Front Cover
 Title Page
 Back Cover

Title: The youth's book of gems for the mind and the heart
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002042/00001
 Material Information
Title: The youth's book of gems for the mind and the heart
Alternate Title: Book of gems
Physical Description: 386 p., <1> leaf of plates : ill., music ; 23 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Woodworth, Francis C ( Francis Channing ), 1812-1859
Bricher, Henry, b. ca. 1817 ( Engraver )
Howland, William ( Engraver )
Lossing, Benson John, 1813-1891 ( Engraver )
Dunnell, William N ( Engraver )
Smith, Thomas B., 19th cent ( Printer )
Derby and Miller ( Publisher )
Publisher: Stereotyped by Thomas B. Smith
Place of Publication: Auburn <N.Y.> Derby and Miller
New York
Manufacturer: Stereotyped by Thomas B. Smith
Publication Date: 1852
Edition: 2nd. thousand.
Subject: Youth -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- Auburn
Statement of Responsibility: by Frances C. Woodworth.
General Note: "With one hundred engravings."
General Note: Some illustrations engraved by Howland, Lossing, H. Bricher, and W.N. Dunnel.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002042
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002240052
oclc - 15357950
notis - ALJ0591
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
        Front page 4
        Front page 5
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page 7
        Page 8
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    Back Cover
        Page 389
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Full Text

The Baldwin Libnary

fzge 7

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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852,

In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.

216 William St., N. Y.

A Boston 1y, 3W5 1Drownd Bw, .A 306 Jack MPLAU% AM
A Commonly Mstake, 66 DukeofW oA 38 04 JemmylTopsonmMlD thW l k-
A Cunning Fox, 338 b er rie
Admirable Example, 145 Earl Fitswilliam and the Farmer, 65 Jenny Inad, 1
Age of the American States, 131 Early Drinking Danger o 96 Jonah's Gourd,
A Large Business, 367 Easter Da, 138 John Andersonmmyjo ba, 15
A Leap for Life, 110 Editorial Table-Talk, 34, 68, 09, 132
Alexander and Bucephalus, 19 162,196, %1 760,291,325,356,385 Katydid, n
American Rustic Hospitality, 313 Enemies, how to treat them, 338 Kites in China, 136
Amy's Holiday, 980 Elizabeth, Vanity of, 90
Ancient Lightning ods, 171 English Bible, 940 Large A AnedotesO
Ancient Thebes, 206 Ettrick Shepherd, 55 La
A New Taste, 349 Europe, Letters from, 966 Letters from 9 344
Animals, Instinct of, 14 Liberty and Io1
An Indian Story, 67 Farming in the Western Country,350 Liberty, pit 17
A Noble Boy, 380 Farming, Lights and Shadowsof,236 Light, Veloity o 3
April-Fool Egg, 150 First Thank-Offering, 311 Little Girs, aWod to, 194
Arabian Night, 200 Fish Fascinated by Music, 173 LittleGrave,
Ass and Race Horse--A Fable, 43 Fisherman and the Little Fih, 139 Little Hero of Haariam 38
A Visit to the Locksmith's, 381 Floating Islands, 223 Little Miner,
Awkward Mistake, 93 Florists, Visit to, 153 Little Roasoner,
Flowers, 167 Little Workers, a Leson froae, 36
Bad Memory, 137 Fox-Hounds, Kennel of, 244 Long-toed Shoes, 23
Baron Von Humboldt, 284 Fox Story, 270 Lying, 15
Bash-Bish, 242 Fruit and Bloeoms, 21
Bat, Anecdotes of, 347 Funny Mistake, 128 Man's Life, Changes n 346
Bees, Habits of, 121 Funny Quarrel, 217 May Song-Musle, 166
Bird of Paradise, 207 Mermads, Chapter 31
Blind Boy at Play, 343 Galileo, 23 Mice fond of Mlric, 176
Blossoms and Fruit, 21 Generosity of an Elder Brother, 355 Monkey's Memory, $1T
Bonfire, 159 Generous Blacksmith, 158 Monkey and Tlesoope-A Lbb, 34
Boys and Fruit, 194 Geyser Springs, 289 Money, Ooninentsl, 4
Brotherly Affection, 373 "Give us our Daily Bread," 278 Mother's Last Lesse0, 31
Bucephalus and Alexander, 19 Goats, Stories about, 219 Mouse in LAquor, 3
Business First and then Pleasure, 145 Going to the Fire, 65 My Children, a Letter to,
Gold Repeater, 58 My Early Friead, H
Cape Ann, 209 Grasshopper, Song oA 283 My Heart's in the Highlmad, 31
Call ye me Poor 1 93 Great Earthquake at Lisbon, 306 My Mother's Vee, 1m
Caraccas, Earthquake in, 22 My Sister, T
Carriages in Olden Time, 11 Hail in India, 354 1
Charlie Cleveland and Father Hall, Robert, 60 Natur Perfetio oh 118
Blinker, 232 Hard Reading, 380 Never be Id% e 348
Chide Mildly the Erring, 206 Harry and his Dog, 143 Never give a Kick ar a Hit, 33
Children, are they all Kings? 87 Harvest, 246 Never Hold Malslo 38
Children, Sorrows of, 324 Hebrew Mother and her Child, 40 New York, I4arly 36I y of 9f4
Clara Sinclair, 286 Hindoo Mother, 149
Clovis, Anecdote of, 268 Honest Farmer, 150 Obedience and Dibs ne 8
Corme, Ceme Away, 249 Honcst Negro, 352 Obey God rather thia Mam, 1r1,
Conceit, 378 Hopkinson, Judge, 108 Obstinate Boy, so
Contentment, 265 Hornet's Nest, 316 Old Man and Prinees 1o
Contrary Boy, 368 Horse, Sagacity and Attachment
Conversation about Death, 372 of, 277 Paris, 1M
Count and Peasant, 91 Howard's Opinion of Swearers, 48 Parrot, Aneedotes o04 9
Country Lad and the River, 363 How Smart we are, 125 Pawing tuoWg ThaundewC ol3
Cow Tree, 226 Humming Birds, 303 Philosophy Outdone, 141
Crazy Ann, 273 Pitch, a Lake of 36
Curious Beetle, 195 Idiot's Death, 276 Politeness, V7
Idleness, Beware of, 66 Pool of Betheda, 364
Deaf Old Men 15 Ill Temper, 243 Pope in the Fourteenth Co tury, 1
Deer, Strange Instinct of, 178 Imagination, Freaks of; 216 Powder Plot, 61
Depth of Different Seas, 79 Incidents at the West, 123 Praying d Tryling, 31
Dicky Morton, 46 Indiana, a Word about, 252 Preeident Fillmore, 9
Dick, the Squirrel, 97 Indian Customs, 302 Prim, the End of, w
Do as you would be done by, 47 Indian Story, 272 Printing, a Chapter ea, 71
Dogs, stories about, 45,271 Italian Customs, 253 Providence, Trt in, 19
Don't Kill the Birds 321 "It's of No Use," 27 Providential Gas,


Pum aun Dah, 172
Quaker and Commissioner, 259
Quarrelsome Children, 174
Queer Notion, 206
Rats, Ingenuit of 98
Rat with a Bell--A Fable, 111
Reindeer in Norway, 298
Rocking Stones, 94
Scandal, 25
Scene in Boston, 355
Schoolboy Days, 26
Sebastian Cabot, 115
eds Long Vitality of4 114
Shall I Read it, 361
Siberian Sledge Dogs, 191
ir Humphrey Davy, Boyhoodof,339
Sir John Franklin, 359
Sk and Silk Worms, 114
Stag Proud of his Horns, 148
Star-Spangled Banner, 199
leepr, Ncessity of 341
Snow in the Arctic Regions, 301
Something about the Sulks, 320
son of the Snow-Music, 358
pers fond of Music, 205
spring, .150
uirrel Family, Anecdotes of, 342
Squirrel Robbing, 329
Store, Anecdotes of, 318, 375
Swearers, Howard's Opinion of, 48
The Autumn Leaf, 175
The Bad Spectacles, 223

Brother and Sister-Frontis-
piece, 1
Brother and Sister Conversing, 8
Brother and Sister among the
Birds,. 9
Carriages in Olden Time, 11
The Horse Litter, 12
The Sedan Chair, 12
Sedan Chair, of a Later Style, 13
A Coachman of the Olden Time, 14
Alexander taming Bucephalus, 18
Blossoms and Fruit, 21
Galileo, 23
Boys Let Loose from School, 26
Statue of Wesley at Richmond,
England, 28
Mermaid, 31
The Young Gleaner, 39
The Igni Fatus, 42
Bheperd Dogs, 44
Cotnental Money, 49
Greeough's Statue of Washing-
ton, 52
Birthplace of the Etrick Shep-
herd, 55
The Dog and his Shadow, 64
L. Hoe and Co.'s Patent Type-
Revolving Pres 71
Interioof a Oi g O e, 72
Band Press 79
cylinder Printing Machine, 82
The Crocodile, 85
Jonah and his Gourd, 89
Rocki g Stone at Fail River,Mar. 94

The Bee-Tree, 117
The Beggar Girl, 215
The Birds Complaint, 184
The Bird's Nest, 157
The Bishop and the Birds, 376
The Blue-Bird, 151
The Boy and his Bobolink-Mu-
e, 102
The Brial of Sir John Moore, 119
The Bustard, 371
The Cat a Fl herman, 179
The Child and the Cloud, 54
The Child's First Prayer-Music, 38
The Crocodile, 85
The Dog and his Shadow, 64
The Dog and the Mirror-A Fa-
Me, 103
The Donkey, 112
The Fly, the Bee, and the Ant, 314
The Four Words, 95
The Geysers 374
The Honest Jew, 53
The Ignis Fatuus, 42
The Intemperate Girl, 24
The Lamb and the Critics, 329
The Lament of the Weary One, 310
The Nature of Earthly Attach-
ments, 312
The Old State, 140
The Prince and the Pig, 316
The Rainy Day, 126
The Scent of the Rose, 210
The Spider and Sailor, 25
The Starling, 257
The Summer Time, 226
The Talisman, 211


Dick the Squirrel, 97
Indian Girl's Song, 100
The Dog and the Mirror, 103
A Primitive Dwelling, 104
Judge Hopkinson, 108
Sebastian Cabot, 115
Burial of Sir John Moore, 119
The Stag and his Mate, 123
Jenny Lind, 129
John Anderson and Wife, 135
The Fisherman and the Little
Fish, 139
Harry and his Dog, 142
The Stag Proud of his Horns, 148
The Blue Bird, 151
Flower Vase, 153
The Bird's Nest, 157
Flower Scene, 167
Puss and Dash, 172
Mice fond of Music, 176
The Pope in the Fourteenth Cen-
tury, 180
The Bird's Complaint, 184
William in Distress, 186
The Little Grave, 192
A Curious Beetle, 195
Star-Spangled Banner, 199
Whale Capsizing a Boat, 202
Bird of Paradise, 207
Old Garrison House at Cape
Ann, 909
The Beggar Girl, 215
Goats, 218
My PWe Goat, 9t1

The Three Syntactical Combina-
tions, 50
The Time Piece, 10
The Way to Contentment-Mu-
sic, 294
The Wild Sheep, 383
The Wreck, 241
The Yellow Bird's Lament, 315
The Young Gleaner, 39
Thy Brother has Fallen, 352
Time, 377
Tommy and his Papa, 330
True Duncan and the Cat, 113
Umbrellas, Origin ol, 313
Ware, How they Happen, 258
Washington, Greenough's Statue
of, 52
Water, 253
Water is Best, 297
Water-Spouts, 124
Wesley, John, 29
Whale Catching, Perils of, 201
Whale Fishing, Perils of, 250
What a Poor Boy can Do, 265
What I Know, 57
Which was the Wisest ? 131
White Mouse, 299
Wicked Young Emperor, 317
Widow's Cottage, 168
William Penn, 353
Wreck of the Forfarshire, 146
Young Men, Hints to, 214
Young Men, What they have
Done, 255

View of the City of Philadel-
phia, 224
My Heart's in the Highlands, 231
The Farmer's Boy, 236
The Wreck, 241
A Harvest Scene, 246
Come, Come Away, 249
Peter Stuyvesant, 254
The Starling, 257
Millard Fillmore, President of
the United States, 263
Ancient Thebes, 269
Crazy Ann, 273
John Layton, 274
" Give us our Daily Bread," 278
Baron Von Humboldt, 284
Arabian Nights Scene, 290
Anecdotes of the Parrot, 295
A Humming Bird among the
Flowers, 304
The Lament of the Weary One, 310
The Yellow Bird's Lament, 315
Jack Mason's Stories, 322
Laughing Bill, 327
Anecdotes of Large Serpents, 333
A South American Boa, 336
Anecdotes of the Squirrel Fami-
ly, 342
William Penn, 353
Sir John Franklin, 359
The Pool of Betheada, 364
The Bustard, 371
The Bishop and the Birds, 376
The Wild Bheep, 383

My Sister.


IT is twilight, and I am alone. Now come before
me, from the spirit land, the forms.of those I love.
I am no longer alone. Though the busy, bustling,
visible world is shut out from the mind, familiar
P faces, long missed from earth, hover near me, and
look kindly upon me. My sister! I see her glad
smiles, hear her accents of love, converse with her,
as in earlier days, ere her spirit departed. 0 this
still, serious, solemn hour of twilight! I bless my
heavenly Father for the associations which cluster
around it, for the thoughts of the past which it calls
up, for the images of loved and lost ones which it

f .


V. 1


k~6S~ ~NO*



reveals. My sister! The snows of two
winters have fallen upon her grave; and
yet her form appears before me as dis-
tinct, almost, as if it were pictured on
the outward eye. Is this vision all un-
real? Has the spirit world, then, no
connection with the physical world?
Is there no communion of spirits on
earth with kindred spirits from the bet-
ter land? I do not know. What mys-
teries hang over the spirit world!
My sister! The scenes through which
we passed together are spread out again
before the soul's eye, with the fresh-
ness, the clearness, the vividness of
reality. The home of my childhood
was in the country. The mansion
where we dwelt was nestled amid a
thousand rural charms. They have all
left their images in my affections; and
she, that cherished sister, is associated
closely with each one of them. We
climbed the high hills together, in the
summer time, and together strayed
through the fields, and meadows, and
forests, after wild flowers.
The influence of a kind and amiable
sister over a brother, in childhood and
early youth, is exceedingly desirable. It
softens, polishes, humanizes him. Many
a time, when my impulsive and rougher
spirit has been on the point of commit-
ting some petty act of mischief, has the
gentle voice of my sister dissuaded me
from it. I remember that, one bright
and beautiful day in early autumn, when
I was bent on playing the truant from
school, and had settled my whole plan
of operations, even-I blush to say it-
the writing of a false apology to the
village schoolmaster, that gentle girl,
leaning lovingly on my shoulder, and,
pleading with me, as an angel might

have done, to heed the voice of con-
science, and do right, won me, sent the
crimson current of shame through my
face, and made me tear the note I was
penning into a hundred fragments, while
I asked God to save me from ever cher-
ishing such guilty thoughts again.
In our wanderings amid the forest,
separated only by a meadow and a nar-
row brook from our dwelling, we one
day found a sparrow's nest, with three
or four little sparrows in it, too young
to fly. The old birds left the nest as
we approached, and hovered around,
not far off, showing a great deal of love
for their offspring, and evidently not a
little afraid that they were soon to be
childless. Both my sister and myself
looked upon this scene for some minutes
with a great deal of interest. We ex-
amined the nest, and admired the skill
and ingenuity which the birds had dis-
played in building it. How nicely it
was braided together. There were
coarse straws and sticks on the outside
of it, and on the inside, there were fine
hairs, and little bits of cotton, and wool,
and thistle down, curiously and beauti-
fully interwoven. It was a charming
piece of workmanship, that little spar-
row's nest. Well, as I stood there look-
ing at it, I thought it would be a fine
thing to take those little sparrows home
with us, nest and all. I had never had
any tame birds; and I did not doubt
that I could soon make these sparrows
so tame that they would come and
hop upon my shoulder, when I called
them. Forgetting every kind and gen-
erous feeling, in this one selfish desire,
I was about to climb up the tree, and
secure the helpless sparrows, when my
sister made such an appeal to my better


feelings, that my arm was entirely un-
nerved. I did not violate the peace of
that happy family, but left them chirp-
ing their gratitude and gladness. Boys
have often strong temptations to rob the
nests of the beautiful birds that cluster
around the abodes of men, so confid-
ingly, so lovingly. I have had some
such temptations. But never, since my
sister's eloquent plea
e.S for the young spar-
S^ rows, have I yielded
to this temptation.
SThat plea has secur-
Sed the happiness of
many a forest war-
bler. I owe much
Sof the good-will I
have ever cherished
toward the birds to
S the tenderness with
which she always
S treated them. I

never could harm one of the dear little
things since.
I remember once having killed a robin
with a stone. I did it rather through care-
lessness than by design, however. The
robin was as busy as he could be pick-
ing currants in our yard, when I threw
a stone at him, to frighten him away.
The stone hit the poor fellow, how-
ever-strange enough, I always thought,
for I was a very indifferent marksman--
and he fell down from the bushes, flut-
tered a few minutes, gasped a few times
for breath, and died. I wept a long time
about that tragic .affair. The image of
the dying robin did not leave my mind
for the entire summer, and I did not
love to go near the spot where he died
for months afterward.
That was a sad day for us all, when
we learned that this cherished sister
must die, and it was a sadder day still
when the dreaded hour arrived. Yet
her end was calm and peaceful. Her
sun went down while it was yet day.
But it went down unclouded. "I am
weary, brother," said she, "let me
sleep." She did sleep-slept the long
sleep of death, and her tired spirit found
My sister! how like a flood do
thoughts of her kind and loving heart;
of her deep, warm, active piety; of
her cheerful, patient, trustful spirit;
of her happy frame, while sinking under
the influence of disease-how do these
thoughts, and such as these, rush into
my mind, as I muse on the past at
this calm hour of twilight-
" In the still hour of thought, when we are ee
To leave the real world for things which wem."
"For things which sem." But are they
seeming only ?


_ ____


The Time-Piece.


TICox! tick! tick !
How swift the moments go!
Tick! tick! tick!
How rapid the minutes flow!
They come and they pasn!
They sparKle and fly!
The sands in the glass
Cease running for aye!

Tick! tick! tick!
How swift the pulses beat!
Tick! tick! tick!
The throbs of the heart repeat!
The young blood leaps
Full of life in the veins!
The young heart keeps
In the lightest of strains!
No thought of the morrow-
Of sadness or sorrow-
Of labor and care-
Of sin and its snare-
Of danger and trial--
Of stern self-denial-
Of anxious sighs--
Of doubt--
Of unheard cries-
Or storms and darkness round about.

With a dolorous tone
This sound alone
Falls deep on the ear of night!
Is the town-clock right ?
Has an hour so swiftly sped ?
Gone by with the silent dead ?
And the New Year come to birth
To haste o'er the rolling earth,
And after a while in its turn to die,
With the ashes of hope in its urn to lie!

The moaning winds are sad

Ding! dong!
With its accents strong
It speaks to the good and bad !
Two worlds-two lives-two ways-
This world and that to come!
This life and glory's home:
One path that leads from heaven,
And one to us is given
To lead us on in Faith's celestial rays!

Tick! tick! tick!
Swiftly the hours are flying!
Tick! tick! tick!
How swiftly we are dying !
Yet we hail the Year
Which shall lay us by-
For we do not fear
We shall this year die !
"Oh, not for me shall the angel call !"
Is the voice of hope and the cry of all I

Tick tick! tick !
Let the year to GOD be given!
Tick! tick! tick!
Let it take us near to heaven!
In the path of peace-
In the strength of hope-
Where the portals ope
Which shall never cease!

The year is on its way !
Oh, FATHER let me be
Thy servant every day !
And when this Life's Old Year
Has passed, and I shall hear
The Angel call my waiting soul,
Let me with THEE be found,
Where glory circles round,
And HEAVEN'S NEW YvAR in endless bliss
shall roll!




Carriages in Olden Time.

T is amusing to look back a few
hundred years on the pages of his-
tory, and take a note of the way
our ancestors did things. We can
scarcely help laughing, for instance, at
the parade they made about the intro-
duction of carriages. In the year 1564,
a man by the name of Booneu, a Dutch-
man, became Queen Elizabeth's coach-
man; and he, it is said, was the first to
bring the use of coaches into England.
After a while, certain ladies of the court
followed the example of the queen, and
procured carriages for their use. Eliza-
beth did not like it, however. She was
jealous of the ladies. However, it was
not long after this, before the nobility
pretty generally rode in carriages.
At this early day, the coachman did
not usually sit on the coach, but on the
back of the horse. You see how they
managed, by the picture at the head of
this article. Before the close of the six-
teenth century, however, the modern
mode of driving became the more com-
mon one.
Toward the end of the reign of Eliza-
beth, the use of coaches had.spread all
over the realm. In the year 1601, they

had become so plenty, that some people
thought, as many people now-a-days
think, in relation to other improvements,
that they ought to be put down. So
a bill was proposed in Parliament, "to
restrain the excessive use of coaches
within this realm of England." The
bill did not pass, I believe; but it had a
good many supporters, strange as it
may seem. You will, perhaps, wonder
what could be the objections of our an-
cestors to the use of coaches. They
were such as these: "that they endan-
gered life in the streets; that they en-
couraged idleness and luxury; that they
increased the poverty of the poor; and
that they destroyed the trade of the
London watermen, a numerous class of
In 1623, a satirical pamphlet was
written about coaches, by John Taylor,
sometimes called the "water poet," a
name he obtained from having once been
a waterman. This pamphlet was very
severe. The incensed man called the
coaches all manner of hard names. The
title of the satire was "The World on
Wheels." The book is embellished, if
that term can be used in this connection,



with a coarse wood-cut, representing
the world dragged along on carriage
wheels by Satan, with a fashionable
lady for an assistant.
The writer says, "I think such an
impudent, proud, saucy intruder, never
came into the world before, as a coach
is; for it hath driven many honest fa-
milies to all misdeeds, hospitality to ex-

tortion, plenty to famine, humility to
pride, compassion to oppression, and all
earthly goodness almost to utter con-
fusion. Oh, beware of a coach as you
would do of a tiger, a wolf, or a levia
than. I'll assure you it eats more,
though it drinks less, than the coachman
and his whole team." Such were some
of the arguments used against coaches.


