19. THE ROSE TREE.-Specimen of leaf and flower.
Plant useful for its Saline Properties.
20. SEA-WEED.- Specimen of Sea-weed- Soap- Bottle Glass.
14 JAMES GORDON, EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER,

On the Fundamental Doctrine of Latin Syntax.

By SIMON S. LAURIE, A.M. 8vo, price 6s.

Bible Training. A Manual for Sabbath-

School Teachers and Parents. By DAVID STOW, Esq., Author of
"The Training System," &c. Ninth Edition, enlarged, price 2s.
An exceedingly useful Manual for all who have undertaken the instruction
of youth.--Banner of Ulster.
A careful study of the principles laid down, and the examples of teaching
given, could hardly fail to exercise a most beneficial influence on our Sunday
schools.-Baptist Magazine.

Gaussen's Lessons for the Young on the Six Days

of Creation. With Introductory Notice by the Rev. JOHN
ROBSON, D.D. Extra fcap. 8vo, Cloth Boards, price 2s., or Limp
Cloth, Illuminated Cover, price 1s. 6d.

Of the ability displayed in the exposition before us, it is impossible to

speak too highly. Any teacher having the ability to unfold the facts and
truths of Scripture after such a fashion must rivet the attention and engage
the affections of the young. -Sunday School Magazine.
A splendid specimen of Dr. Gaussen's labour of love, and a great example
to all Christian Teachers of the amount of instruction which can be conveyed
even to children, in a most simple and intelligible garb.- Glasgow Herald.
A charming book—a model volume. We envy Dr. Gaussen his power of
interesting children. - The Freeman.
A delightful little volume, and we were as sorry for ourselves, when we
found it was ended, as doubtless were the young Genevese Sunday Scholars
who crowded round the warm-hearted, clear-headed, eloquent teacher in the
oratoire, when his Lessons on the Divine Six Days were over. - Scotsman.

Elements of English Composition.

By DAVID IRVING, LL.D. Twelfth Edition. Price 2s. 6d.
 51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH . 15

On the Best Means of Making the School-

master's Function more efficient than it has hitherto been in
Preventing Misery and Crime. PRIZE ESSAY. BY EDWARD
CAMPBELL TAINSH. With Report of a Discussion on the
Essay at the Fourth Annual Meeting of the United Associa-
tion of Schoolmasters of Great Britain. Price 9d.

The Unison of Religion and Social Science.

A LECTURE. BY ALFRED JONES, Author of " Photographs
of London Business, " &c . &c. Delivered before the United
Association of Schoolmasters. Ex. Fcap. 8vo, price 4d.
By the same Author,

The Principles of Privy Council Legislation.

A LECTURE delivered before the United Association of School-
masters of Great Britain. Ex. Fcap. 8vo, price 4d.

The Philosophy of Corporal Punishment.

An Investigation into the Policy and Morality of School
Coercion. A LECTURE delivered before the Elementary
J Teachers' Association, London. Ex. Fcap. 8vo, price 1s.

On the Progress of Society in England, as

affected by the Advancement of National Education ; being
a LECTURE delivered before the United Association of School-
masters of Great Britain, by J. D. MORELL, one of Her
Majesty's Inspectors of Schools. Ex. Fcap. 8vo, price 4d.

The Difficulties of the Education Question.

An ADDRESS delivered before the United Association of
Schoolmasters, by the Rev. CANON RICHSON, Manchester.
Ex. Fcap. 8vo, price 4d.

Report to their Lordships of the Privy

Council on the Schools inspected in the North- East Division
of Scotland in 1858. By DAVID MIDDLETON, M.A. , one of
H. M. Inspectors of Schools. Ex. Fcap. 8vo, price 4d.
 2
16 JAMES GORDON , EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER.

Shortly will be published,

The Principles and Practice of Com-
mon School-Education. By JAMES CURRIE, M.A. , Author of " The
Principles and Practice of Early and Infant School-Education."

Guide to English Poetry, with Direc-

tions for Paraphrase and Analysis. By J. D. MORELL, Author of
“ Grammar of the English Language, and Exposition of the Analysis
of Sentences."

For Elementary Schools.

The First English Reading Book.

In Three Parts. Part I. , 2d. Part II. , 4d. Part III. , 6d.

The Second English Reading Book.

(Now Ready.)

The Third English Reading Book.

[Price 18. 3d.

The Fourth English Reading Book.

(Now Ready.)

The Fifth English Reading Book.

(Now Ready.)

The Sixth English Reading Book.

(Now Ready.)

The Advanced Reading Book,

LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC. (Now Ready.)

* A detailed Prospectus will be issued immediately.

** Other Educational Works in preparation.

JAMES GORDON, EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHER,

51, HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH.
LONDON : HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO., AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.