In 1634, the coach found very power-
ful enemies in the shape of sedan chairs
and horse-litters. The latter vehicle is
represented in the second engraving.
Sir Saunders Duncombe, about that
time, brought the sedan chair into fash-
ion; and the king granted him the priv-
ilege of "letting sedan chairs to hire for
the term of fourteen years." His ma-

jesty declared that the lives and limbs
of his subjects being greatly endangered
by the number of coaches in London
and Westminster, this new style of con-
veyance would be a good substitute.
SThe sedan which was in use about this
time, is represented by the following
engraving, which also shows how it was
borne from place to place. The vehicle





is a square, ugly box, as you will see-
looking, for all the world, not very re-
markably unlike the picture of Noah's
ark, as it appears in the early copies of
the New England Primer, over which I
used to expend a large fund of wonder
and amazement, in my school-boy days.
Sedans, when they were first introduced
into England, were constructed much

more rudely than they were in after
years. The next cut represents one of
these sedans that has a much more ele-
gant appearance than the one previously
described. There are curtains on the
sides of the vehicle, as you see; and,
take it altogether, it looks as if it might
be a very comfortable mode of travel-


But sedans, borne by men, after a
while, became, if possible, more unpop-
ular than coaches, among a certain class
of people. "When the Duke of Buck-
ingham came to be carried about the
streets in a chair upon men's shoulders,"
according to the chronicles of the time,
" the clamor and noise of it were so ex-
travagant, that the people would rail on
him in the streets, indignant that men
should be brought to so servile a condi-
tion as horses." The king and his
courtiers were accused of "degrading
Englishmen into slaves and beasts of
Not long after this, this style of sedan
went entirely out of use in England.
But the horse-litter still continued in
fashion, being used particularly on state
occasions. In 1638, we find it described

as used in the procession in honor of the
queen mother, Mary de Medicis, when
she visited London, to see her daughter,
the wife of the first Charles.
The popular clamor against coaches
continued among the lower classes to a
still later day, as will be inferred from
the following stanza taken from a ballad
entitled, "The Coaches' Overthrow,"
published not long before the Revolu-

"Coach-makers may use many trades,
And get enough of means;
And coach-men may turne off their jades,
And help to drain the fens.
Heigh done, derry, derry done,
With the hackney coaches done i
The sythe and flail,
Cart and plow tail,
Doe want them out of tonee"

The next cut shows you a coachman, effected, and certainly it is not by angling
as that class of people appeared soon with the same pensile organ. On the
credit of several persons, however, it is
known that rats have skilfully employed
their tails in drawing oil through the
narrow neck of a jar, when unable to
Reach it in any other manner. Mr. Mur
c ray observed a dormouse to dip its tail
( B into a dish of milk, and then carry it,
smeared with the fluid, to its mouth;
Sand similar ingenuity has been witnessed
Sin its conveyance of water, when the
little creature could not otherwise ob-
.. tain a supply. The modes employed by
-- ,o dogs of different races in capturing and
A coAcHMAN o THZ OLDW4 TIME. devouring the crab, and especially that
pugnacious species, the velvet crab (Por-
after the Restoration. If such a looking tunus puber,) well illustrate the experi-
man should make his appearance in our ence which has become propagated in
streets in these days, I am not sure but the breed over the ignorance of the un-
he would have an invitation to exhibit initiated. On the first discovery of the
himself in the museum. But his stuffed prey, a terrier runs in to seize it, and is
boots, his odd-looking hat, to say no- immediately and severely bitten in the
thing about his coat and pantaloons, nose. But a sedate Newfoundland dog
were regarded as quite in good taste, in of my acquaintance proceeds more so-
the time of the second Charles. How berly in his work: he lays his paw on it,
fashion rules over taste! to arrest it in its escape; then, tumbling
it over, he bares his teeth, and seizing it
-with the mouth, throws the crab aloft;
it falls upon the stones, the shell is
Instinct of Animals. cracked beyond redemption, and then
the dainty dish is devoured at leisure.-
ERHAM quotes Olaus, in his ac- Couch's Illustrations of Instinct.
count of Norway, as having
himself witnessed the fact of a
fox dropping the end of its tail
among the rocks on the sea-shore, to "A LITTLE boy on his death-bed,
catch the crabs below, and hauling up urging his father to repentance, said,
and devouring such as laid hold of it. *Father, I am going to heaven; what
On our own sea coast, rats also have shall I tell Jesus is the reason why you
been known to add a new dish to their won't love him!' Before the weeping
dietary, by taking crabs; though it is father could answer, the child had fallen
not easy to imagine how the capture is asleep in Jesus."





The Deaf Old Men.

HAVE got a laughable story
to tell you about two
old men, which you will
find a good m6ral in;
for it is a great shame,
and very wicked, to pick
sport out of the infirmities of
mankind, even if we do no in-
jury to any one. I well remem-
ber a waggish youth who would
have fun, whatever it might cost him,
and never seemed so happy as when he
was about some work of mischief; and
when he could amuse himself no other
way, he would begin playing trick with
his deaf uncle. There was an old neigh-
bor, who lived opposite, quite as dull
of hearing as his uncle was, for neither
the one nor the other could hear him-
self speak; and it was the delight of
this scapegrace of a nephew to set these
w- deaf old men together by the ears;
and as neither of them could hear what
the other said, you may readily imagine
what a droll scene an explanation must
have been between them. This grace-
less young scamp first poured his poison
into the ear of one, then into the ear of
the other. Every two or three days he
would say to his deaf relative, Uncle,
old Billy Barton says you get drunk
every night-that you run up a score
everywhere, when any one will trust
you-and that you owe money to every
publican in the place-and have never
paid him the last half-guinea he lent
you, uncle-and he stops everybody he
meets to tell them of it !"
"He's an old rascal-and doesn't
speak the truth-and I'll have an action
against him-that I will-if it costs me

every shilling I'm worth. I've never
been intoxicated since the last election;
and as to money, I never borrowed a
farthing of him in my life, or of any-
body living-and I'll go tell him so to
his face, that I will-the lying old
rogue !" and he would take up his stout
oaken walking-staff. and sally out to put
his threat into execution. Before this,
however, the young scamp had been to
old Billy Barton, cramming him with a
parcel of lies, and telling him what his
uncle had said about him.
"Mr. Bartoq!" he would holla into
his ear, while old Billy was taking his
walk at the other end of the town, my
uncle says you undid his stye-door last
night, and let his pigs out-somebody
saw you-and they've eaten up all the
peas and young cabbage, and rooted up
the flower-beds, and done five pounds'
worth of damage-and he's gone to
get a warrant out against you-and I
thought I would tell you, that you
might make it up with him without going
to law."
You may easily fancy how old Billy
raved and stormed after such a charge
as this, for deaf as he was, he could
make himself heard; and how he set
off at once to repel the accusation and
defend himself-not having time, in the
heat of his passion, to Inquire who this
"somebody" was, that had seen him,
and brought the charge against him.
Meantime the young scamp used to
run and assemble his companions in the
street, to witness, as he would say,
" such a row between his uncle and old
Barton;" and the nephew so managed
matters, and measured his distance, that



the two old men were almost sure to
meet in the greatest thoroughfare in
town. At it they would go as fast as
ever their tongues could rattle, blowing
one another up-foaming and raving,
and stamping their sticks upon the
ground, and clenching their fists in each
other's faces-neither of them hearing
a word which the other said, but from
the earnest manner, and vehemence of
action, each believing the other was
maintaining the accusation which the
mischief-making young nephew had first
founded. You say I get drunk every
night," the deaf old uncle would ex-
claim, stamping his stick as he spoke.
You say I turned your pigs out of the
stye last night !" old Barton would ex-
claim, shaking his cane at him. "Show
me the man I ever owed a shilling to in
my life!" roared out the one. I never
did anybody an injury since I was
born!" bellowed the other. "I'll have
an action against you for damaging my
character," shouted the uncle, loud
enough to be heard half way down the
street, so loud, indeed, that the word
damage struck the dull drum of deaf
Billy's ear, and he echoed between his
teeth-" Damages, you old rogue, you
let 'em out yourself-you know you
did, on purpose to injure my character,
because I voted against you at the last
election-you rabid old Tory, you!"
"I've got as many half-guineas as you,"
hollaed out the old uncle; "and have
no need to borrow of anybody! you
vile, wicked, slandering, old rascal! I
shall see you some morning whipped at
a cart's tail! Oh I wish the good old
pillories still stood!" and he would bring
his huge stick within a foot of poor
harmless deaf Billy's face; then they

would begin to collar one another, and
no doubt there would soon have been a
fight between them, had not some peace-
loving neighbor have interfered, and, al-
though he failed in reconciling them,
patched up for the time a temporary
cessation of hostilities.
So matters progressed, till the fre-
quency of their quarrels caused some
mutual friend to interfere, and inquire
into the cause; when, to the astonish-
ment and amusement of them both,
my nephew" was found out; and
heartily did they laugh as the explana-
tion was in turns hammered into their
ears; and a dozen times did the merry
old men rise and shake hands; then sit
down again to laugh; for the friend
who reconciled them had concocted a
scene of excellent mischief, which they
had agreed to put into operation; and
the thought of it so tickled their old
fancies with delight, that they roared
again louder than they even did when
abusing each other. Nay, I verily be-
lieve, that from the bottom of their
hearts, they were glad that they had
had so many quarrels without any cause,
merely for the sake of the "making it
up," as they called it, in the presence
of their common enemy. Nor was it
long before an opportunity presented
itself; for the nephew had been at his .
old work, and they pretended, as usual,
to believe all that he said; and so wellJ
did they mimic a passion, and conceal
their designs, that he, suspecting nothing,
bade us, as he'd often done, to makl
haste, and come along, to see such a rowi
between his uncle and old Barton."
Wicked fellows that we were! No!
hounds ever set off with more willingness
to hunt a fox, than we did to see a rul




ture between these two deaf old men;
and, with the nephew at our head, away
we went, helter-skelter, his laugh the
loudest of all, and ringing out above all
others, as if the entertainment had been
got up for his sole amusement. Up he
ran, rubbing his hands, and kicking his
heels with delight, as he shouted, Now
they're going to begin: take your places!
Act first, Billy Barton stole uncle's
chickens; Act second, enter uncle to
rob Billy Barton's apple-tree,-which,
you know, we did for him. Up go the
sticks; now for it! a real fight this
time! Lay on, uncle! Strike hard,
Billy!" And, without hearing, they
both took him at his word; for they
seized him in an instant, each laying
hold of one side of his collar; and need
I tell you, that we, who had so often
laughed at his wickedness, were de-
lighted to see him caught in his own
trap? And, instead of pitying him, we
only echoed his own words, and ex-
claimed, "Lay on, uncle! strike hard,
Billy !"-and, although they broke no
bones, I can assure you they gave him
such a thrashing as caused him to re-
member the day when he first set two
deaf old men together by the ears.
And long as it is since, I can scarcely
refrain from laughing, while recalling
the astonished look of the nephew when
they seized upon him-how he turned
up the whites of his eyes first at one,
then at the other, while his visage length-
ened; and said, as plain as a counte-
nance can speak, caught at last!"
But what made it most effective was,
that both the old men laughed heartily
the whole of the time they were beating
him. First, the uncle began with, "I
get drunk every night, do II" Tap.

Then came old Barton, with, "I turned
your uncle's pigs out, did I !" Bang.
Then again the uncle chimed in, with,
"I robbed Billy Barton's apple-tree,
did I!" Thump. Then again Barton
took up the chorus, with, "I stole your
uncle's chickens, didI 1" Whack. And
all this was diversified with an accom-
paniment of cuts and capers on the part
of the culprit-now a shoulder up, and
then a leg. His uncle said, when he
had done, "that he had made him, for
once in his life, dance without a fiddle;
and it would be a great pity, after telling
so many tales, that they should be left
without a moral." Everybody in the
whole village said that it served the
nephew right.-Boy's Own Library.

The Spirit of Liberty.

ooN after the close of the war, a
boy was offering some caged birds
for sale in a market-town, when a
sailor came up and inquired the
price of them. "Sixpence a-piece,"
replied the boy. "I did not ask how
much a-piece, but how much for the
lot." The boy, after some calculation,
answered, "Six shillings and sixpence."
The sailor instantly handed him the
money, and opening the cage door, per-
mitted the birds to escape. The boy in
astonishment cried out, What are you
doing? you will lose your birds."-
"Very well," said the sailor, "I have
been shut up three years as a prisoner
of war, and I am resolved never to see
anything confined in prison that I can
make free."




Alexander and Bucephalus.

TPHERE is a story about Alexander
the Great and his favorite horse,
Named Bucephalus, which our
readers ought to hear. A very
/,_ spirited horse had been sent to
O Philip, Alexander's father, when
the latter was a boy. This horse
was taken out into one of the
parks connected with the palace, and
the king and many of his courtiers went
to see him. The horse pranced about so
furiously, that everybody was afraid of
him. He seemed perfectly unmanage-
able. No one was willing to risk his
life by mounting such an unruly animal.
Philip, instead of being thankful for the
present, was inclined to be in ill humor
about it. In the meantime, the boy
Alexander stood quietly by, watching
all the motions of the horse, and seem-
ing to be studying his character. Philip
had decided that the horse was useless,
and had given orders to have him sent
back to Thessaly, where he came from.
Alexander did not much like the idea of
losing so fine an animal, and begged his
father to allow him to mount the horse.
Philip at first refused, thinking the risk
was too great. But he finally consent-
ed, after his son had urged him a great
while. So Alexander went up to the
horse, and took hold of his bridle. He
patted him upon the neck, and soothed
him with his voice, showing him, at the
same time, by his easy and unconcerned
manner, that he was not in the least
afraid of him. Bucephalus was calmed
and subdued by the presence of Alex-
ander. He allowed himself to be caress-
ed. Alexander turned his head in such
a direction as to prevent his seeing his

own shadow, which had before appeared
to frighten him. Then he threw off his
cloak, and sprang upon the back of the
horse, and let him go as fast as he
pleased. The animal flew across the
plain, at the top of his speed, while the
king and his courtiers looked on, at first
with extreme fear, but afterward with
the greatest admiration and pleasure.
When Bucephalus had got tired of run-
ning, he was easily reined in, and Alex-
ander returned to the king, who praised
him very highly, and told him that he
deserved a larger kingdom than Mace-
don. Alexander had a larger kingdom,
some years after-a great deal larger one
-though that is a part of another story.
Bucephalus became the favorite horse
of Alexander, and was very tractable
and docile, though full of life and spirit.
He would kneel upon his fore legs, at
the command of his master, in order
that he might mount more easily. A
great many facts are related of the feats
of Bucephalus, as a war-horse. He was
not willing to have any one ride him but
Alexander. When the horse died, his
master mourned for him a great dea.
He had him buried with great solemnity,
and built a small city on the spot of his
interment, which he named BueuchaUa,
in honor of his favorite.

"For cut-ting all connect-ions famed,
Connect-i-cut is fairly named !
I twain connect in one, but you
Cut those whom I connect in two:
Each legislator seems to say,
What you CmNNCT I CUT away."





Blossoms and Fruat.


AssT summer I passed through an
orchard belonging to my kind
and obliging friend Captain Nash.
It was in the month of June,
that sweet and charming month, when
the apple trees are in bloom, filling the
air with their delicious fragrance. Those
who have never seen an orchard of
apple trees at this season of the year,
cannot imagine how much beauty there
is in these blossoms, and how much
sweetness there is in their odor. I was
delighted with the appearance of the
orchard. So was the captain, who was
with me at the time. We seated our-
selves under the shadow of one of these
trees, and talked together, for a good
while, about the kindness and love of
God, in scattering everywhere in the
earth so much beauty and loveliness.
We both agreed, too, that there was a
fine prospect of fruit in the autumn. I
was very glad of this prospect, for I
knew very well the quality of the fruit
which might be expected from these
trees. I knew that the captain had

taken a great deal of pains in grafting
his trees, and that among the number
were the golden pippin, the spitzenberg,
the bellflower, and the greening-apples
which make one's mouth water, only to
think of them.
Well, some months after the flowering
season had passed, I visited that orchard
again. At this time, as before, the cap-
tain was my companion. Alas what a
different aspect these trees presented,
from the one we had anticipated in the
early summer. There was only here
and there an apple, in the whole or-
chard. I could have carried away al-
most the whole of them in a small
basket. Indeed, I am not sure but the
capacious pockets of the captain's pea-
jacket would have held them all.
But what was the reason of this ?"
you inquire. I hardly know. There
was some cold weather in the early part
of the month of June. Perhaps the
flowers were chilled, and that the germs
of the fruit were blasted in this way.
Possibly the caterpillars destroyed the





young apples, just as they were begin-
ning to form. It may be that there
were strong winds during that period,
and that the blossoms were blown off
before the appearance of the apples.
But however that may be, there was no
fruit on the trees when we visited the
orchard last, or almost none.
I need not tell you, little boys and
girls, that this was a sad state of things.
But I must tell you some of the thoughts
I had, as I saw these trees in the au-
tumn, and remembered what a rich har-
vest they promised when I enjoyed their
beauty and fragrance before.
I thought that, desirable as blossoms
were, they were not half so desirable as
good apples. I thought that if we
looked pretty closely into matters and
things, we might, once in a while, see
something like what I saw in the orchard
among men and women, and boys and
girls. It came into my mind that in the
matter of character, a generous supply
of leaves and blossoms was no certain
sign of fruit. You know very well,
little friends, that the only way to tell
whether people are really good and
pious, is by their actions-by the fruit
they bear, in other words. Our Saviour
says, in relation to those who make pro-
fessions of good character, that "by
theirfruits ye shall know them." It is
no matter how many leaves they may
happen to have-no matter how beauti-
ful and numerous their blossoms are.
They are not worth much, if they are
not followed up by fruit. Professions
are well enough, but they are not half
so good as actions. To be sure, when
we see apple trees covered with leaves
and blossoms, there is some sign that
there will be fruit pretty soon. We ex-

pect it-we have a right to expect it.
But we may be disappointed, you see.
Take care, then, little boy-take care,
little girl. Take care that you do not
deceive us, in respect to your own pro-
mises. If I am not much mistaken, I
heard one of you, the other day, telling
somebody that you went to church every
Sunday; that you attended the Sunday
school, and learned the lessons which
your teacher gave you; that you always
said your prayers night and morning;
and that you meant to be a Christian.
Aha! here are lots of leaves and blos-
soms-that is a fact. I am glad to see
that. I like the beauty of these leaves.
I like the odor of the flowers. But stop
a moment. Didn't I hear you talking
rather angrily to your sister a few weeks
after that? and didn't you strike a boy
at school, not long after that, on your
way home, because he said something
you was not pleased with ? What was
the meaning of these things? I was
almost afraid that there had been a high
wind, or that the caterpillars had been
along that way, and that all those pretty
flowers had fallen off, or been eaten up.
How is it ? "By their fruits ye shall
know them," the Bible says. Now, you
don't want us to judge you by the leaves
and flowers you bear, do you?
Keep a sharp look-out, my friend.
Keep a sharp look-out for high winds
and caterpillars. After you have said
your prayers-and I would not have you
omit them, on any account-try to
govern your temper, and to show, by
all your actions, that you are sincere and
earnest in your professions. Bear in
mind that fruit is worth more, a hundred
times over, than leaves and blossoms
Never forget that.





mis most remarkable man was born
at Pisa, in Italy, in the year
1564. When he was only nine-
teen, the swinging of a lamp
suspended from the ceiling of the cathe-
dral in Pisa, led him to investigate the
laws of the swinging of a pendulum,
which he was the first to apply as a
measure of time. His active mind was
constantly occupied with the great laws
of nature, and he found out a great many
of those which, until his time, were un-
known. Some of the opinions which he
maintained were not only new, but ex-
tremely obnoxious to the disciples of the
Romish church-a church which, you
know, insists on deciding what a man
may believe, and what he may not be-
lieve. For asserting, especially, that
the earth and other planets revolved, in
separate orbits, around the sun, he was
severely persecuted. He was, indeed,
obliged to give up the professorship of
mathematics, a post to which he had
been elected when quite a youth, on
account of this and similar notions, which
were regarded as intolerable heresies.
It was Galileo who discovered that
the spaces through which a body falls,
in equal times, increase as the numbers
V 2

1, 8, 5, 7; that is, that if a body falls
fifteen Paris feet (about sixteen English)
in one second, it will fall forty-five in
two, seventy-five in three, and so tm.
Some think that he invented the ther-
mometer. This is not certain, however;
though if he did not invent, he improved
it, and brought it to a higher state of
perfection. The telescope remained a
useless instrument, until Galileo turned
it toward the heavens. In a short time,
he made some of the most important
discoveries, in relation to the heavenly
bodies. He found that the moon, as
well as the earth, has an uneven sur-
face; and he taught his disciples to
measure the height of its mountains by
the height of their shadow. His most
remarkable discovery was that of Jupi-
ter's satellites and Saturn's ring. He it
was, too, who noticed the sun's spots
for the first time.
In 1610, he was appointed grand-
ducal mathematician and philosopher.
He now became a prominent man in the
eyes of the whole civilized world. But
narrow-minded and bigoted men were
more engaged than ever to overthrow
his philosophy, and humble him in the
dust. The monks preached against
him. He was, in fact, obliged to go to
Rome, to make his peace with the Pope
and the cardinals. This he could only
accomplish by promising that he woulc
maintain his system no farther, either by
his words or his writings. It was with
the utmost difficulty that he escaped
falling into the hands of the inquisition,
even after this promise.
Some years after he published a work,
which drew down upon his head un-
numbered vials of wrath. This time he
was not so successful with the ecclesias-


I -


tical powers. A congregation of cardi-
nals and monks examined his work, con-
demned it as containing dangerous here-
sies, and summoned him before the
tribunal of the inquisition. Galileo was
compelled to go to Rome in the winter
of 1633, where he languished for some
months in the prisons of the inquisition.
He was finally condemned to renounce
his peculiar theories, which he did in
presence of an assembly of ignorant
monks, kneeling before them, with his
hand upon the Gospel. At the moment
when he rose from his knees, vexed with
himself with having sworn contrary to
the firm convictions of his judgment, he
exclaimed, stamping his foot violently,
" Epur si movee" (" and yet it moves !")
Upon this he was sentenced to the dun-
geons of the inquisition for an indefinite
time, and every week, for three years,
was to repeat the seven penitential
psalms of David. His judges, however,
were merciful enough to commute this
punishment to banishment to the parish
of Arceti, not far from Florence.
Blindness, deafness, and want of sleep,
united to embitter the last years of Gali-
leo's life. He died the same year that
Isaac Newton was born. What a coin-

The Intemperate Girl.


~~ GIRL guilty of intemperance !-
how shocking and deplorable!"
So I seem to hear my young
readers exclaim. Shocking and
deplorable, indeed, for a man to be in-

temperate-much more for a little girl.
But perhaps you are thinking worse of
her than you ought. A person may be
intemperate in other things besides rum,
cider, and the RS; he may be intempe-
rate in the se of food; and this is the
kind of iatemperaee in which the girl
indulged, .1 whom I am about to write.
I shall er her name Deia.
One summer's day, when Delia had
got home from school, she sat down at
the tea-table. Her studies, her play,
and a walk of a mile, had given her a
keen appetite; and she was delighted to
see before her enough to gratify it.
Besides excellent bread and butter, the
table was supplied with nice custard pie,
and plenty of delicious strawberries.
Delia ate heartily, and you may be sure
she was as attentive to the strawberries
as to anything else. After all had taken
a proper share of them, some were still
left. Her mother told her she had bet-
ter eat no more of them; but they were
so tempting to her taste, that she con-
tinued to eat till none remained. But
she paid dear enough for not attending
to her mother's caution. She soon be-
came quite unwell, and before half of the
night had passed, she was so sick that
she called for her mother. She vomited
more than once, and disturbed her
mother's rest the remainder of the
night. She was not able to go to school
again for several days.
Thus you see, my young friends, that
we may be intemperate in food as well
as in strong drink, and that this kind of
intemperance also is followed by sad
consequences. Food should be taken to
nourish and strengthen us, not for the
mere pleasure of eating. Fruit is good
and wholesome; but, like common food,




it should be eaten in proper quantities,
and at proper times. The excessive in-
dulgence of appetite is injurious to
health and comfort, and an abuse of the
gifts of Providence.
Solomon speaks of the effect of taking
too freely of delicious fare: Hast thou
found honey ?" he says; "eat so much
as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled
therewith, and vomit it."-Prov. xxv.
16. And in another place, he uses this
language: "When thou sittest to eat
with a ruler, consider diligently what is
before thee; and put a knife to thy
throat, if thou be a man given to appe-
tite. Be not desirous of his dainties;
for they are deceitful meat." I suppose
he means-not that we should cut our
throats, when our palates feel the
strength of temptation-but that we
should do violence to our unreasonable
appetites; that when rich dainties are
before us, we should deny ourselves,
though it be as painful as drawing a
knife across our throats. There are
other places in the Bible which show
that temperance in food, drink, and
everything else, is placed by the wisest
of men among the most excellent vir-

The Spider a Sailor.
R. EDITOR,-My son, now eleven
years old, who is something
of an observer, has often told
me many curious things about
the spider; and, among other things,
about his skill as a sailor. The other
day I asked him to dictate to me, that I
might write you on the subject, which

he did in nearly the following words.
Whether his statements contain anything
new, I am not certain; they were qt
least new to me. wM. A. 4aMo9

The spider, when about to cross a
pond or stream of water, will run a little
way, and then give a spring or leap (toP
the bank, upon its surface. I supple
that they prepare themselves for f(ir
voyage while in the act of leaping for
I always find that when they strike the
water, they are ready to sail.
They use some of their legs for sails,
others for oars, and one for a rudder.
By holding up different legs, and in
greater or less number, they will sail
faster or slower, as well as vary their
direction. They tack, as ships do, when
necessary. I have watched them on the
New Haven and Northampton canal, in
Connecticut, and seen them cross it when
there was quite a heavy wind blowing in
the opposite direction. When all is fa-
vorable, they sometimes sail so fast as to
leave a considerable ripple behind them.
The kind of spider referred to is that
whose nests are often seen hung upon
the grass in the morning. It is of a
brow 0o}Q0r.,

Da. JoHNsoN, being once in company
with .som soandal-mongers, one of them
having accused an absent friend of re-
sorting to rouge, he observed, "It is
perhaps, after all, much better for a
lady to redden her own obeeks, than to
blacken other people's characters."


School-Boy Days.
most, loves to
hear people talk
familiarly about
what they saw,
and heard, and
felt, when they
were boys or
girls at school.
SI never knew
the time, in my life, when, though all
other experiments for entertaining a
group of children might fail, I could not
make their eyes brighten with interest,
when I began to recount some of the
scenes that took place at the school in
my native village. I am not, however,
going to tell any of these stories at pre-
sent, boys and girls. I hardly know, in
the first place, that I have any new ones
to tell. I am not by any means sure
that I could think of anything worth
mentioning, which you have not heard

before. Besides, I have recently stum-
bled upon something in this particular
line of story-telling, a great deal more
readable than anything contained in my
budget of school-boy recollections. I
have been reading the description of a
district school in England, given by
Thomas Miller, the ingenious basket-
maker, and entertaining story-teller. It
was only the other day that I came
across this sketch; and I have laughed
outright at least a dozen times since,
when it has accidentally come into my
mind. It would seem from this picture,
that there is a great deal of difference
between the common schools of this
country and those in England. The
boys in many of our schools are rude
and unruly enough, and it is sufficiently
difficult, one would think, to get an idea
into their skulls. But I imagine one
would have to hunt a good while on this
side of the Atlantic ocean, to find such
a barbarous set of fellows as Mr. Miller
describes. I should hope so, at any rate.

SccCs c


It is not every boy'-says the story- where I passed some of my early day.
telling basket maker-' who knows what You ought to have seen the scholars,
a downright village school is, such a one when they were let out of the school-
as I have before me at this moment, house. But as, perhaps, you never en-



joyed such a privilege, I will give you a
picture of the scene, from the hands of
the engraver. Most of the scholars
were ragged and dirty, stupid and saucy.
It took them days and days of practice
to make straight strokes, and pot hooks,
and round O's. Their round O's had
sometimes three corners, sometimes
more. Their straight strokes were not
unlike a dog's hinder leg; and as to
their hooks, they went up and down, a
little to the right and a little to the left,
and were so entangled and twisted, and
ran so often the one into the other, that,
for the life of you, you could not tell
where they began nor where they ended.
In their sums, they made two and two
five. They carried one to four, and made
seven of it easily; took six from nine,
and left anything behind you please,
from thirteen to thirty; carried one to
eight, and made fifteen of it, as quick as
a wink; made three and sixpence out of
sixty pence; and in casting up twelve
pounds of butter, at a shilling and a
halfpenny a pound, they were pretty
sure to come near double the number of
shillings, either under or over. X and Z
they made vowels of, and turned E and
0 into consonants. They found a plural
in a single pen; but a score was with
them singular. They pronounced an-
ique "antikew," and fatigue "fatigew,"
nd no "Noah." They spelled com-
and cumhand." In their statements
bout geography they made Grand Cairo
n Cornwall. They believed America to
e situated somewhere in Argyleshire;
reland and the East Indies, they said,
joined each other; and Africa was with
hem a market-town, where they sold
striches' eggs. They tore up their books
make paper boats of, and swam them,

as they went home, in the streams they
passed. They held their pens as a
house-maid does a poker; and when
they had blotted their copy-books all
over, so as to leave no space to write,
they finished by blacking each other's
faces with the remainder of the ink.
They broke up their slates to play at
"pitch and toss" with; and after the
schoolmaster had whacked them, so that
his arm fairly ached, they sat down upon
the benches, as if nothing at all had
happened, and said they "didn't care."
If, to punish them, he withheld their
dinners till they went home, by keeping
hold of the basket in which their pro-
visions were stored,' and they could by
any chance get outside the door, they
rioted to excess on a raw turnip, ban-
queted, like an emperor, on beet-root,
and were in perfect ecstacy over a green
cabbage. If they could but get hold
of the cane with which they had been
beaten, they cut it up into small pieces
to smoke. They got astride the benches,
when their *master's back was turned,
and made them rear up, and played at
horses. There was scarcely a tree, for
miles round the school-house, that they
could not clamber up-no garden hedge
so thick, but they contrived to get
through it-no stable in the neighbor-
hood, out of which they could not get
the shaggy pony, if they took a fancy to
do so. They could run like greyhounds,
throw a stone to within an inch of the
object they aimed at, and when they
had done wrong, hide themselves in
such holes and corners as you would
only think a rat would ever dream of
getting into. Sometimes they managed
to arrive at school just in time to see the
better-behaved scholars leaving.






John Wesley.
Szw men of modern times have ac-
complished more than this emi-
nent divine. Few have left a
more indelible and extended im-
pression upon the age in which they
lived. He was the founder of that
Christian sect which has received the
name of Methodists, and gave to it a
character, which, to a great extent, it
retains to this day.
John Wesley was born in Epsworth,
England, in the year 1703. His father
was a clergyman of the Church of Eng-
land. Although a man of considerable
talent and of decided piety, it seems that
the influence of the mother was much
more deeply felt in the family circle.
She it was who sowed those seeds in
john's mind, early in his childhood,
which afterward took deep root, and
rom which sprang his future eminence.
while John was in college, he read Law's
SSerious Call." This book, with some
others of a similar character, awakened
n his mind a strong religious fervor.
He earnestly inquired what he should
lo to be saved, and, as he then hoped,
through the influence of the Spirit of
}od, he became a disciple of Christ,
nd was adopted into the divine family.
n after life, however, it would seem that
he dated his conversion at a later period.
oon after he became familiar with the
ooks above alluded to, he, in connection
ith several other students of the uni-
rrsity, formed an association, which
et at stated times, for the purpose of
religious worship, and for the mutual
provement of its members. Those
ho belonged to this society-some fif-
n in nmber--were very correct in

their habits. They did not live as the
rest of the students lived. They were
more sober, more exemplary than the
rest. On this account the students, is
ridicule, called them Methodists. But
Wesley and his friends did not care
what name they went by. They were
more anxious to get to heaven, and to
lend their aid to other pilgrims in their
journey heavenward, than for anything
else. So the name which was given in
derision to these praying people came at
length to be adopted by the Methodists
Among the young men of the univer-
sity, who were associated with Wesley,
was the celebrated George Whitefield.
Wesley and Whitefield were very inti-
mate while pursuing their studies pre-
paratory to the Christian ministry, and
for some time after they commenced
preaching. But a breach occurred event.
ually, which, as in the case of Paul and
Barnabas, separated them.
Wesley's was a busy life. In 1735,
he commenced his labors in a college
which had then recently been established
in Georgia. He remained here, however,
only a year and nine months. He per-
formed, in preaching from place to place,
an almost incredible amount of work.
For upward of fifty years, he preached
frequently twice, and sometimes four or
five times a day, for weeks together.
Besides this, he presided with the most
minute superintendence over all the pub-
lic affairs of the rapidly growing com-
munity, which looked to him as its head,
transacted a great deal of private busi-
ness, and sent to the press between thirty
and forty volumes.
No man knew better than Wesley the
important of small things. Hi.whol


_ ___I__ _~_ __ _


financial system was based on weekly
penny collections. It was a rule of his
preachers never to omit a single preach-
ing appointment, except when the "risk
of limb or life" required. He was the
first to apply extensively the plan of
tract distribution. He wrote, printed,
and scattered over the kingdom, pla-
cards on almost every topic of morals
and religion. In addition to the usual
means of grace, he introduced the band
meeting, the class meeting, the prayer
meeting, the love feast, and the watch
night. Not content with his itinerant
labors, he called into use the powers of
his people by establishing the new de-
partments of local preachers, exhorters,
and leaders.
He was perpetually traveling and
preaching, studying and writing, trans-
lating and abridging, superintending his
societies, and applying his great plans.
He traveled usually five thousand miles
a year, preaching, often too in the open
air, commencing frequently at five o'clock
in the morning. In the midst of all his
traveling and preaching, he carried with
him the studious habits of the philoso-
pher. No department of human inquiry
was omitted by him. History, poetry
and philosophy," said he, "I read on
After the eightieth year of his age, he
visited Holland twice. At the end of
his eighty-second, he says, "I am never
tired, (such is the goodness of God,)
either with writing, preaching, or trav-
eling." He preached under trees which
he had planted himself, at Kingswood.
He outlived most of his first disciples
and preachers, and stood up, mighty in
intellect and labors, among the second
and third generations of his people. In

his later years persecution had subsided;
he was everywhere received as a patri-
arch, and sometimes excited, by his ar-
rival in towns and cities, an interest
"such as the presence of the king him-
self would produce." He attracted the
largest assemblies, perhaps, which were
ever congregated for religious instruc-
tion, being estimated sometimes at more
than thirty thousand.
He at length died, in the eighty-eighth
year of his age and sixty-fifth of his min-
istry. Nearly one hundred and forty
thousand members, upward of five hun-
dred itinerant, and more than one thou-
sand local preachers, were connected
with him when he died.
The statue of Mr. Wesley accompany-
ing this article has lately been erected in
the noble building of the Theological In-
stitution at Richmond, England. It is
of pure marble, and was sculptured by
Mr. Samuel Manning. The attitude is
well chosen and expressive, and the
drapery well arranged. Extraordinary
pains have been taken, and, it is said,
with perfect success, to ensure in this
statue a good likeness of the excellent

Velocity of Light.

IGHT travels at the rate of nearly
two hundred thousand miles in a
second of time. It performs the
journey from the sun to the earth
in little more than eight minutes, while
a cannon ball projected from the same
point, and traveling the whole distance
at the speed given by gunpowder, would
not reach the earth in thirty years.




HERE has been a great deal said,
written and sung, respecting a
certain order of the animal crea-
tion called mermaids, or sea-
maids, as the term signifies. An odd
sort of thing a mermaid must be, ac-
cording to the stories about it. It is
represented as having the head and up-
per part of the body like a woman, and
the lower extremities like a fish. Those
who profess to have seen them, tell us
that their face is sometimes as white as
that of a woman, that they have long
fine hair, and that they sometimes wear
artificial ornaments. In the engraving
on the opposite page is the representa-
tion of a mermaid, according to the state-
ments of sundry persons who were so
fortunate, if we may credit their story,
as to have seen this monster.
"But do you really believe, sir," I
seem to hear my young reader inquire,
"do you really believe there ever was
such a thing as a mermaid ?"
Well, it seems improbable in the high-

est degree, I must confess. No, I do
not believe in the reality of the mermaid,
except in the imagination of the poet.
But, at the same time, I am inclined to
the opinion that an animal does exist in
the ocean, so singular in its shape and
general appearance, that, when any one
sees it, with the aid of a little imagina-
tion, the notion of a mermaid may be
very honestly entertained. There is no
good reason why the sea may not be the
residence of monsters-of animals, even,
which bear some resemblance to the hu-
man species-as well as the land. On
the land we have the monkey and differ-
ent species of the ape family-animals
which look provokingly like men and
women, and which imitate them in thou-
sands of ways. Why may there not be
creatures in the ocean, too, extending as
it does, over much the largest portion
of the earth, which look and act like
men ? I think it quite likely there are
such creatures, though I have never seen
one, and though such an animal has

A Chapter on Mermaids.


s;~s~ ,
~-r~Lc~ I,



never been caught and examined by a
naturalist. Do not, however-I repeat
it-give me credit for the belief, that
such an intelligent, genteel-looking sea-
lady as the one represented in the en-
graving, has ever had a being. I can-
not easily believe that. Some poet, in
one of his highest flights of fancy, or
else some one who has a knack of tell-
ing fish-stories, has evidently had a hand
in sketching this picture. These poets,
by the way, take great liberties some-
times: when they want to tell large
stories, they just step over the boun-
dary line of sober prose into poet-land,
and then *they seem to think they have
a licence to call in the aid of fancy as
often as they please, and for the man-
ufacture of about as wild tales as they
choose. For instance: the poet takes the
liberty to introduce the mermaid to us
as a very fine singer. "Hark!" he says,
What fairy-like music steals over the sea,
Entrancing the senses with charmed melody I
'Tis the voice of the mermaid, that floats o'er
the main,
As she mingles her song with the gondolier's
It is very likely that mariners and others
accustomed to life on the ocean, who
have seen something that they called a
mermaid, have been aided in their no-
tions of the animal by what has been
written about the sirens. The sirens,
as perhaps you are aware, were inferior
goddesses, according to the mythology
of the ancient Greeks, who lived on an
island, and who had a great talent for
singing. A part of their trade was to
decoy people upon their island, after
which they destroyed them. They sang
so sweetly, that those who passed any-
where near their island were charmed,

by the music, and thus drawn to the
shore, where the sirens were ready to
make them pay for their entertainment
by taking their lives.
These sirens, I am inclined to believe,
were playing hide and seek in the brain-
chamber of some of the people who have
seen a sea-monster which they called a
mermaid. At any rate, there is a good
deal of fable, to say nothing respecting
heathen mythology, in the stories about
the mermaid. A great many of these
stories were collected, a few years since,
by a French gentleman, and published
with others of a similar nature, in a book
called "Melanges d' Histoire Naturelle."
You would be amused, if you should
read these stories-more amused than
instructed, perhaps; though we may
find kernels of excellent wheat, if we
will only look carefully for them, in
places which appear barren enough. I
will give you a specimen of these stories:
Near the middle of the eighteenth
century, there was a good deal of ex-
citement produced, especially among the
lovers of the marvellous, by a detailed and
somewhat straight-forward and plausible
account of a mermaid seen on the north-
ern coast of Germany. According to
the story, the sea-lady was first seen by
a young woman, who was very much
frightened, as well she might have been.
The mermaid was sunning herself on
the rocks when she was first discovered,
but she immediately fled to the water,
uttering a frightful scream as she made
the plunge. After remaining in the wa-
ter a short time, she appeared again, ap-
parently perfectly composed, and quite
willing to give anybody who wished, an
opportunity for examining her.
She proved to be of .about the Ane of




a girl of ten years of age. Her hair,
which was long and profuse, was of a
dark brown color; her eyes were full,
dark and piercing; and her hands and
arms formed almost exactly like those
of the human species, with a slight web
connecting the upper part of the fingers,
which were frequently occupied in throw-
ing back her flowing locks, as they fell
over her face. For nearly an hour she
remained in this spot, during which time
some three hundred persons had assem-
bled to see her. She did not show any
signs of intelligence in her face. On the
contrary, the spectators represented her
as having a very vacant and unmeaning
look, which seemed to indicate that she
had rather the mind of a fish than of a
woman. Her lower extremity resembled
the tail of a dolphin.
I tell you the story, young friend, just
as it is told in the French volume, al-
ready alluded to. You may take it for
what it is worth, which, you will proba-
bly say, is little enough. For myself, I
find it very difficult to swallow the story.
But were those who first set it afloat
impostors ? Did they mean to deceive,
or did they really believe they had seen
such a strange animal as they describ-
ed ?" I think they were sincere-that
they saw a marine animal of a rare spe-
cies, and of a very odd and curious
appearance; but that-unintentionally,
perhaps-they mixed up a good deal of
superstition and error in their estimate
of the animal. I guess they saw through
Gulliver's spectacles, at the time. That
is the best light in which we can view
the matter, at any rate.
In the year 1723, three ferrymen in
Norway asserted, under oath, that they
had seen a merma, and that they were

not more than fifty feet from him at the
time. In appeatance, he resembled an
old man, with strong limbs and broad
shoulders, and had short, curled, black
hair, which did not reach below the ears.
He stood in the same place nearly ten
minutes, exposed as far downward as
the breast, and the tail was of a taper-
ing form, like that of a common fish.
The ferrymen, after a while-so they
said-began to be alarmed, and they
retreated; when the animal made a kind
of roaring noise, and sank below the sur-
face, out of sight.
I wonder if these ferrymen hiLd not
been drinking too freely of wine, or
something of that sort. If they had, it
is no wonder they saw such a monster.
Stranger sights than this have been
seen, thousands of times, by those who
had their heads full of such spirits as
dance around the intoxicating glass. I
know a man, who gets about half or
three-quarters drunk every day, regu-
larly, and then he sees all manner of
odd-looking creatures, that ever lived
on the earth, or the waters under the
earth, besides multitudes of monsters
which never lived anywhere, except in
his brain and in other similar situations.
But about these mermaid stories:
there are scores of them afloat, similar
to the two I have told, and there are a
good many more of this sort in the
French book from which these were
taken. However there are none which
seem to warrant us in believing that
there is, or ever was, such a race as the
mermaid; though some of them afford
pretty strong evidence of the existence
of a marine animal of very strange ap-
pearance, which has, as yet, neer found
a place in natural history.


I ~ __1____ _




The patrons of the YOUTI'S
CABINET, as they glance
over the present number,
will hardly need to be told
that there is a determina-
tion on the part of those
who manage it, to make
each successive volume
more attractive than either
of the preceding. You see,
young friend, that there is
an entire change in its appearance. Per-
haps some of you are puzzled to tell in
what that particular change consists,
though you are perfectly aware that
there is one-just as you find it difficult
to determine, sometimes, how it comes
to pass that a familiar face has under-
gone a complete change, though you
cannot tell how, until you examine each
feature by itself, and then you find out,
and wonder that the thing did not strike
you at first. The change in the costume
of the CABINET to which we allude, is the
handsome border around its pages. In
our judgment, this feature adds a good
deal to the beauty of the work. Don't
you think it does, little friend ?

One of these days we are going to
tell our readers something about printing.
We are preparing some fine engravings
to illustrate the different branches of the
art, and think we shall be able to give

those who care to learn a pretty clear
idea of the manner in which books are
made. We have promised something
of this kind before, but have been una-
ble until now to redeem our promise, for
want of the necessary engravings.

THE bureau of the CABINET has seve-
ral different pigeon-holes, besides that
one the name of which has so much of
terror in it to many timid writers for its
pages. Among these pigeon-holes is
one over the entrance to which, in star-
ing capital letters, is the inscription,
"Accepted." There are now sundry
good things, waiting-very patiently,
no doubt the period when they will
make the acquaintance of the printer.
We cannot mention the titles of these
good things-it would take too much
time and too much paper. They will
come by and by, friend author. There's
a good time coming-make yourself per-
fectly easy about that.
There is another pigeon-hole in the
editorial bureau, which has the word
"Quarantine" posted up over the door.
"What, Mr. Editor! do you suspect any
of your correspondents' letters of being
infected with the plague ? I suppose
you fumigate them in such a case, don't
you?" Ha! ha! Well, we can't say
that we never have had such suspicions
during our editorial life; nor can we af-
firm that we have never resorted to the
fumigating process. That would be a
good deal for an editor, some five years
in the service, to be able to say. But
it is not on account of any such suspi-


cions that we put these contributions on
quarantine. It is because they belong
to a class occupying a place pretty near
the boundary line dividing the articles
to be accepted and the articles to be re-
jected. On this account the quarantine
ground in our bureau is located, for the
sake of convenience, just midway be-
tween the two pigeon-holes before nam-
ed. The quarantine articles are served
much as they serve bills in congress.
They have to be read three times, in
order to pass. And to tell the truth,
their final fate is very like that of these
congressional bills. Many of them never
pass to a third reading.
The bureau has another pigeon-hole
still, and this is labeled "Unread." This
is a repository of all sorts of things,
good, better, best-bad, worse, worst.
Here are "black spirits and white, blue
spirits and gray." It is an odd jumble,
we do assure you-a perfect chaos.
Sometimes, especially when its contents
have been unexamined for a week, it re-
quires a pretty respectable amount of
patience and good humor to review it.
We say these things partly by way
of apology, and partly by way of en-
couragement-of apology for our appa-
rent want of attention to the different
articles submitted to us-of encourage-
ment to those who have sent articles
remaining a good while unpublished;
for it is no certain proof that an article
is rejected because its publication is de-
We hope to hear often from corres-
pondents who have favored us hereto-
fore, and wish we could persuade many
others to write who now modestly de-
cline writing, for fear they could not
interest our readers, but who, neverthe-

less, have much more talent than they
dream of.

MY first is a particle easy to write,
And easy to spell in the word,
Yet often we know 'tis with stubbornness dight,
Whether meeting the eye, or when heard:
Three letters it counteth, and syllables one,
Yet 'tis frequently hard to pronounce,
The tongue that can otherwise volubly run,
Begins here to stammer and flounce;
No word that the school-boy so quickly will eie,
When he wishes to frame an excuse;
No word that so surely the critic will please,
When he brings in a flaw or misuse.
Say 'Yes' to a thing-then annex still my first,
And all you've affirmed is made null;
Say 'No' to a thing-add my primo, as erst,
Who'd take such negation were dull.

My second is one of those ornaments bright,
Which nature gave mortals to prize,
An ornament Conon saw waving in light,
High honored 'mid hosts of the skies.
Its fashion or form may be varied, I ween,
As much as the climes where 'tis born;
In rings or in waves it may often be seen,
Or threaded like tassels of corn.
Its hue may be black as the brow of the night,
Or golden like rays of the sun,
Or gray like the tinge of the soft morning light,
Ere the day-god his course has begun.

My whole is a prop, and great castles of note
Without it could never have stood,
It has held the dikes firm on Holland's great
And stemmed back the tides of her flood;
It has strengthened the muniments circling a
Where armies in vain spent their force;
It has braved with its frontlet artillery's frown,
And sent back his bolts to their source;
Yet I'll laud it no more, lest incautious.I find
Its name shineth clear to your eyes,
And a riddle you know, is worth nought to the
If it faileth in pleasing surprise.



rm with the humble and the haughty,
Moth and monarch feel my power;
Earth could never do without me,
rm in the sunshine and the shower.
Would you know my occupation ?
'Tis I who help to make your thread;
Should you seek my habitation,
I think you'll find me in your head.
MR. THINKER,-The following old
proverb may perhaps prove a puzzle to
some of your young friends, and as
scraps of Latin are in great demand just
now among the readers of the CABINET,
please to insert it.
Ne quid nimis."
In Latin I am expressed by two
words and eight letters. My 1, 2, 8, is
used by the farmer. My 5, 2, 4, 7, is
a well known animal. My 6, 3, 8, oc-
casions rare sport for boys in winter.
I am composed in English of 19 let-
ters. My 9, 17, 11, 19, 6, is often com-
pared to morning. My 19, 13, 10, 18,
8, is an animal eagerly sought for food;
and it is found in my 5, 1p, 19, 14, 13.
My 4, 2, 1, 14, is a coin. My 3, 12, 2,
3, is a city near which Christ performed
a miracle. My 7, 16, is a Latin prepo-
sition. My 6, 14, 9, is a German fable
writer. My whole is good advice; and
I rather guess you will need to heed it
in solving the enigma. CHAMISSO.

1. When wheat was 8 shillings a
bushel and rye 5 shillings, a man wish-
ed to fill his sack with a mixture of
wheat and rye for the money he had in
his purse. If he bought 15 bushels of
wheat, and laid out the remainder of his

money in rye, his sack would not be full
by 3 bushels; but if he bought 15 bush-
els of rye, and then filled his sack with
wheat, he would have 15 shillings left.
How much of each kind must he pur-
chase, to lay out all his money and just
fill his sack?
2. Required the diameter of a piece
of land, in a circular form, that shall
contain as many acres as there are rails
in the fence which surrounds it-the
fence being 11 rails high, and 2 lengths
to fence a rod.
3. A. and B. bought 300 acres of
land for $3 per acre, each paying $450.
A. says to B. "If you will let me take
my land on this side of the lot, I will
let you have as much more than half as
will make your land cost you 25 cents
less per acre than mine shall cost me."
The land being thus divided, how much
had each, and how much did it cost
each per acre ?

I am composed of 14 letters. My 14,
3, 8, 5, is a portion of time. My 4, 10,
13, 6, is what many seek. My 1, 9, 2,
8, 11, is a lake on the eastern continent.
My 5, 7, 12, 11, is an essential part of
a clarinet. The city of New 'ork is
proud of my whole. M.

My first is applied to a process which
some animals are subjected to; but more
frequently to a kind of mischief often
done by careless children. My second
is sometimes observed by good people,
and has been recommended by the Pres-
ident. My whole is welcomed by most
persons, and is generally seen in the
morning. VINA.


The Great Earthquake in Caraccas.
UMBOLDT, in the narrative of his
journey to the equinoctial re-
gions of the New Continent, has
recorded all that could be learn-
ed respecting the earthquake of the 26th
of March, 1812, which destroyed the
'city of Caraccas, with twenty thousand
inhabitants of the province of Venezuela.
An abridgment of this account, will not
only illustrate the human disasters com-
mon on such occasions, but the vast area
shaken by the subterranean commotions,
indicating a common agency exerted at
a great depth in the interior of the globe,
and bearing with fatal energy upon par-
ticular points.
Drought was prevalent through the
province of Venezuela at the time, and
not a drop of rain had fallen for five
months around the capital. The day of
its destruction broke with a calm air and
a cloudless sky, and became excessively
hot. It was Holy Thursday, and the
population gathered to the churches, as
usual on the festival. Not any token
of danger appeared, till seven minutes
after four in the afternoon, when a com-
motion was felt sufficiently strong to
make the bells of the churches ring. The
ground continued in a state of undula-
tion, heaving like a fluid while boiling,
till a noise was heard louder and more
prolonged than the thunder of the
fiercest tropical storm, when the undu-
lations became more violent, and pro-
ceeding from opposite directions, and
crossing each other, Caraccas was over-
thrown. Subsidences occurred at the
churches of the Trinity and Alta Gracia,
and the barracks called El Quartel de
San Carlos almost entirely disappeared

by the sinking of the ground. The night
of Holy Thursday presented a distres-
ing scene of desolation and sorrow,
which contrasted sadly with the beauti-
ful aspect which nature speedily resumed.
The thick clouds of dust which rose from
the ruins and darkened the air, had
fallen to the ground. The shocks had
ceased. Never was there a finer or a
quieter night. The rounded summits of
the Silla mountain were illuminated by
the moon, nearly at the full, and the se-
renity of the heavens seemed to mock
the disturbed state of the earth, where
under a heap of ruins lay nearly ten
thousand of the inhabitants of Caraccas.
" In this city," says Humboldt, "was
now repeated what had taken place in
the province of Quito, after the dreadful
earthquake of the 4th of February, 17 7.
Children found parents in persons who
had till then disavowed them; restitu-
tion was promised by individuals who
had never been accused of theft; and
families who had long been at enmity,
became friends again."
Caraccas was at this period a focus of
subterranean commotions, which from
the beginning of 1811 to 1813 operated
on a vast extent of the earth's surface,
an area limited by the meridian of the
Azores, the valley of the Ohio, and the
cordilleras of New Grenada. The shocks
fatal to the city were sensibly felt at
Honda, on the banks of the Magdalena,
six hundred and twenty miles distant.
Large masses of earth fell in the moun-
tains, and enormous rocks were detached
from the Silla. The lake of Maraycabo
underwent considerable diminution, but
at Valecillo, the ground opened, and
emitted so great a mass of water, that a
new torrent was formed, the same phe-



nomenon taking place near Porto Ca-
bello. In all parts the disturbance was
more violent in the cordilleras of gneiss
and mica-slate, or immediately at their
base, than in the plains.-Selected.

The Bad Spectacles.
A OERTAIN artist-I forget his name-
Had got for making spectacles a fame,
Or "helps to read," as, when they first were sold,
Was writ, upon his glaring sign, in gold;
And, for all uses to be had from glass,
His were allowed by readers to surpass.
There came a man into the shop one day-
Are you the spectacle-contriver, pray T"
Yes, sir," said he, I can in that affair
Contrive to please you, if you want a pair."
"Can you ?-Pray do, then."-So, at first he
To place a youngish pair upon his nose,
And book produced, to see how they would fit;
Asked how he liked them.-" Like them! not
a bit."
" Then, sir, I fancy, if you please to try,
These in my hand will better suit your eye."
"No, but they don't."-" Well, come, sir, if you
Here is another sort-we'll e'en try these;
Still somewhat more they magnify the letter;
Now, sir ?"-" Why, now, I'm not a whit the
"Well, here, take these,which magnify still more:
How do they fit ?"-" Like all the rest before."
In short, they tried a whole assortment through;
But all in vain, for none of them would do.
The operator, much surprised to find
So odd a case, thought sure the man is blind.
" What sort of eyes can you have got 9" said he.
* Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see."
"Yen, I perceive the clearness of the ball-
Pray, let me ask you, can you read at all I"
"No, you great blockhead I if I could, what need
Of paying you for any 'helps to read "
And so he left the maker in a heat,
Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.
Se cted.

Floating Islands.
yHERE are various examples of float-
ing islands. Those of the lake
Gerdau in Prussia are said to af-
ford sufficient pasturage for a
hundred head of cattle, which have ac-
tually been found grazing on them, and
noble elms grow upon one in the lake
Kolk, in Osnabriick. These islands have
been formed by the very gradual in-
crease of vegetable matter, reeds from
the marshes and roots of trees, upon
which the waters have deposited fine
sand and gravel, held in suspension.
The great raft near the mouth of the
Mississippi is a production of an analo-
gous kind. This is composed of the
wood annually drifted down that river
and its tributaries, consisting of the mag-
nificent trees growing upon their banks,
which fall into the waters, owing to the
floods undermining their foundations and
loosening their roots. Arrested by some
obstruction in the river, a mass of timber
has thus accumulated, and become con-
solidated by the interlacing of weeds
and the deposit of alluvium, so as to
form what is called "the raft," the di-
mensions of which in 1816 amounted to
a length of ten miles, a width of two
hundred and twenty yards, and a depth
of eight feet. This is an island afloat in
the bosom of the waters, having exter-
nally the appearance of solid land, for
green bushes and a variety of beautiful
flowers bloom upon its surface. The
age of the raft, at the time when the
preceding dimensions were given, is sup-
posed to have been not more than thirty-
eight years, from which some idea may
be formed of the quantity of drift-wood
borne down the Mississippi.


I 'w

The Young Gleaner.


Taus a gleaner was repining,
As she sat her down to rest-
Summer's sun above her shining,
Winter lowering in her breast:-

"Why am I so poor and lonely,
In a world so full of joy ?
Must I, then, a menial only,
Ever thus my life employ ?-

"Forced to toil from morn till even,
In the sunshine and the rain,
Scorned by men, unloved by Heaven,
For one meagre sheaf of grain ?

Yet, with such a life before me,
Oft my mother used to say,
V. 3

" God ii kind, and angels o'er thee
Watchers are by night and day.'

Heard she then, that weary maiden,
Words that seemed from God addressed-
"Come to me-though heavy-laden,
I will give thy spirit rest"

Then the gleaner's toil grew lighter;
Ce;ae'J for aye her tears to flow;
Then her sunny face beamed brighter,
Then it caught a heavenly glow.

Toils she now from morn till even,
In the sunshine and the rain,
Blest to be beloved of Heaven,
Though a gleaner 'mid the grain.

The Hebrew Mother and her Child.

s the sun was sinking to
rest, it cast its beams into
the dwelling of the He-
brew woman. Long had
she been musing; and
the past, present, and unexplored future,
lay mapped in her mind. The days of
her childhood, when she sported, full of
gleeful mirth, in her father's fields, came
up before her, and with them came
thoughts of those who had begun life
with her, and now were scattered. She
recalled her happy betrothment, and
heard again the songs of rejoicing which
commemorated the virtues of her future
lord. She lived over again every circum-
stance that transpired, as the company
of her kinsfolk and acquaintance con-
veyed her to the house of her husband.
How like yesterday it seemed, that she
was welcomed, a bride, to her new home:
With recollections of her early hopes thus
blighted-her premature widowhood-
came vivid memories. Every kind word,
every expression of tenderness, every
delicate token of his love, came up be-
fore her; and a gush of tears relieved her
agony-for now she was desolate and
afflicted. But her boy-no, she did not
forget the new sentiment awakened in her
breast when she clasped, for the first time,
in her arms, her first-born and only son.
He was yet spared; and she rose, and
with firm step paced her narrow apart-
ment, and said aloud, In the Lord Je-
hovah is my strength. He was my
father's God, I will trust him-yea,
though he slay me, I will trust in him.

He heareth the young ravens, when they
cry; and if he could give to our fathers
water from the rock, and send them man-
na in the desert, give honey to Samson
out of the lion's carcass, he can help
now, and he will help those who call
upon him in truth."
While thus she struggled with her
inner self, hoping against hope, and
strengthened herself in the Lord, a low,
wailing sound came from the corner of
the apartment; and on a bed formed by
the few remaining garments, and spread
by maternal tenderness, lay the emaciat-
ed form of her once bright and beautiful
boy. "Mother, dear mother, I am very,
very hungry." Hush, Naasson, hush,
my son! I cannot help you. I think
the Mighty One* will help us, but I
know not how." "Dear mother, I had
a dream. I thought my father lived,
and I ate plentifully, and rich, ripe
grapes cooled my lips, and I heard the
lowing of the cattle, as we used to hear
them, and the breeze fanned me; and
when I turned to find you, I awoke."
"And I too had a dream last night,"
said his mother. I know not what it
means, but it gives me inward strength,
even while I tell it. An aged seer came
to us; I can see his very features, his
glance, and even his dress. My whole
soul revived, when I saw him, and it
seemed to me that he was an angel. I
too awoke, and awoke to remember that
the heavens above us are as brass, and
the stones iron, and that famine is abroad
everywhere, and that we must die. Yet,
Naasson, I hope; and whether I live or
die, do you remember always, that he




who brought out our fathers from the
bondage of Egypt, and gave the com-
mandments on Mount Sinai, was the
God of your father and of your mother,
and is your God."
"Dear mother, cannot we have one
more meal? Is there nothing to eat ?"
The mother could bear it no longer.
She looked again into the barrel; there
was still a handful. It was little, and it
was the last. Sleep, my boy, and I
will try to help you." This she said in
cheerful accents; but what anguish on
that fine brow! Though wearied and
worn, and herself wasting in absolute
starvation, still an inly light irradiated
her countenance, and high-souled resolve
nerved her, as she left the house, and
closed behind her the door. The dry
soil powdered under her tread; her very
breath died on her lips; all vegetation,
withering, crisped to the touch. Can
there be evil in the city, and the Lord
hath not done it ?" thought she; and as
she approached the gate of the city, she
stooped to gather a few dried branches
that had been broken from an olive-tree.
She was startled at hearing herself ad-
dressed-" Fetch me, I pray thee, a
little water in a vessel, that I may
drink." It was the familiar form and
face of him who had spoken to her in her
dream, and she hastened to do his bid-
ding. But he stopped her, saying, Bring
me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thy
hand." "As the Lord thy God liveth,"
said she, "'I have not a cake, but a
handful of meal in a barrel, and a little
oil in a cruse; and behold, I am gather-
ing two sticks, that I may go in and
dress it for me and my son, that we may
eat it and die." And Elijah said,
"Fear not; go and do as thou hast

said; but make me thereof a little cake
first, and bring it me; after, make for
thee and for thy son. For thus saith the
Lord, the barrel of meal shall not waste,
nor the cruse of oil fail, until the day
that the Lord sendeth rain upon the
In this hour of darkness, her faith
failed not. She went and did according to
the saying of Elijah ; and the barrel of
meal wasted not, neither did the cruSp
of oil fail."
The dim light of a lamp just served to
show the pale features of the dying Na-
asson. His mother, with tearless eye,
watched his parting breath; and as she
held his hand in hers, he gave hei one
look of love, and with a single gasp, ex-
Oh! this was mortal agony. For him,
she had suffered hunger, thirst, priva-
tion; and she had done it with a
willing mind. Their very souls were
welded together by the heat of suffering,
and they had rejoiced together; now,
just at the very fruition of her hopes, he
was taken from her. How naturally she
turned to Elijah! He was an angel of
mercy once-might he not be the agent
of blessing now ? She finds him, and
he comes, and brings with him a heart
full of tenderness and compassion.
What an hour of solemn rejoicing
must that have been, in the house of the
widow woman of Zarepeth, when Elijah
the prophet brought back the pre-
cious charge, and laying him in his
mother's bosom, said, See, thy son liv-
eth !" It was no constrained, unwilling
expression of what was in her heart,
when she said, "By this I know that
thou art a man of God, and the word of
the Lord in thy mouth is truth." w.



The Ignis Fatuus.

His wandering meteor, known to
the vulgar as the Will-o'-the-
Wisp, has given rise to con-
siderable speculation and contro-
versy. Burying grounds, fields of battle,
low meadows, valleys and marshes, are
its ordinary haunts. By some eminent
naturalists, particularly Willoughby and
Ray, it has been maintained to be only
the shining of a great number of the
male glow-worms in England, and the
pyrauste in Italy, flying together-an
opinion to which Mr. Kirby, the ento-
mologist, inclines. The luminosities ob-
served in several cases may have been
due to this cause, but the true meteor
of the marshes cannot be thus explained.
The following instance of its appearance
is abridged from the Entomological
Magazine :-" Two travelers proceeding
across the moors between Hexham and
Alston, were startled, about ten o'clock
at night, by the sudden appearance of a
light, close to the road-side, about the
size of the hand, and of a well-defined
.oval form. The place was very wet,

and the peat moss had been dug out,
leaving what are locally termed 'peat-
pots,' which soon fill with water, nour-
ishing a number of conferve, or water
plants, which are converted into peat.
During the process of decomposition,
these places give out large quantities of
gas. The light was about three feet
from the ground, hovering over peat-
pots, and it moved nearly parallel with
the road for about fifty yards, when it
vanished, probably from the failure of
the gas. The manner in which it dis-
appeared was similar to that of a candle
being blown out."
The ignis fatuts has not become so
strange in various continental districts
as with us. We have the best account
of it from Mr. Blesson, who examined
it abroad with great care and diligence.
" The first time," he states, I saw the
ignis fatuis, was in a valley, in the forest
of Gorbitz, in the New Mark. This
valley cuts deeply in compact loam, and
is marshy on its lower part. During
the day, bubbles of air were seen rising




from the marsh, and in the night blue
flames were observed shooting from and
playing over its surface. As I suspect-
ed that there was some connection be-
tween these flames and bubbles of air,
I marked during the day time the place
where the latter rose up most abundant-
ly, and repaired thither during the night;
to my great joy I actually observed
bluish-purple flames, and did not hesi-
tate to approach them. On reaching
the spot, they retired, and I pursued
them in vain; all attempts to examine
them closely were ineffectual. Some
days of very rainy weather prevented
farther investigation, but afforded leisure
for reflecting on their nature. I conjec-
tured that the motion of the air, on my
approaching the spot, forced forward
the burning gas, and remarked that the
flame burned darker when it was blown
aside; hence I concluded that a con-
tinuous thin stream of inflammable air
was formed by these bubbles, which,
once inflamed, continued to burn, but
which, owing to the paleness of the light
of the flame, could not be observed dur-
ing the day. On another day, in the
twilight, I went again to the place, where
I awaited the approach of night. The
flames became gradually visible, but red-
der than formerly, thus showing that
they burst also during the day. I ap-
proached nearer, and they retired. Con-
vinced that they would return again to
the place of their origin, when the agi-
tation of the air ceased, I remained
stationary and motionless, and observed
them again gradually approach. As I
could easily reach them, it occurred to
me to attempt to light paper by means
of them; but for some time I did not
succeed in this experiment, which I

found was owing to my breathing. I
therefore held my face from the flame,
and also held a piece of cloth as a
screen; on doing which I was able to
singe paper, which became brown-color-
ed, and covered with a viscous moisture.
I next used a narrow slip of paper, and
enjoyed the pleasure of seeing it take
fire. The gas was evidently inflamma-
ble. But how do these lights originate?
After some reflection, I resolved to make *
the experiment of extinguishing them.
I followed the flame; I brought it so far
from the marsh that probably the thread
of connection, if I may so express my-
self, was broken, and it was extinguish-
ed. But scarcely a few minutes had
elapsed, when it was again renewed at
its source, (over air-bubbles,) without
my being able to observe any transition
from the neighboring flames, many of
which were burning in the valley. I
repeated the experiment frequently, and
always with success. The dawn ap-
proached, and the flames, which to me
appeared to approach neater to the
earth, gradually disappeared. On the
following evening I went to the spot,
and kindled a fire on the side of the val-
ley, in order to have an opportunity of
trying to inflame the gas. As on the
evening before, I first extinguished the
flame, and then hastened with a torch
to the spot from which the gas bubbled
up, when instantaneously a kind of ex-
plosion was heard, and a red light was
seen over eight or nine square feet of the
marsh, which diminished to a small blue
flame, from two and a half to three feet
in height. It was therefore no longer
doubtful that this ignis fatuis was
caused by the rising of inflammable gas
from the marsh."




Stories about Dogs.

MNDER this cap-
tion, I have, at
different times,
recorded a great
many anecdotes
for my little
friends; but there are scores of them
left yet; and as these stories seem to
suit my readers pretty generally, I will
still continue occasionally to serve up a
dish of them in the CABINET.
Dogs are particularly useful in coun-
tries where a great many sheep are
pastured. In Scotland, the shepherds'
dogs are trained to be of great service
to their masters. A great portion of
the country is broken up into hills and
valleys, and it would be very difficult
for those who have a large flock of sheep
in charge, to keep them from straying
away and being lost, if it were not for
the constant attention of the dogs.
Some of these intelligent dogs are re-
presented in the engraving. They are
taught to understand their business per-
fectly. If a sheep strays away a little
too far from the main body of the flock,
the dog who is on the watch at the time
runs after her, and brings her back.
Dogs of this particular species, when
sent after a sheep that had wandered
away so far as to be unable to find her
way back again, and had been gone a
whole day, have frequently been suc-
cessful, without any assistance, in bring-
ing the missing one back to the flock.
A little girl writes us from Boston,

and sends a good story of a dog living
in a place not far from that city.
"There was a man in a town which
shall be nameless," she says, "who was
usually designated Old T----.' This
man had a large Newfoundland dog,
which was very much attached to him.
The man was tall and strong, and very
much feared in the place where he lived.*
Nobody, it seemed to the neighbors,
loved him, except his dog and his wife.
At length, he died. Some of the peo-
ple residing in the neighborhood came
in to watch with the corpse, before it
was buried. The dog, finding out this
fact by some means, bounded into the
room through the window, and would
have done serious mischief to these
neighbors, if it had not been for the
timely interference of the mistress, who
sent the dog and the watchers away at
the same time. After Old T-- was
buried, this dog remained watching for
several nights upon the grave."
A gentleman residing at Gosport, in
England, regularly visited Portsmouth,
accompanied by his dog. It happened
one day, that this dog lost his master,
and after looking for him awhile, seemed
to have satisfied himself that he had
passed over in the ferry boat without
him. So he went, as fast as he could
run, to the store of a bookseller where
his master was acquainted, and by va-
rious motions and expressions of voice
and countenance, succeeded in making
the man understand his misfortune.
"What!" exclaimed the bookseller,
"you have lost your master, have
you? Well here is a penny for your
fare across the ferry." The dog initant-




ly took up the coin, ran to the wharf,
dropped the money into the hand of the
ferryman, and was taken across with
other passengers.
Here is a striking instance of the af-
fection of this race of animals: A
young man in France took a dog into a
boat, rowed out into the middle of the
Seine, and threw the animal over, with
the intention of drowning him. The
poor dog tried hard, for a long time, to
climb up the side of the boat, but his
master as often pushed him back. By
and by, when the man was reaching over
the side of the boat, for the purpose of
preventing the dog from coming aboard,
he lost his balance, and fell into the
river. As soon as the faithful dog saw
the danger of his master, he left the
boat, hastened to the drowning man,
and held his head above water, until
help came from the shore. How base
and unfeeling is the conduct of those
ivho treat such animals with cruelty!


Dicky Morton.

IcKY MAORTrON was a fine little
fellow. He was about nine years
of age when I knew him. His
father was a pious, intelligent
gentleman. His mother was a very neat,
kind-hearted lady, and was devoted to
her children. She was very attentive
to their persons, always keeping them
tastefully attired; and she was by no
means neglectful of their moral and
intellectual culture. Richard, usually
called "Dicky" by the family and friends,
was the oldest son in the family. There
were two daughters, one older and one

younger than Dicky, and another little
son, the youngest member of the family.
The father was superintendent of the
Sabbath school of the church to which
he belonged, and his children always
accompanied him to school on Sabbath
morning, and after school was over, went
up into the church to attend public ser-
vice. Little Dicky always sat by his
father, and was always very attentive to
the sermon. He did not go to sleep
during public service, nor did he look
about carelessly or impertinently; but
kept his eyes fixed on the preacher,
and tried to understand and remember
what the preacher said. On his return
from church, his father and mother
frequently questioned him as to the
sermon; asked him where the text was,
what it was, and what the preacher said ?
He always answered very correctly.
He was a good boy. His father loved
him very much, and his mother almost
idolized him. But little Dicky was a
feeble, delicate child. He was very
slender and frail. His parents took a
great deal of care of him. He had
learned several hymns, and always said
his prayers before he went to bed at
night. After he had repeated the
prayers which his father and mother
had taught him, he always remained
upon his knees for some time, as though
lie were engaged in secret prayer. But
no one knew, as yet, what he was pray-
ing for, or why he remained on his knees
after his prayers were repeated. One
Sabbath, after dinner, his father gave
him a bundle of religious tracts, and told
him to go out into a certain part of the
city-for they lived in a city-and dis-
tribute them, and return in the course of
two hours. Little Dicky took the tracts,




with a cheerful heart and a smiling face,
and away he went, flying .through the
streets, and scattering the precious
pages as he went. More than once he
stopped at the doors of houses where
the families knew him, and he was urged
to walk in, and spend a little time with
the families. But he said, No, I must
hasten along, for I have all these tracts
to distribute, and to get home in two
hours from the time I left." Round
and round he went, and having dropped
the last tract in his bundle, he hastened
home, and met his father's smile and
kind embrace. This was the last Sab-
bath little Dicky ever spent out of doors.
Two or three days after that, he was
taken ill. lie continued to get worse
and worse. His father and mother
watched over him, and prayed for him,
and did all they could for his recovery.
But the disease grew worse. They
found that he must die. His father
asked him if he was afraid to die. He
said, "No." Hie then went on to say
that he had felt afraid to die; but that
he had been praying to his kind heaven-
ly Father to prepare him for death, and
now he felt ready to die. This made
his father and mother very happy.
Then little Dicky said, I have always
said the prayers which have been taught
me, and after I have repeated them, I
have always prayed secretly that the
good Lord would bless my father and
mother, and dear sisters, and little bro-
ther; and that he would protect us all
against robbers, and against fire and
death during the night. And now I am
going to heaven to live with Jesus!"
He then asked his parents to meet him
in heaven, and died in peace.-Richmond
Christian Advocate.

"Do as you would be done by."
" r NEVER will play with Charley
Mason again, mother. He's a
naughty boy, and I don't love
"What is the matter now, my son ?
I thought you and Charley were very
good friends."
"Why, mother, he's got my new In-
dia-rubber ball, which sister Anne gave
me, and he says- he will keep it all the
time. But I say he shan't-shall he ?'
And saying this, little Georgy Ham-
mond burst into a sad fit of tears. His
mother spoke gently to him, and said,
How came Charley to run away with
your ball ?"
"Why, mother, he wanted to play
with it, and so did I. I let him look at
it, and then took it again, because it was
my ball, you know; and by and by,
when I was playing bounce, it rolled
away. I ran after it, and so did he;
and he got it before I could, and carried
it home."
Well, George, it was wrong for him
to carry it away in such a manner; but
let me ask you, my son, if Charley had
a nice ball, and you had none, don't you
think you should like to have played
with it ?"
0, yes, indeed."
"And do you think Charley would
have let you ?"
0, I guess he would, for he's a real
nice boy, sometimes."
"Well, Georgy, do you remember what
papa told Fanny yesterday-' to do as
she would be done by ?' You would like
very much to play with Charley's ball,
and yet were not willing to let him play
with yours. This was not right. You




did not do as you would be done by.
You did wrong, and so did he. If you
had let him play bounce' with you, then
you would have been happy little boys,
and now you have been both wrong
and both angry. I admit that Charley
did wrong, but you did wrong first."
"Well, mother, I dare say that is all
true; but Charley has got my ball."
"Charley will not keep it long, my
dear. He only took it to trouble you a
little; he will give it to you, I dare say,
this afternoon."
But Charley did not do as he would
be done by, mother, when he ran home
with it."
No; I suppose he did not think
anything about it, any more than you
did in not letting him play with you.
Don't you remember how kind Charley
was a little while ago, when he had his
new balloon? Did not you play with
Yes, mother; and don't you know
how I let it blow away into the big tree,
and Patrick could not get it down again,
and how long it was up there ?"
"And did Charley cry about it?"
I guess not; but he was very sorry,
and so was I, and I took the money un-
cle gave me and bought some more
paper, and sister Anne made him a real
nice balloon, bigger than his first one
"And did you not feel happy, when
you carried it to him ? and was not
Charley very glad to have it ?"
"Yes, indeed; and he's got it now,
and we play with it sometimes."
"That was doing as you would be
done by. You lost his balloon, and
gave him another to replace it, which
was just."

Mother, if Charley loses my ball, do
you think he will be just too, and bring
me another ?"
Certainly, if he does what is right.
But I think I hear Charley's voice in the
hall. Go and see if it is he."
Yes, mother, 'tis Charley," said
Georgy, as he ran into the hall to meet
him, and the mother following him.
"I've brought home your ball, Geor-
gy," said Charles. Mother said I was
a naughty boy to run away with it, and
she told me to come and bring it back.
I'm sorry I plagued you, and I won't do
so any more."
And I'm very sorry I refused to let
you play with the ball," said George,
"for I know it was that which made
you think of running off with it."
Thus the two boys were soon recon-
ciled; and George's mother was glad to
see how well her son understood his
error, and the way to atone for it. We
have only to add, that if children would
all do as they wish others to do to
them, there never would be any snatch-
ing of one another's things, no harsh
words, no angry feelings among them.

Howard's Opinion of Swearers.

HOWARD, the Philanthropist, standing
in the street, heard some dreadful oaths
and curses from a public house opposite.
Having occasion to go across, he first
buttoned up his pocket, saying to a
by-stander, "I always do this, when I
hear men swear, as I think that any one
who can take God's name in vain, can
also steal, or do anything else that is




Continental Money.

HE bills which are represented in
the above engraving are speci-
mens of notes issued by the Con-
tinental Congress during the Re-
volutionary War. They adopted the
measure of paying their debts in paper
currency, early in the struggle of the
States for independence. When the
notes were first issued, they doubtless
expected to be able to redeem them, at
some future time, in specie. But as the
war continued, it became necessary to
increase the amount of this kind of cur-
rency to an enormous extent. In pro-
portion as their paper money increased
in amount, their credit went down, until,
at length, the promises to pay of the
Continental Congress became almost as
worthless as the miserable bits of smoky-
looking paper on which they were print-
ed. In March, 1780, there had been
paid out of this kind of money the
enormous amount of two hundred mil-
lions of dollars. Not a dollar of this

sum had been redeemed. At this
time, forty paper dollars were worth
only one dollar in specie. Of course
the prices of different articles rose as
the Continental money sank in value.
The effect of all this was peculiarly op-
pressive on the poor soldiers who were
fighting for independence.
Well, what do you think Congress did
to keep up their credit, and go ahead
with the war? They recommended to
the separate States to pass laws making
paper currency, at its nominal value, a
legal tender for the payment of debts
which had been contracted to be paid
in gold and silver-that is, to pass such
a law as would oblige the creditor to
take Continental money, at the value
named in the bill, for old debts, perhaps
contracted before there was any paper
money in the market. Such laws were
enacted in some of the States, and a
great many debtors took advantage of
them. There was much dissatisfaction.


however, respecting this arrangement,
all over the country. General Wash-
ington did not like it. He thought it
unjust to the creditor. When the army
was at Morristown, there was a man of
respectable standing living in the neigh-
borhood, who often visited the General,
and the latter was always kind and
cordial in his demeanor toward him.
Afterward, this man took advantage of
the law making paper money a legal
tender, and paid off his debts, of which
he happened to have a large number, in
the depreciated currency. He still con-
tinued his visits- to Washington. But
the General did not treat him with his
former cordiality. Lafayette could not
help remarking it, and said, after the
man was gone, "General, this man
seems to be a great friend of yours, and
yet you have scarcely noticed him."
Washington replied, smiling, I know I
have not been cordial. I tried hard to
be civil, and attempted to speak to him
kindly, two or three times; but that
Continental money stopped my mouth."
After the war was over, these notes
became valuable only as objects of
curiosity. The poor soldier, who had
his pockets full of them, could hardly
purchase a dinner. When I was a little
boy, I remember my grandfather had
quite a number of these bills, which he
used to exhibit to us little folks, at the
same time that he entertained us with
wonderful stories about the war. But
we seldom come across any of the money
now-a-days, and perhaps many of my
readers have never seen any of it. For
this reason I have had two or three of
the bills engraved for you to look at.
They are exact pictures of the originals,
as nearly alike as two sister white beans.

What a rude specimen of engraving
and printing these notes present. They
are not finished quite as elegantly as the
bank bills which are issued at the pres-
ent day.

The three Syntactical Combinations.

1HE sentence or proposition consti-
tutes the soul and essence of
language, and is the* central
point of all grammatical inves-
The analysis of the proposition con-
tinues to engage the attention of the
philosophic grammarian, and the results
of his investigations should be early im-
bibed by the youthful mind.
The sentence or proposition does not
consist directly of words. Words brought
together by mere juxtaposition do not
constitute a sentence. They are merely
the rude material. Something more is
necessary to make them an organic
According to the view of modern phi-
lologists, a sentence or proposition is
made up immediately, not of words, but
of syntactical groupings or combinations
of words. These syntactical combina-
tions are of three kinds only, viz. the
predicative, the attributive, and the objec-
tive. Not every phrase or grouping of
words is a syntactical combination, or a
combination which enters immediately
into the structure of the sentence.
I. The first syntactical combination
is the predicative; as "God exists." It
consists of two factors, the subject and
the predicate.




The subject is a substantive, i. e. the
idea of a substance, or of something con-
ceived of as such, concerning which
something is affirmed; as, God."
The predicate is a verb, i. e. the idea
of an action or activity, which is affirmed
concerning the subject; as, "exists."
The subject and the predicate, by
means of this relation between them, are
combined by the speaker, at the moment
of speaking, into a unit or whole. It
is the nature of the predicative combina-
tion, that the predicate and subject to-
gether form one thought, and that thought
a judgment or affirmation of the human
According to the different forms of the
predicative combination, the predicate
may be,
1. A verb; as, "glass breaks."
2. An adjective; as, "glass is fra-
3. A substantive; as, "John is a
4. An adverb; as, the fire is out."
5. A substantive with a preposition;
as, he is in good spirits."
The unity of the thought is evident in
all these combinations or groupings.
A predicative combination alone con-
stitutes a simple proposition in its crude
or naked form; but the other syntacti-
cal combinations are necessary, in order
to enlarge and expand the simple propo-
sition, and the repetition of the predi-
cative combination is necessary, in order
to constitute a compound proposition.
II. The second syntactical combina-
tion is the attributive; as, "Almighty
God." This consists of two factors, viz.
a substantive, or the idea of a sub-
stance; as, "God;" and the attribute,
which involves the idea of an action or

activity; as, mAlmighty TheSe two
factors are combined, not necessarily by
the speaker, nor necessarily at the ao-
ment of.speaking, into one idea (net ow
thought) and that the idea of substance.
According to the different forms of the
attributive combination, the attribute
may be,
1. An adjective; as "theirtwous man.
2. A substantive in apposition; as,
my brother, the physician."
3. A substantive in the genitive case;
as, the sun's course."
4. A substantive with a preposition;
as, "an enemy to his country."
5. A substantive used adjectively; as,
"the marriage act."
6. An adverb; as, "the under side."
7. A participle; as, running water."
8. A pronoun; as, this book."
All these groupings or combinations,
it is evident, constitute one idea, and that
the idea of a substance.
III. The third syntactical combina-
tion is the objective; as, "made man."
This consists of two factors, viz. a verb
or adjective, involving the idea of action;
as, made;" and an object to which
such activity is directed; as, "man."
The two factors are combined so as to
make one idea, and that an idea of ac-
tion or activity.
According to the different forms of the
objective combination, the object may be
1. By a substantive in an oblique
case; as, "made man."
2. By a substantive with a preposi-
tion; as, "gave to him."
3. By an adverb; as, "acted wisely."
4. By an infinitive; as, "desires to g."
5. By a pronominal word; as, "killed




All these combinations or groupings,
it s evident, constitute one idea, and that
the idea of an action.
The complex sentence, "The father,
anxious about the child, wrote a long
letter," may be analyzed thus:
The father wrote," is a predicative
The anxious father," is an attributive

Wrote a letter," is an objective com-
SAnxious about the child," is an ob-
jective combination.
"A long letter," is an atributive
In this way, sentences may be devel-
oped to an indefinite extent.
Nsw HABv, Or.

Greenough's Statue of Washington.

J OWb zE of the many thousands who
annually visit the capital of our
nation, fails to spend a few
moments in gazing upon Horatio
Gasungh's Statue of Washington, a
vlw of which is given in the above en-
grsig. It is well worthy of study,
and though we cannot give a very mi-

nute description of it, we must tell our
readers what is said of it, by Mr. Alex-
ander Everett, a gentleman of most ex-
cellent taste and judgment in the fine
arts. He says, "The statue greatly ex-
ceeded the expectations I had formed
concerning it. It is of colossal grand-
eur; about twice the size of life. The



hero appears in a sitting posture. A
loose drapery, of the order of the Roman
costume, covers the lower part of the
figure, and is carried up in a graceful
manner over the right arm, which is
extended, the elbow being bent and the
forefinger pointing upward. The left
arm is slightly extended above the thigh,
and the hand holds a Roman sword re-
versed, emblematical of his retirement
from the military office which he once
held, and of his character as a great
civilian and cultivator of the arts of
peace, as well as a warrior who had
fought the battles of his country and
achieved her political redemption. The
seat in which the figure sits, is a massive
arm-chair of ancient pattern and large
size, the sides being ornamented with
the most beautifully chiseled bass-relief.
One of these latter represents the infant
Hercules killing the serpent in his cra-
dle; and the other, Apollo guiding the
four steeds that drew the chariot of the
sun. The back of the chair, which
reaches about half way, is of open work,
affording abundant opportunity to wit-
ness the form of the hero's back. At
one corner, is a miniature Columbus,
holding ia his hand a globe which he is
examining intently; and at another cor-
ner is a small statue of an Indian chief
in his full native habiliments-the two
adding much to the interest of the main
work. The statue rests upon a square
and massive block of granite. On the
front and two sides of this, is inscribed
the famous resolution voted by Congress,
when the news of Washington's decease
was communicated to that body, 'First
in War; First in Peace; First in the
Hearts of his Countrymen.' On the
back of the statue, just above the top

of the chair, is placed another inscrip-
tion in Latin. As a whole, this piece
of sculpture may vie, in point of design
and mechanical execution, with the
proudest works of ancient and.moderr

The Honest Jew.

WHEN putting on my clothes after
washing in the German Ocean, off Sun-
derland, I was asked by a young man
whether or no I had lost any bank notes,
to which I replied that I ought to have
three one-pound Bank of England notes
in my pocket, but that I would examine.
You will find there the wanderers,"
he said. "I saw them blown from your
direction, and I hastened to prevent them
from following your example." For
which interference of course he received
my thanks.
The next day when walking through
Sunderland, I saw the same person with
a basket of trinkets before him, sup-
ported by a strap round his neck. After
a smile of mutual recognition, I inquired
the price of a seal, when, looking at my
watch chain, he said, You do not want
one, I see, and only ask the question as
a reward for what happened yesterday;
and although I should have otherwise
been glad of your custom, I must decline
it as a reward for honesty." Seeing that
I looked rather surprised, he observed,
"You seem rather astonished, and I
have only to request, that when you
hear any of our race abused, you wil
remember that you have met with an
honest Jew; and I assure you that I am
not the only one."-Selcted.



The Child and the Cloud.




Floating cloud, wintry cloud,
Whither away ?
Where giant trees are bowed,
In my rude play.

Ch. To the old oak tree, cloud ?
Blow gently there !
C. The old oak is proud,
I will not spare.

Ch. Oh cloud, do not shake
Its limbs; nor rend;
Cl. If it would not break,
Why, let it bend!

Ch. See yon quivering trees !
Go thou to them;
Cl. They bend in every breeze,
The breeze they stem.

Ch. Let thy force, then, be spent
On yon tall tree;
It needeth me.

CA. Why to this household tree
Hast thou been sent ?
-CL To break the haughty knee
That has not bent.

ATA. Say, what mighty power
Sends to the tree ?
CI. He who in a coming hour
Will send to thee.

CA. Speak thou, 0 wondrous cloud,
Why send to me ?
C. -If thy knee is not bowed,
He'll break thy knee.

CA. Ahl now the truth I take-
I, too, must bend;
CL 'Ye, if thou would'st not break,
Ike thyteak friend.

Ch. Ah, as I lowly bend,
Why change thy hue ?
Cl. Because thy mighty Friend
Sends his glory through.

Ch. Why dost thou change thy form
To beauty bright ?
Cl. For mercy, not for storm,
I come to-night.

Ch. Like angel's form, I ween,
Thou glidest now;
Cl. Redeemed child, thou hast seen
'Tis bliss to bow.

Ch. Joy thy white bosom sends
Upon my head;
Cl. Thus on each head that bends,
Rapture is shed.

Ch. Thou canst both heal and break--
Bliss comes with thee;
Cl. To that bliss I will take
Thyself with me.

Moth. On yon white cloud his eye
Rested in death;
It passed serenely by,
As passed his breath.

Let young people remember, that
their good temper will gain them more
esteem and happiness than the genius
and talents of all the bad men that ever
existed. Those who are careful to avoid
offending others, are not apt to take
offence themselves. Let all our young
friends remember this.





The Ettrick Shepherd.

.AMES HOGo, more commonly known
by his poetical name of the "Ettrick
Shepherd," was born at Ettrick, in
Scotland, on the 25th of January,
1772. The house where he was born, and
where he spent his early years, is repre-
sented in the engraving. When he was
a mere child, he was put out to service,,
acting first as cowherd, until he was ca-
pable of taking care of a flock of sheep.
Few, if any men of modern times
have attained so high a rank among the
world's poets, with so great obstacles to
contend with in early life, as Hogg. His
father was poor, and unable to give his
son the advantages of an education at
school. He had in all only about half
a year's schooling. He had to undergo
a great many hardships, when he was a
boy. He tells about some of them:
"Time after time," says he, I had but
V. 4

two shirts, which grew often so bad,
that I was obliged to quit wearing them
altogether; for when I put them on, they
hung in long tatters at my heels. At
these times, I must have made a very
grotesque figure."
When eighteen years of age, he en-
tered the service of Mr. Laidlaw. He
was then an eager reader of poetry and
romances, and he subscribed to a circu-
lating library in Peebles, the miscellane-
ous contents of which he perused with
the utmost avidity. He was a remark-
ably fine-looking young man, with a pro-
fusion of light brown hair, which he wore
coiled up under his hat or blue bonnet
An attack of illness, however, brought on
by over-exertion on a hot summer day,
completely altered his countenance, an
changed the very form of his features
Hogg's account of the manner in whiob


he wrote many of his verses, when he
was a shepherd's boy, is somewhat
amusing, and it affords us pretty con-
clusive proof, at the same time, that if
any one is industrious and determined to
make something of himself, he will be
pretty likely to succeed. He says,
"Having very little spare time from my
flock, which was unruly enough, I folded
and stitched a few sheets of paper,
which I carried in my pocket. I had
no ink-horn; but in place of it, I borrow-
ed a small vial, which I fixed in a hole
in the breast of my waistcoat, and having
a cork affixed by a piece of twine: it an-
swered the purpose just as well. Thus
equipped, whenever a leisure moment or
two offered, I had nothing to do but to
sit down, and write my thoughts as I
found them."
His first literary effort was in song-
writing, and in 1801 he published a
small volume of pieces. He was in-
troduced to Sir Walter Scott by his
master's son, Mr. William Laidlaw, and
assisted in the collection of old ballads
for the Border Minstrelsy. He soon im-
itated the style of these ancient strains
with great exactness, and published an-
other volume of songs and poems, under
the title of The Mountain Bard:" He
now embarked in sheep-farming, and
took a journey to the island of Harris, on
a speculation of this kind ; but all he had
saved as a shepherd, or by his publica-
tion, was lost in these attempts. He
then repaired to Edinburgh, and endea-
vored to subsist by his pen. A collec-
tion of songs, called "The Forest Min-
strel," was his first effort; his second
was a periodical called "The Spy;" but
it was not till the publication of the
Queen's Wake," in 1813, that the shep-

herd established his reputation as an au-
thor. This "legendary poem" consists
of a collection of tales and ballads sup-
posed to be sung to Mary Queen of
Scots by the native bards of Scotland,
assembled at a royal wake at Holyrood,
in order that the fir queen might prove
S %The wvmdnes p owl sottlsh song."

The design was excellent, and the exe-
cution so varied and masterly, that Hogg
was at once placed among the first of
our living poets. The different produc-
tions of the native minstrels are strung
together by a thread of narrative so
gracefully written in many parts, that
the' reader is surprised equally at the
delicacy and the genius of the author.
At the conclusion of the poem, Hogg
alludes to his illustrious friend Scott,
and adverts with some feeling to the ad-
vice which Sir Walter had once given
him, to abstain from his worship of po-
etry. Scott was grieved at this allusion
to his friendly counsel, as it was given
at a time when no one dreamed of the
shepherd possessing the powers that he
displayed in the Queen's Wake." Va-
rious works now proceeded from his pen.
The worldly schemes of the shepherd
were seldom successful. Though he had
failed as a sheep-farmer, he ventured
again, and took a large farm, Mount
Benger, from the Duke of Buccleuch.
Here he was also unsuccessful; and his
sole support, for the latter years of his
life, was the remuneration afforded by
his literary labors. He lived in a cottage
which he had built at Altrive, on a piece
of land presented to him by the Duch-
ess of Buccleuch. His love of angling
and field sports amounted to a passion,
and when he could no longer fish or





hunt, he declared his belief that his death asleep in his gray plaid on the hill-side.
was near. In the autumn of 1835, he His death was deeply mourned in the
was attacked with a dropsical com- vale of Ettrick, for all rejoiced in his
plaint; and on the 21st November of fame; and notwithstanding his foibles,
that year, he breathed his last, as calm- the shepherd was geerous, kiud-& art-
;y, and with as little pain, as he everfell ed, and charitable far beyond Jb auns.

What I know.


A mT of a chap like me, you know,
Must say his piece a little slow;
And though I should not speak as well
As Frederick or Henry, still
I'll do my very best, and you
Must patient be, and love me too.
I cannot yet read very well,
But I am learning, and can spell.
My teacher says that once, like me,
She had to learn her A, B, C.
I can write A's, and Os, and U's,
And M's, and N's, and W's,
And hope that I shall soon succeed,
To write a letter you can read.
I now can add seven, eight and nine,
And numerate them in a line;
As for the multiplication table,
That's no great things; for I am able
To go already up to six,
And don't mean that shall be a fix;
I know the States from Maine to Tezos
The boundaries no longer vex us;
And every capital I'll tell,
Until you'll say, "Tom, very well!"
Concord, Montpelier and Augusta,
New Orleans, Jackson, Tuscaloosa,
Albany, Harrisburg, and so on-
I could from Maine to Texas go o.
Now if I know all this at seven,
IDn't be afrid..-wen I am. eeves,
ril lt you sa a thing or two%
And show wh Thomas .L eas do.

Iht YTO.

s. I. L .


The Gold Repeater.


was in my fif-
teenth year. I
S was apprentic-
Sed to my uncle,
i- and wished for

Siworld so much
as a good, use-
ful watch, that
would keep time
well ; -such a
one as the other apprentices had. The
first real token of manliness, thought I,
is the being able to tell one's self what
o'clock it is. Ay, and I am still of opin-
ion that, in the period when the serious
business of life begins, every one should
be carefully taught to take a good ac-
count of time; for time is the most
precious possession, when properly hus-
banded and employed. A watch in
one's pocket does much to promote
habits of punctuality and a careful use
of time.
Christmas was approaching. I was
already old enough to know that our
8aviour does not, in the literal sense of
the words, come flying through the air,
bringing all kinds of presents; but that
this idea signifies the feeling of love and
kindness, the good spirit in the hearts
of kindred and friends, silently and se-
cretly studying to render one another
happy. With what a blissful feeling
does each one go about, endeavoring to
discover the wishes of the rest, scarce
able to keep his secret, and. full of joy
at the thought of contributing to an-
otdirs pleasure I Where such love ex-

ists, we may with truth say that Christ
visits that house.
I longed for nothing more eagerly
than the present of a watch at Christ-
mas; but I never dropped a hint of my
wish, nor did I say a word of it to my
merry little sister Minna. Yet whenever
anything was said about a watch, I in-
voluntarily trembled with a kind of anx-
iety; and if by chance any one asked,
" What's o'clock ?" I grew quite angry.
This must have betrayed me, for listen
to what happened.
One day at noon, on entering the sit-
ting-room, I heard my father calling to
my mother,-" Quick, wife! put away
Adam's gold repeater." Then he hastily
wrapped something up in a piece of pa-
per, and hid it. My mother looked
sad, but I made as if I had seen and
heard nothing, and was blithe and cheer-
ful. From that time I walked proudly
through the streets, thinking to myself,
" Surely every one must see in my looks
what a golden future is before me !"
The only thing that troubled me was,
that people wear their watches in their
pockets, hidden, instead of carrying them
openly in the face of the world, and
(so easily does vanity delude a man!) I
reasoned myself into the belief that it
would be much more philanthropic to
wear one's watch "openly, for then the
poor people could also see exactly the
hour and minute.
Every one who can afford to have a
watch, and can take care of it, has one
of his own concealed in his pocket, which
he regulates and sets, from time to time,



by the large clock on the church steeple;
and the clock on the church steeple is
regulated by the sun, whose course God
has determined from the beginning of
time. All that man can do is to affix
hands to the sun-dial, and notice by the
shadow they cast the position of the
common and eternal source of light.
This is indeed a type and symbol of
the mind-a truth which I have only in
late years come to understand: at that
time my thoughts were of a very differ-
ent kind. I often stood gazing into the
watchmaker's shop, and involuntarily I
stowed away my pen-knife in my right-
hand waistcoat pocket-the left was re-
served for something better "A man
wears his watch next to his heart," said
I to myself; there it goes tic, tac, in-
side and out." Once I dreamed that my
gold repeater had been stolen from me,
and on awaking I felt quite rejoiced at
not yet possessing the watch. I could
not help telling my companions the cause
of my joy; but I did not tell them all,
and I spoke in riddles, saying that at
Christmas they would open their eyes
and ears wide, when I showed them
something that pointed and spoke of it-
self. Then off I ran, before they guessed
what it could be. It was now my turn
to open eyes and ears.
Christmas eve came, and the tapers
were lighted, and the merriment began.
When the folding-doors were at length
opened, we children rushed into the
room; but all at once we stood still in
amazement, and my heart beat violently.
"Ay," thought I, "there lies the watch
for me upon the table." But, alas! it
was-a silver one! My joy was damp-
ed; but soon I collected myself, and
thought, "What does it matter? silver

is, after all, whiter and thicker; and then
too it repeats so prettily, bim, barn." I
pressed the spring with all my might,
but it did not yield-t-here was no
sound. A feeling of despair came over
me: "Then it is nothing after all" I
laid the watch down, without saying a
word, hastily left the room, went up
stairs to my chamber in the dark, and
wept bitterly, until my heart was almost
broken. The thought crossed my mind ,
that I would kill myself, as I had been
cheated of my gold repeater; and then
again I wept at the thought of dying so
young because my hopes had all been
destroyed. My mother soon came with
a candle, and when I poured out to her
my grief at the disappointment, she
shook her head, pressed her lips toge-
ther, and looked at me with that look of
truth and love which is still ever present
to me, although death has long since
closed her eyes. She now explained to
me how wrongly I acted, saying, that
had I never heard of a gold repeater, I
would have been satisfied with a plain
watch; that my father wished only to
try me, and teach me the lesson that we
ought to find pleasure even under dis-
appointment, and not to be ungrateful
to God and man. She said this in her
own gentle and impressive tone of voice;
and after weeping till I could weep no
more, I went with her down into the
I was no longer sad, and yet not hap-
py; the watch, however, which was now
my own, was a good and useful one.
At night, as I lay in bed, the bad spirit
came over me again; I was so excited
that I wanted to jump up and throw the
watch out of the window; but it was too
cold out of bed, and I lay quiet in th


bed-clothes. How often are wrong ac-
tions prevented by the most trifling cir-
cumstances! Surely we have no reason
to make a boast of our virtues. Tired
of crying, and the violent excitement I
had undergone, I soon fell fast asleep,
and felt quite glad, on awaking the next
morning, to hear my watch go merrily,
tic, tac. For a whole week I carefully
avoided my companions, and they soon
forgot my boasting. I wore my watch
for a long time without showing it to
any one, and was satisfied with the joy
of possessing it.
Nearly forty years have passed since
that Christmas; here is the watch still
in my possession, and it never loses a
minute. I did not at the time rightly
understand my mother's words, but I
have a great while since discovered their
I may say, by this very story: When
I see a man who, from unreasonable ex-
pectations of something better, is discon-
tented with everything that befals him,
I think to myself, "He too has hoped
for a gold repeater."
When I am about anything, and am
annoyed at its not succeeding as I wish,
I say to myself, "Ah I have you still the
gold repeater in your head ?"
When I see a man who has been look-
ing up to some high place in the state,
or in society, and who frets with morti-
fication at being obliged to spend his life
in a subordinate position, I am ready to
exclaim, Leave off pressing the spring,
friend! 'twill not strike him, bam-be
content with the plain hands."
When I observe a young married
couple, to whom life has appeared like
a perpetual wedding-day, and who have
at last fead out that Heaven does not

forever shower roses on their path, but
that the dull realities of every-day life
come at last, and then they fall to bicb-
ering with one another, I think to my-
self, "Ah, could these good people but
forget the gold repeater!"
In short, I have learnt a lesson from
this story, which may be applied in a
hundred ways. Most men are discon-
tented and unhappy, for no other reason
than that matters fall out differently from
what they have expected. There is no
harm in striving after all that is best and
most perfect; on the contrary, it is pre-
cisely this which properly exercises and
proves our strength: but we must, at
jthe same time, take care to remain con-
tent and happy when a less perfect lot
falls to our share. I have learnt to be
content with this watch, and it is to me
a treasure beyond all price.

Robert Hall.

HIs great man, when he was a boy
about six years of age, was sent
to a boarding school, where he
spent the week, coming home
Saturday and returning Monday. When
he went away on Monday morning, he
would take with him two or three books
from his father's library, to read at the
intervals between the school hours. The
books he selected, were not those of mere
amusement, but such as required deep
and serious thought. Before he was nine
years old, he had read over and over
again, with the deepest interest, Ed-
wards on the Affections, Edwards on the
Wil, and Butler's Analogy.




The Powder Plot.

o ) AMEB and Henry Holt
were bright, intel-
ligent boys, but of
that restless turn
of mind that made
them wish con-
stantly to be em-
ployed about some-
thing; and unfor-
tunately they never stop-
ped to think whether they
could busy themselves
About something which
might be useful. But this
was not all, nothing came
within their reach, but their
hands were laid upon it; and
few things went out of their hands
without sustaining some injury. Many
a piece of mischief did they plan and
carry out, notwithstanding the care and
watchfulness of their kind mother.
Their mother did not allow them to
handle fire, or to take matches; but they
were both ingenious, and after several
attempts they succeeded in making some
matches for themselves. They kept them
out of their mother's sight, waiting for
an opportunity to use them. Not long
after this, their mother sent them on an
errand, more than half a mile from home.
On their way they had to pass through
a grove, and taking their matches with
them, they determined to have some
fine sport. They collected a quantity of
dried leaves and branches, and placing
them in a pile, they proceeded to set fire
to them, with one of their new made
matches. The fire was beginning to
kindle, and would soon have spread
where it would have been out of their

power to stop it, bad not a man who
happened to be passing near, seen the
smoke, and put out the Ire before it ad
time to do any damage. When Jamns
and Henry were told that the pleasr
of a few moments which they expected
to enjoy by disobeying their parent%,
if it had not been happily discovered,
would have destroyed many cords of
wood, in a part of the country where it
was scarce and valuable, no doubt they
thought that this would have been pay-
ing pretty dearly for a little play. *
Had they thought what would follow
from a fire made up in the woods, they
would not have kindled it. But here
was the wrong. Few boys sit down and
say to themselves, I will disobey my
parents, and destroy property, just for
the sake of a little fun." The difficulty
is, boys do not think.
A few months since, while I was in
a hardware store, one Saturday eve-
ning, a boy came in, and asked the shop-
keeper if he could mend a knife for
"Well, let us look at it," said the
shopkeeper, who was rather an eccentric
man; you would like to have it to whit-
tle with to-morrow, would you?"
"Oh no, sir!" answered the little fel-
low, to-morrow is Sunday."
"Ah, so it is," answered the shop-
keeper, "and you remembered it, did
you, my boy? that's right. Always keep
your thinking machinery going, and al-
ways mind your mother."
These were two very important leo
sons, which I hope the little boy re-
membered; but they were lesson whisk
James and Henry did not easily l.as


and they often did things which caused
their parents much unhappiness.
At one time Mrs. Holt decided to
make a visit to her sister, who resided
seventy or eighty miles distant. Her
two sons and their little sister were to
accompany her, and James was to drive.
To escort their mother, and have the
charge of a horse, the boys thought
both a pleasure and an honor, and they
seemed to think they had very nearly
become men. They arrived at their
journey's end in safety, found their cou-
sin George, a boy about Henry's age, a
fine play-fellow. For a few days every-
thing went on well. Had the boys been
obedient, both they and their mother
might have had a pleasant visit. But
this was not the case.
One day the whole family were invit-
ed to spend the afternoon at the house
of a relative not far distant. Henry was
dressed for the visit; and with his neat
collar and black ribbon, clean white pan-
taloons and nicely brushed hair, he
seemed a boy that any mother might
be proud of. He was to accompany one
of his aunts before dinner, while the re-
mainder of the family were to go in the
afternoon. Many were the charges his
mother gave him to be careful of his
clothes, as she did not expect to have
any more washing done before leaving
for home. Henry's aunt was not quite
ready to go; and as George and James
were to draw the carriage down to the
brook near by, to wash it, he begged the
privilege of riding down the hill. His
mother reminded him that he had clean
clothes on, and if he went, he must be
very careful not to soil them. Henry
promised very fairly; and in a few mo-
ments the merry fellows were going down

the hill with great speed, Henry acting
as driver, and James and George as
horses. Instead of getting out at the
bottom of the hill, as he ought to have
done, Henry suffered himself to be drawn
into the water; and such was his
thoughtlessness, that in a few moments
after his mother looked out, the heed-
less boy was in the middle of the brook,
up to his knees in muddy water.
You, my young friend, cannot know
how his mother felt; but your mother,
though I hope she never had such a
trial, can guess more easily than you
can what were Mrs. Holt's .feelings.
Oh dear," said she, "what shall I
do, what can I do with that boy !"
When Henry came in, his mother told
him that as he had soiled his clothes, so
that they were unfit to wear, he might
go to bed. Poor Henry! it was a sad
way for a restless boy like him to spend
the afternoon; but his mother hoped it
might make him more thoughtful ano-
ther time. Henry, however, was not
the only one who had to suffer by this
mischief. His mother was obliged to
lose most of her afternoon's visit, that
she might attend to the washing, dry-
ing, and ironing of his clothes; and his
brother and cousin could not enjoy any
play as well as if Henry had been with
The next day but one was set for their
return home; and on the day previous,
Mrs. Holt was very busy in making pre-
parations for her journey, and she hoped
that this day the boys would give her no
The children were very much engaged
in play, determined, as it was the last
day, to make the most of it; and James
and Henry told George that they knew


how to make a volcano, or burning
mountain, and they would show him
how, if he would help them get some
powder and matches. George thought
this must be fine sport, and he bought
some powder with his own spending
money. The boys knew that their pa-
rents would not allow them to have
anything to do with powder; and they
selected a spot at a little distance from
the house, where they thought they
should not be observed, and commenced
their business. Did they forget that
though they could get out of the sight
of their mothers, they could not escape
from the eye of God ?
They collected a small heap of dry
chips and shavings, on the top of which
they laid some papers inclosing powder;
and having surrounded the whole with
a pile of light wood and chips, they
covered it with earth, and placed a large
straw, filled with powder, in the hole
which they had left on the top, for a
crater. George stole, unobserved, into
the house, and succeeded in getting a
match without any one knowing it.
James undertook to light the volcano,
which he said he knew how to do very
well. He set fire to the straw, and
some light pieces of wood which were
left at the crater, and the boys ran away.
They waited some time; but instead of
a burning mountain, they saw only a
slight smoke, and they gathered round
to see what was the matter. Kneeling
close to the pile, the other boys watched,
while James examined it, to see what
was wrong. In an instant more, some
men, who were at work not far distant,
heard an explosion like the noise of a
gun, and hastening to the spot, they
found the dirt and fuel strewed around,

and the boys scattered in different direc-
tions, all so frightened that they scarcely
knew whether they were hurt or not.
George and Henry, finding that they
were not hurt, but only covered with
dirt, soon began to scramble up; but
poor James still lay on the ground, bleed-
ing and black, and did not attempt to
rise. Two of the men took him up, and
bore him toward his uncle's house,
while George and Henry followed in
sadness and sorrow, fearing much that
James would never be able to see or
speak again. Mrs. Holt was very much
alarmed; but she was a woman of much
fortitude, and immediately set about
dressing her boy's wounds. After washing
off the powder, blood and dirt, she found
that the insides of his hands were very
badly burned, that his eyelashes and eye-
brows hadc disappeared, and that much
of his face had suffered severely. She
found that his eyes were not materially
injured; and she was thankful that her
dear boy was not rendered blind for life,
for his recklessness and disobedience.
To think of going home was now out
of the question. For more than a week
their return was deferred; and a dull
week it was to James. The most of the
time he was obliged to lie on his back,
with his hands and face all wrapped up.
Several people in the neighborhood, who
had heard of the accident, called to see
him; and his mother related the whole
story, adding, with a great deal of em-
phasis, "If he had been a boy of good
principle, the accident would not have
To James this was worse than the
pain he suffered.
Gradually his wounds began to heal;
and by the middle'of the next week,



early a fortnight from the first time set
for their departure, he thought he could
drive home. As they were to ride slow-
ly, and visit some friends on their way,
James hoped his face and hands would
e entirely healed before he should see
his father; and he earnestly begged his
mother not to let him know what he
had done, making many promises that
be would be more thoughtful in future.
I am happy to say that James has
very much improved, and bids fair to be
a respectable and useful man. By the
last account I had of Henry, though he

has grown in years, he has not altered
in character. He still continues to be
an affectionate and winning boy, but he
is reckless and wayward. If he should
chance to see this-as very probably he
may, for my story is a true one,-let me
beg of him not to gratify his love of fun
and mischief, at the expense of wrong
doing; and for the benefit of all my
young readers, I want to repeat the
words of the shopman : "Always keep
your thinking machinery in motion, and
always mind your mother."
L. B. M.


The Dog and his Shadow.


This world is full of shadow-chasers,
Most easily deceived.
Should I enumerate these racers,
I should not be believed.
I send them all to AEsop's dog,
Who, crossing water on a log,
Espied the meat he bore, below;
To seize its image, let it go;
Plunged in; to reach the shore was glad,
With neither what he'd hoped, nor what he'd had.




Earl Fitzwillam and the Farmer.
SFARMER called on the late Earl
\ Fitzwilliam, to represent to him
that his crop of wheat had been
seriously injured, in a field ad-
joining a certain wood, where his lord-
ship's hounds had during the winter
frequently met to hunt. He stated
that the young wheat had been so cut
up and destroyed, that in some parts
he could not hope for any produce.
"Well, my friend," said his lordship, "I
am aware that we have frequently met
in that field, and that we have done
considerable injury; and if you can pro-
onue an estimate of the loss you have
sustained, I will repay you." The farm-
er replied, that anticipating his lord-
ship's consideration and kindness, he had
requested a friend to assist him in esti-
mating the damage, and they thought
that as'the crop seemed quite destroyed,
fifty pounds would not more than repay
him. The earl immediately gave him
the money.
As the harvest, however, approached,
the wheat grew, and in those parts of
the field which were most trampled, the
corn was strongest and most luxuriant.
The farmer went again to his lordship,
and being introduced, said, "I am come,
my lord, respecting the field of wheat
adjoining such a wood." His lordship
immediately recollected the circumstance.
"Well, my friend, did I not allow you
sufficient to remunerate you for your
loss ?" Yes, my lord, I find that I have
sustained no loss at all; for where the
horses had most cut up the land the
crop is most promising, and I have there-
fore brought the fifty pounds back again."
"Ah exclaimed the venerable eari,

* this is what I like; this is as it should
be between mar and man." He then
entered into conversation with the farm-
er, asking him some questions about
his family-how many children he had,
&c. His lordship then went into an-
other room, and returning, presented the
farmer with a check for' one hundred
pounds, saying, "Take care of this, and
when your eldest son is of age present
it to him, and tell him the occasion that
produced it." We know not which to
admire most--the honesty of the farmer
on the one hand, or on the other, the
benevolence and the wisdom displayed
by this illustrious man; for while doing
a noble act of generosity, he was hand
ing down a lesson of integrity to an
other generation.-Anecdotes of the Fa-

Going to the Fire.
osT people know that if their
extremities, fingers, toes, ears,
&c., are frozen, they must not
go suddenly to the fire; but
no matter, they think, how cold they are
if the parts are not frozen. Then they
may get as close to the fire as they please,
for aught they seem to know or think.
But can one degree of the thrmometer
make so much difference ? That is, the
extremities being cooled to thirty-two
degrees, we must not approach the fne,
but must apply ice, very cold water, &c.,
and thus raise the temperature very gra-
dually; but if the temperature is thirty-
three degrees, we think we may rush to
the ire as suddenly as we please, and


yet be safe. But no mistake, of the
small kind, can be greater than this.
Weak eyes, colds in the head, chilblains,
and even lung diseases are often the con-
sequence of going suddenly to the fire,
when exceedingly cold. School children
are peculiarly liable to suffer in this way,
especially when they live at a long dis-
tance from the school. Well do I re-
member a delicate girl, six years of age,
who walked about a mile to a school
which I taught thirty years ago, and al-
ways when she could, crowded at once
to the fire. It seemed almost impossible
to restrain her. Yet no pupil of mine
ever suffered more from chilblains, to say
nothing of colds in the head. Let me
recommend to the readers of the YouTH's
CABINET, to avoid going suddenly to the
fire when cold. Their rule in such cases,
in regard to getting warm, should be,
" Make haste slowly." When the sys-
tem is at a medium temperature through-
out, it won't hurt them so much-but in
all other circumstances there is danger.-
Dr. W. A. Alcott.

A Common Mistake.
GREAT many people have got the
notion, that the way Absalom
came to fall into the hands of
Joab was, that his long hair
caught in the boughs of the tree under
which he was riding. They came hon-
estly enough.by the notion, too. If my
memory does not play me false, there
used to be a picture in the old primers,
representing Absalom hanging in the oak
by his hair. I have seen the picture
somewhere, at any rate; and I can re-

member when I should have charged
anybody with a want of faith in the Bi-
ble, if he ventured to doubt that Absa-
lom's hair was the cause of his capture by
his enemies. The truth is, however, that
this man's head, and not his hair, was
caught between the branches of the oak.
Just look at the account of the matter in
the Bible, little friends-those of you
who are inclined to a contrary opinion-
and you will see that I am right. I
make this statement for a particular, as
well as for a general reason. Everybody
can see what the general reason is. The
particular reason can only be understood
by a correspondent who sends a poetical
charade, with something in it about Ab-

Beware of Idleness.
r one ceases to be active and vir-
tuous, the nervous system is imme-
diately deranged, and fantastic but
dreadful maladies succeed. Some
imagine themselves dead, and others de-
clare their bodies to be the abode of
fends. One imagines that he hears frogs
croaking in his stomach; another thinks
his body a lump of butter, and is afraid
to walk in the sun, lest he should be
melted. Doctor Moore, of London, has
recently published an account of a lady
who had passed an idle life, and who at
last imagined herself a pound of candles,
and dreaded the approach of night, fear-
ing the chamber-maids should take a part
of her for use. So beware of idleness,
little friend, unless you are willing to
make such mistakes as these.




An Indian Story.
N THE early settlement of this coun-
try a strange Indian arrived at an
inn in Litchfield, Connecticut, and
asked for something to eat; at the
same time saying that, as he had been
unsuccessful in hunting, he had nothing
to pay. The woman who kept the inn,
not only refused his reasonable request,
but called him hard names. But a man
who sat by, seeing that the Indian was
Suffering for want of food, told her to
give him what he wanted at his expense.
When the Indian had finished his supper,
he thanked the man, and assured him
that he should be faithfully recompensed,
whenever it was in his power.
Some years after this, the man had
occasion to go from Litchfield to Albany,
where he was taken prisoner by the
Indians, and carried to Canada. Some
of them proposed that he should be put
to death; but an old woman demanded
that he should be given to her, that she
might adopt him in place of a son, who
had been killed in the war. This was
done, and he passed the winter in her
family. The next summer, while he was
at work alone in the woods, a strange
Indian came and asked him to go to a
certain place on a given day, which he
agreed to do; though he had some fears
that mischief was intended. His fears
increased, and his promise was broken.
But the Indian came again and renewed
the request. The man made another
engagement, and kept his word. On
reaching the spot, he found the Indian
provided with ammunition, two muskets,
and two knapsacks. He was ordered to
take one of each; which he did, and fol-
lowed his conductor. In the day-time,

they shot the game that came in their
way, and at night, they kindled a fire
and slept by it. But the Indian ob-
served a mysterious silence as to the
object of their expedition. After travel-
ing in this manner many days, they came
to the top of a mountain, from which
they saw a number of houses in the
midst of a cultivated corutry. The In-
dian asked him if he knew the ground,
and he eagerly answered, "It is Litch- ,
field !" The Indian then recalled to his
mind the scene at the inn, and bidding
him farewell, exclaimed, I am that In-
dian Now I pray you go home."


xv. Dr. Witherspoon, President of
New Jersey College, once gave
out Politeness, to a division of
one of his classes, as a subject
for composition. The young gentlemen
were delighted with it; and when the
time came for reading, some of them
expatiated upon it largely, learnedly,
and politely. After they had all rend,
they waited for the President to sum
up their observations, and then state
his own views. But, he told them, he
should only give them a short definition,
which they might always remember.
"Politeness," said he, "is real kindness,
kindly expressed." This is the sum
and substance of all true politeness;
and if my readers will put it in'prac-
tice; they will be surprised to see how
everybody will be charmed with their




ou S one of our
numerous read-
ers-we can-
not tell who,
as he has
not chosen to
make known
his name -
sent us, the
other day, a few lines on "Snow," which
have in them considerable poetic merit.
They are not without faults, to be sure;
and some of them are unpardonable.
They would have pleased us better, if
friend OSCAR had been a little more
careful in the matter of measure. Still
they are very creditable, considering that
they were written, as we suppose, by a
little boy, and they must have a place at
our editorial table. Being aware that
you are not in favor of long prefaces,"
says the writer, in introducing himself
to the editor, "and as I am a person of
very few words, I submit to you the
following lines, knowing that they are
destined for one of your pigeon-holes,
though which of them I am unable to

TzE white-winged snow,
By winter's fierceblow,
Is swept with many a whiil,
Till the landscape is white,
With the snow flakes light
Lying in many a drifted curl.

A ten the eartl's br6wn breast
'IiWre white drest,
Amn sparkles in the calm moonlight,

While the sleigh-bells are ti g,
And the snow-ball Are flung,
When the earth is robed in white.

The trees are all dressed
In a glittering vest,
That shines in the sni's bright rays;
The hill-tops are crowned,
And the hills all around,
With the snow, as it glistens and plays.

The bright silvery snow
Whites the streams as they flow
On their icy and rock-ribbed way,
And casts a sweet spell
On the earth where it fell,
Be that place wherever it may.

ESTELLE, of Boston, is informed that
there is another lady residing in a dif-
ferent section of the country, who has
occasionally employed the same signa-
ture in her contributions to the CABINET.
Idle Thoughts" are on the whole
deserving a great deal of praise. If we
do not publish them-and we are afraid
we shall have to decline them-it will
be because of two faults they have: first,
the writer is not quite particular enough
about his rhymes, and secondly, he takes
a little too much liberty in the length
of his lines. We wish the young man
would make another effort. He has
poetic genius, and there is no good rea-
son, that we can see, why he should not
make a poet.
The piece of music, entitled the "Morn-
ing Serenade," will do well enough as
an exercise in musical composition, but
it seems to us hardly worth printing.
The enigmas sent by H. B. P. please
us very much. We shall be glad to hear.
from him again.




I am composed of 25 letters. My 25,
14, 17, 24, is a beautiful little river, dear
to the lovers of poesy and song. My
2, 22, 6, 19, 21, 15, 11, died early, in
poverty and obscurity, but left behind
him an immortal name. My 1, 7, 20, 2,
11, is a strait on the eastern hemisphere.
My 20, 4, 5, 13, 11, 22, 5, 9, is a skill-
ful little mariner whose ancestors in-
structed ours. My 12, 7, 3, 28, 20, 18,
is a mathematical line. My 6, 14, 18,
5, 12, is the bark in which Cupid sails
down the Nile. My 10, 5, 9, 12, per-
ished at the stake. My 3, 15, 7, 3, 8,
has been renowned for ages, for the
laurels there lost and won. My 18, 15,
14, 11, 9, 12, 2, 15, 13, was an eminent
historian. My 2, 13, 4, 6, 23, 20, 13, 4,
rivaled the stag. My 3, 23, 15, 16, 4,
is the botanical name of one of our most
valuable forest trees. My whole is mag-
nificent beyond my power to describe.
H. B. P.

My first doth travel far and wide
From his dear native home,
The rugged lands, the swelling tide,
Behold him ever roam.
My second on my first bestow
A fleeter step and true,
Unless, indeed, it treads too close
Upon the other's shoe.
My sum, let not my first e'er mis,
For 'tis his rightful dole.
And mind, if e'er you answer this,
Do not forget my whole.

For the answers to the enigmas,
charades, and matters of that genius,
Which follow, we are indebted to Miss
CLARA H. P. of Schenectady, N. Y.

For some reason or another, there is
quite a dearth this month, in the corres-
pondence of our friends touching these



The Hoe is used by thefarmer. The
Goat is a well-known animal. Ice occa-
sions rare sport for boys in winter. The
whole is expressed in Latin by "Hoc

Yi'th is often compared to morning.
The Trout is eagerly sought for food,
and is found in Water. The Dime is a
coin. Nain was a city near which Christ
restored the widow's son to life. Ab is
a Latin preposition. Hey is a German
fable writer. The whole is MIND WA '
YOU ARE ABOUT ;" which is certainly good
advice for us all.

To spend 130 shillings, the money he
had in his purse, and to fill his sack, the
man must have bought 10 bushels of each
kind of grain.
Year is a portion of time. Many seek
Fame. Tchad is a lake en the Eastern
continent. The Reed is an essential part
of a clarinet. The whole, of which the
city of New York is proud, is THE RL


A Chapter on Printing.


AN any of my young readers recol-
lect, that I promised, a good
while ago, to tell them something
about the art of printing? I
made such a promise, I believe; and
,though some, doubtless, have forgotten
it, I should not wonder if a larger pro-
portion have remembered it, and have
thought, perhaps, that the chapter was a
long time coming. It is ready now, how-
ever, and the printer must put it into
such a shape as will make it fit to be
The.art of printing from separate and
movable types was discovered during
the first half of the fifteenth century.
Hundreds of years before that time, the
process of making impressions on wax
and other substances was known; and in
V. 5

some countries, prior to the fifteenth
century, the art of cutting images and
rude letters on wood was practiced to
some extent. But the date of the inven-
tion of printing from movable metallic
types is as late as the period above
This invention made a great noise in
the world, as you may suppose. The
printing art was regarded as a most won-
derful thing; and some of those who
were engaged in it at first, were accused
of practicing witchcraft, because they
made scores of copies of the same book,
all just alike.
Since the discovery was made, there
have been constant improvements in the
process, until now it has reached a de-
grce of perfection which would astonish







the original inventor, almost as much as
his rude types and press aotonishqd the
people of his age.
In describing the process of printing,
I shall use as plain and simple language
as I can; but you must not be surprised
if, even with all my care, you are unable
to understand precisely all the 4ptails of
the art.
We will suppose that this article on
printing is to make the acquaintance of
the types. The first thing to be done is
to furnish the printer with a copy, in
manuscript, of what I want printed,
This copy the printer has before him,
when he is engaged in putting it in type.
You see a portion of a printing-office in the
last engraving. The man who is at work
there is a compositor, that is, one whose
part of the business is to arrange the
types according to the copy. Those up-
right frames are called stands. The ob-
ject of these is to furnish a support for
the cases, which you see lying on them,
containing the types. There are three
pairs of cases in the picture, The up-
per case contains the capital and small
capital letters, and some other less im-
portant types. The lower case, which
is laid on the stand less upright than the
other, contains the smaller letters, in
which the great body of a bopk is print-
ed. In the upper case, the capitals and
small capitals are arranged in the same
order in which they occur in the alpha-
bet. The capitals are, on one side of the
wide upright division, and the srall cap-
itals on the. other side, Qopnting from
the bottom of the case, on the left hand,
upward. the capitals begin on the fourth
row. The fir t box coptsins A, the
second toward the right hand contains
B, and so on. On the other side of the

wide division, the small capgal; re
placed in the same order. In the lower
case, the order is different The, letters
are not placed there according to the
order in which they occur in the alpha-
bet. The reason of this irregularity i,
that more types are needed of some let-
ters than of others. The letter e, for in-
stance, occurs a great deal oftener than
any other letter in the alphabet.
Look, now, at one of the pairs of cases,
in the engraving. Those on the extreme
left are more easily examined than the
rest-look at them. If you take notice
of the lower case, you will see one box
at the top, just at the left of the central
division, larger thanany other in the case,
This is the box devoted to the letter e,
"But I don't, see why, after all"-so
methinks I hear some thoughtful boy
inquire-" I don't see why the letters
should not be arranged in alphabetical
order. I should think they might make
some such araangement, and still have
those letters which were used most fre-
quently placed so that they could be
picked up with the most convenience."
I confess I used myself to think that
that would be the best mode, But I was
mistaken. The truth is, if all the let-
ters occurred in alphabetical order, and
especially if all the boxes were of the
same size, the printer would, not recol-
lect what boxes were appropriated to
each letter so well as he now does. The
very irregularity o( the arrangement aids
the memory, where it becomes necessary,
as in thi cae, to draw so often upon the
Beforetle compositor can O, anything
toward putting the manuscript before
him in type, he must have a compwoing-
stick. This is an iron frame, so constuct


ed, by means of a screw, that a part of
it can be moved upward or downward,
and thus adjusted according to the
length of the line desired. If the stick
was to be adjusted for the CABINET, the
line would be quite a short one. The
compositor needs, also, a thin, smooth
piece of metal (he prefers brass or steel)
of the same height with the types, to
place perpendicularly in his stick, so that
the types will slide down easily by the
side of it. This he calls a rule, or when
he wants to be more definite-as there
are different kinds of rules-a composing-
rule. One end of the rule projects a
little beyond the outside of the stick, so
that, when he completes a line, he can
easily remove the rule. The types are
about four-fifths of an inch high.
When the compositor has adjusted his
stick, so that it is of the proper length,
and provided himself with a rule, he is
ready to commence setting the types ac-
cording to the manuscript. It is with
him a matter of great consequence,
whether the copy he has in hand is
written plainly on not. If it is easily
read, he does not care much what the
writer is driving at. The man with the
composing-stick seldom considers it a
part of his business to furnish brains for
an author. It is a common maxim in
printing.offices, "Follow the copy, if it
leads you out of the fourth-story win-
dow." The worst of it is, however,
that the poor compositor too often finds
it utterly impossible to do any such
thing as that, not being able to tell, by
the author's marks, what he means by
them. In such a case, the marks on
the manuscript, otherwise called words,
go by the name of quail tracks. Some-
times the printer gets quite out of pa-

tience with his copy, and wishes the
man that wrote it was compelled to un-
dergo the punishment-he seldom asks
for a severer one-of reading some one
else's manuscript, as badly written as
his own. With the printer, "good
copy" is copy that is easily read. The
author may write about anything under
the sun, or anything over it-about
science, art, theology, taste, politics-
he may tell stories, large or small-gos-
sip about the news of the day, or put to-
gether the different parts of a new Eng-
lish grammar-he may write sense or
nonsense, truth or untruth-he may take
the highest flights of which the human
reason is capable, or he may rave like an
inmate of the lunatic asylum-the print-
er does not trouble his head about it.
Only let him know what his author
means to say, and it will be his sole aim
to put the types into such a position
that they will say it.
Suppose, now, that the compositor
has some good copy in hand-it is some
of the manuscript for the CABINET, and
as the editor of that periodical, if I am
correctly informed, was once a printer
himself, and must know by painful ex-
perience how perplexing it is to set up
types from paper all covered with quail
tracks," he could hardly furnish any-
thing but good copy-suppose that he
has some good copy before him. He
proceeds to arrange the types in his
stick to correspond with what is writ-
ten. The first thing he has to do, is to
set up the caption of the article-" A
Chapter on Printing." This caption
must be set in a type of a different size
from that in which the body of the ar-
ticle appears; and he has to procure it,
consequently, from another case.




These different sizes and styles of
type are called founts. The smallest
type used in the CABINET is called Non-
pareil. The largest-that in which the
principal part of the entire work is set-
is called Long Primer. I beg you will
not undertake to trace any similarity be-
tween the style of this type and the
primers from which you learn your cate-
chism, as any such undertaking would be
likely to prove quite a useless waste of
time. The poetry in the CABINET usual-
ly appears in a dress made of Bourgeois,
a size of type next below Long Primer.
Sometimes, however, when the lines are
very long, it is set in Brevier, a size still
smaller. Minion is the next below that;
then Nonpareil, then Agate, then Pearl,
'then Diamond, which last is small
enough for almost any purpose, though,
once in a great while, you find some
printing smaller even than that. The
names of the sizes of type larger than
Long Primer are Small Pica, Pica,
English, Great Primer, and so on.
You will very naturally inquire how
the compositor manages to place the
caption in the middle of the line, with
an equal blank space on each end. I
will tell you. All the letters which com-
pose a fount of type are of exactly the
same height-about four-fifths of an inch.
Of course, then, when the types are
placed in the stick with their faces up-
ward, they are all on the same plane.
But as it is frequently necessary that
blanks, of greater or less extent, should
occur, where the reading matter is inter-
rupted, as in the case of fps caption or
heading, and at the end of every para-
graph, there are flat pieces of metal
cast, of the same thickness with the
letters composing the fount, but of dif-

ferent widths, which are lower than the
letters. These are called quadrats.
They are placed in the lower case, at the
extreme right of the compositor, on the
front or lower side.
The compositor having set the caption
or title of his article-not forgetting to
tell his readers the name of the person
who wrote it-he proceeds to set the ar-
ticle itself. He takes up each letter sep-
arately. He does not stop to look at
the face of it, as he takes it up; for he.
has good reason to believe, if he gets it
from the right box, that it will be the
letter he wants. "But how, then,
does he know which end of the type be-
longs upward ?" On every type, near
the lower end, there are two or three
notches, which show the compositor
that that is the end to be placed down-
ward in the stick, and also that the side
on which the notches occur is the lower
side of the letter as it stands in the line.
These notches are called nicks. The
compositor looks at his copy, and
charges his memory with a small portion
of it-perhaps a line. He sets up a
word. There must be a division between
the words, of course. I need scarcely
tell you how the division is to be made,
as it will occur to most of you, that the
way to make it is similar to the one
adopted at the end of paragraphs, by
having pieces of metal provided that are
lower than the types. These are called
spaces. The box containing the spaces
most in use, is in the lower case, at the
left of the central perpendicular division,
on the front side. The compositor uses
spaces so often, that they are very con-
veniently arranged in his case, as you
When the line is completed, it often.




happens that there is a space at the end,
too small to admit another syllable.
What is to be dpne in such a case? It
will not do, unless that line complete a
paragraph, to let it stand as it is, and
to put quadrats at the end. The lines
must not be of unequal length. The
compositor gets over this difficulty in
one of two ways. He either reduces the
space between the words in the line he
is setting, so as to allow another sylla-
ble to come in, or he adds to the space
between the words, until he fills the
line so that there is no blank space at
the end of it. In the latter case, he
drives out; in the former, he gets in.
The process by which he does either of
these things, is called justifying the
line. To enable him to justify neatly,
there are thinner spaces than those
which he more commonly uses, placed
in a different part of his case, and he
employs these either in driving out or
getting in.
The line being well justified in the
stick, the compositor removes his rule,
places it on the other side of the line,
and lets the line move backward. The
reason he shifts the position of his rule
in this way, is, to have the advantage in
the next line, as in the first, of the smooth
surface of the rule, in placing the types
in the stick. He proceeds in the same
way with the second and subsequent
You ought, perhaps, to know the dif-
ference between solid and leaded matter.
The former has no space between the
lines, The latter has a lead, or thin
piece of metal, between each line. The
CABINET is leaded. In newspapers, the
matter that appears on the inside, under
the editorial head, is leaded, and so,

generally-though not always-is every-
thing original that is printed in the
paper. Books vary in this respect.
They are, perhaps, as often printed one
way as the other. The compositor, in
leaded, matter, places the lead in his
stick immediately after completing the
line, before he removes his rule.
By and by the compositor's stick is
full. It is then necessary to empty it.
To do this, he places his rule on the out-
side of the last line, presses the third or
middle finger of each hand, lengthwise,
against the ends of the lines, and so re-
moves the contents of the stick. If his
lines have been justified badly, he finds
this a troublesome operation. He may
let the whole stick-full slip from his fin-
gers, in which case he calls the state of *
the types pi. If, on the other hand, he
has spaced the lines as he ought to have
done, the emptying process is easy
enough. But we must not keep the
compositor waiting there, with the con-
tents of his stick-matter he calls it-
in his hand. We must provide some
place where he can empty his matter.
He must have a galley. This is a very
simple contrivance. All that is necessa-
ry is a frame sufficiently wide to admit
the lines, and so constructed that the mat-
ter, when placed in it, will stand upright.
A galley is sometimes a yard lolf, some-
times shorter. The galley must not lie
entirely horizontal; but one side of it
must be raised a little higher than the
other, so that the matter, being support-
ed only on one side of the galley, shall
not fall down
Suppose, nw, that the compositor
has set up two or three galleys-full of
matter, and suppose him to be at work
on the YourT's CABINET still. He then




makes up his matter, that is, he arranges
it in pages. To do this, he ascertains,
by a measure he has, the length of the
previous pages, and takes a sufficient
number of lines from those in the galley
to make one column, or half the page, of
that length. Next, he places a brass
rule perpendicular with the column, and
of the same length with it, which, when
f.he page comes to be printed, will make
At line of division between the two col-
umns. The next thing to be done, in
the process of making up, is to empty in
another column, parallel with the first.
Then the compositor takes a piece of
twine, and draws it carefully several
times around the page, so as to hold the
whole firmly together; after which he
lifts the page from the galley, and places
ft on the imposing-stone. This is a
piece of marble, with a very smooth
face, placed horizontally, of sufficient
size to hold some sixteen or more pages
of the CABINET. You perceive, little
friends, that I am proceeding with the
description of the process of printing, as
if the thing to be printed was in the
form of a book or pamphlet. The
printing of a newspaper is somewhat
From this point in the process of
printing-the point where the matter is
made up into pages-there is a good
deal of difference in the course pursued
with a work to be stereotyped, and one
which is to be printed from the types
which the compositor has set up. To
avoid confusion, although the CABINET is
stereotyped, every line of it, I will pro-
ceed with the description as if it were
printed with the separate types. The
process of stereotyping I will describe
to you by and by.

The pages must be arrapge on the
imposing-stone in such. a manner, tht.
when the sheet is printg, they will fol-
low each other in proper order. This
process is called imposing, The CABI-
NET is called a large octavo. Sixteen
pages are printed at once. In other
words, to employ the language of the
printer-for you are in a printing-office
now, and must talk as the printers do-
there are sixteen pages in a form. So
the man who is imposing these pnags.
lays down sixteen of them, according to
the rule observed in imposing an octavo ;
and if he understands his business, he
will not have to hesitate long about the
particular place each page is to occupy;
though, if he should be at a loss how
to proceed, he could find the plan laid
down in a book, designed as a guide in
all the different departments of the art
of printing. In this book, there are par-
ticular directions given for imposing all
the various forms-folio, quarto, octavo,
duodecimo, and so on.
After the form is imposed, it must be
locked up. An iron frame is employed
for this purpose, which, when it lies
down horizontally on the stone, is about
two thirds as high as the types. This
is called a chase. You will see a chase
in the engraving of the printing-office.
It is leaning against one of the stands.
The chase is made with two bars run-
ning across it, and crossing each other
at right angles. These bars are not
fastened permanently to the sides of the
chase; but provision is made for their
being moved so aq to fit the chase for
locking up different forms. The chase
being laid on, the stone, so as to enclose
the pages, and so that they are divided
by the two cross-bars, the next thing to




be ascertained is the amount of margin
required in the book. This being settled,
the printer looks out for some furniture,
of the right size, to place between the
pages and by the sides of the cross-bars.
The furniture used in printing, is made
of different lengths and widths, though,
of course, of about the same height,
which is pretty nearly the same as that
of the chase. Furniture is sometimes
made of wood, and sometimes of type-
metal. Care must be taken that each
piece of furniture is neither longer nor
shorter than the page. If it is longer,
the form cannot be properly locked up,
in which case it is said to bind. If it is
too short, the lines, either on one end or
the other of the page, not having any
other support than the furniture, will
fall down.
The next thing to be done is to secure
some long pieces of furniture, wider at
one end than at the other, to place on
the outside of the pages, next the chase,
so that wedges can be inserted at the
narrowest end, in order to lock up the
form. Then the cords are removed from
the pages; after which, wedges, called,
in the dialect of the printing art, quoins,
of the proper size, are procured, and the
form, if carefully imposed, is locked up
with ease.
It is not yet ready to be printed, how-
ever. The compositor may not have
read the manuscript correctly, or the
types in his case may, in some instances,
have got misplaced in the boxes. Be-.
sides, the author may have made some
sad blunders himself, which the compos-
itor felt bound to copy, but which the
proof-reader will not allow to pass.
It is astonishing, by the way, what awk-
ward work some authors-men too who

have made themselves quite famous in
the literary world-always make, when
they come to put the commas, semico-
lons, and other similar marks, into their
manuscripts. It is extremely vexatious,
too, to the poor compositor, who, on ac-
count of such punctuation, has so often
to guess at what his author means. It
would be a great deal better, if some
manuscripts I have had sent to me for
publication in the CABINET, had no sort
of marks of punctuation whatever; for
where they are misplaced, as they so
frequently are, they hinder a person
from guessing what the writer wishes to
enlighten the world about. I insist
upon it, that one who writes for the
press, and who either cannot or will not
use the points properly, had much better
leave them out altogether, after the"
fashion of Timothy Dexter. Did you
ever hear the story about Dexter and
his famous book? I must tell it, I
Timothy Dexter was an odd genius,
who dwelt in the old commonwealth of
Massachusetts, and who was always
blundering into some good fortune or
other. History informs us, that he took
it into his head, one day, to write a
book, and publish it. He did so. I
don't know what topics he treated of;
but the peculiarity of the book consisted
in its utter absence, from beginning to
end, of everything in the shape of a mark
of punctuation. He added an appendix,
however, in which he gave three or four
pages of commas, semicolons, colons,
periods, exclamation points, hyphens,
and all other marks ever used in punctu-
ation, with a note to the reader, stating,
that as there was a great deal of differ-
ence of opinion among mankind, in rela-




tion to the use of these points, he had
provided a generous assortment of them,
and hoped each one would season the
book according to his liking.
As I was going on to say, when this
story of Timothy Dexter came into my
mind, it is necessary, on account of the
errors made by the compositor, as well
as on account of the author's blunders,

almost every book or pamphlet, or news-
paper, of which a large edition is printed,
and even many of which only a small
number is needed, is printed on a ma-
chine very different from that one on
which the form is now placed. The

that a proof-seet of the form should be
taken. So the chase, with its contents,
is lifted from the stone, and placed on a
press, temporarily, perhaps, just for the
purpose of printing this proof-sheet; for
it is quite likely that the form will be
worked on a printing-press which goes
by steam. There are a great many dif-
ferent kinds of presses now-a-days, and

CABINET is printed on one of these
The engraving introduced above, re-
presents a hand-press, of one of the
most approved modern patterns. I don't
know that I shall find a better time than




the present, to describe the main features
of it; so, if you will allow me to inter-
rupt for a moment the thread of my
story about the proof-sheet, which
comes next in order, I will give you this
A great part of the entire press is
iron. The principle on which it acts, is
that of the lever. There is a great
pressure to be applied to the form; and,
of course, the object is to get the great-
est amount of power, with the least ex-
pense of manual force. In old times,
when I was a little boy, they used to
employ a screw-press, as the best adapt-
ed for this purpose. But the lever, ad-
justed as it is in modern presses, is
much better than a screw. The press-
ure is given, by bringing forward that
horizontal bar which you see somewhat
above the middle of the press, measuring
from top to bottom. As this bar is
brought forward, the coils in the spiral
springs, which you notice on each side,
are brought nearer together; the upright
bar, which is composed of two pieces,
one end of one serving as a socket for
one end of the other, and which, when
the press is not in motion, inclines a few
degrees horizontally, is brought into a
perpendicular position, and thus the im-
pression is made. As soon as this pro-
cess is effected, the pressman-so the
man is called whose business it is to do
this part of the work-gradually takes
off the pressure. If he should let go the
bar suddenly, such is the tendency of
the spiral springs, now in a forced posi-
tion, to get back as they were before,
that the bar would fly backward with
great force, and injure the press. So he
keeps hold of the bar, and lets it return

But I have not told you yet how the
sheet is placed upon the form, and how
the form gets in a position so as to re-
ceive the impression. On the right
hand of the press, you see two frames,
joined at the ends, the upper frame
reaching upward farther than any other
part of the press. The lower one is
called the tympan. The inside of the
frame is composed of cloth, with a sheet
of white paper pasted over it. The
pressman lays the sheet to be printed
on this tympan, and brings down the
upper frame, which he calls a frisket, and
which is connected with the tympan by
hinges, thus confining the sheet upon
the tympan. The frisket has also an-
other use. There are strips of paper
pasted across it, as you perceive. The
pressman has to arrange these strips of
paper differently for every new form that
is placed upon the press. They are de-
signed to cover the blank places between
the pages, so that when the form has
been supplied with ink, and the furniture
has received, as it must receive, more or
less of it, the paper, except where the
printing comes, can be kept clean.
The form lies below, on what is called
the bed of the press. The tympan is
connected with the bed by hinges; and
when the frisket has been brought
down upon the tympan, the two to-
gether are closed over the bed, which
contains the form to be printed. Just
below the bed, you see a crank. By
means of this, the bed, which is made
to run easily in grooves, is forced under
the horizontal plate of iron connected
with the spiral springs and the lever. This
iron plate, which has a perfectly smooth
surface on its under side, and which
must be large enough to cover the bed,




is called the platen. The form, having
the white sheet upon it, with the frisket
covering over the parts which would
otherwise come in contact with the ink
on the furniture, is forced under the
platen, and the impression is made by
means of the horizontal bar, as I have
before told you. After this, the crank is
turned in the opposite direction from the
one in which it moved before, the tympan
is lifted up, and then the frisket, when
the sheet, printed on one side, is ready
to be removed.
But we must take care that the press-
man does not go on with his form yet;
for I should not wonder if there were at
least a hundred typographical errors in
it, some of which, very likely, if they
were suffered to remain as they are,
would be ludicrous enough. Let us
glance at the proof-sheet, now, and see
how nearly right the compositor has ar-
ranged the types. The examination of
the proofs is a part of the business be-
longing to the proof-reader. He takes
the proof-sheet, and looks over it care-
fully, while a boy reads the copy aloud.
All the errors are marked on the mar-
gin of the proof. Sometimes, when he
is reading the proof of a slovenly and
careless compositor, he has a great ma-
ny marks to make. He finds a great
many wrong letters; some of the types
are bottom upward; some of the lines
are spaced unequally; some words have
been left out, and some have been jPt in
twice. It takes a long time to correct
such a proof; though a careful e-4fpos-
itor gets along with this part of the
work without much trouble.
When the first proof is corrected,
there is another one taken, called the
revise. The proof-reader takes the re-

vise, and compares it carefully with the
first proof, marking such errors as es-
caped the compositor when making his
first corrections. In cases where great
accuracy and perfection are aimed at, a
third proof is taken, and sometimes,
though more rarely, a fourth. After
this, the form is supposed to be correct,
and the pressman takes it into his charge,
to work of, as he calls the business of
passing the sheets through the press.
The paper is slightly wet before it is
printed. It takes the impression from4
the types better than when dry. One
side of the paper being printed, tho
pressman turns it, and goes through the
same process with the other side. Some-
times the same pages are printed on
both sides, care being taken, in placing
the sheet upon the tympan, after the
paper is turned, that the odd pages are
printed on the back of the even ones.
In this case, the sheet is cut after it is
printed, and sixteen pages appear on
6ach separate half-sheet, which are fold-
ed by themselves. Sometimes, a differ-
ent form, containing sixteen additional
pages, is worked on the second side of
the sheet. In this case, the sheet may
be folded without cutting.
The ink which printers use is not a
liquid, like the ink used in writing. It
is almost as thick as tar. This ink is
placed on a smooth table, and a soft
roller is made to pass over it, until it
is thoroughly distributed on the roller.
You will stare, when I tell you what the
roller is made of. Its composition is nei-
ther more nor less than glue and mo-
lasses, united in certain proportions, so as
to form a substance somewhat like In-
dia-rubber, though softer, and having a
mn,,h more delicate surface. Tr%;* rler








is made to pass over the form several
times, and by means of it the types re-
ceive the ink. This composition roller is
quite a modem invention. I can remem-
ber very well when, instead of this con-
trivance, they used what they called blls.
The ball was a mass of cotton, or some
such substance, covered with sheepskin,
and furnished with a handle on the
upper side. Two balls were generally
used at once, one in each hand. They
were struck gently on the form, after
the ink had been distributed on them-
the process being called beating. It
was pretty hard work to beat a form.
The invention of the roller was worth a
great deal to the printer.
I have said that there are several
different presses, or printing machines,
which are propelled by steam. On the
opposite page is an engraving of one of
those presses, called the Cylinder press.
This pattern has been in use, I believe,
longer than any other. It is not used
for the best of work, but more generally
for newspapers, and other publications
where a great degree of elegance is not
required. The Cylinder press is capable
of printing some three thousand copies
in an hour.
The printing machine which is repre-
sented in the engraving at the head of
this article, is one of the latest invention,
and one which will have a great deal
more interest among my little friends.
It is manufactured by R. Hoe & Com-
pany, of this city, and is called the
"type-revolving fast printing machine."
The form is placed on the large central
cylinder, turning horizontally, and is
made to conform to it, by a process
which I cannot well describe to you.
Ther are four or more corresponding

cylinders, also revolving hbrioatall
which, as the central cylinder turni
round, come in contact, is their turn,
with the forms upon it, and in this way
give the impression to the sheet, which is
introduced at different parts of the ma-
chine. The machine represented in the
engraving, has four impression-yKlinder,
and four places where the sheet is intro-
duced. Four persons are nqkired to
put on the sheets, and the same mimbet
to take them off. Ten thousand imnpre
sions are printed in an hour by this mar
chine. Presses are made after this pat.
tern, with eight impression cylinders,
capable of printing* sixteen thousand
sheets in an hour.
We will suppose, now, that the press-
man has worked off his form. He then
takes it from the press, and washes it
thoroughly with lye, so as to remove the
ink from the types, taking care to rinse
it with clean water. Then it is placed
upon the imposing-stone again, and the
compositor who set up the matter--or
one of them, if two or more were engag-
ed in the composition-unlocks the form,.
removes the chase, and prepares to re-
place the types in the case from which;
he took them. This part of the busi-
ness is called distributing. The compos-
itor takes up a handful of the matter-it
having been previously wet for the pur-
pose, unless it was sufficiently wet by
the pressman, before he put it on the
stone-with his rule underneath, and the
face of the letters toward him. You
might imagine that it would take al-
most as long to put the letters back
again in the boxes, as it required before
to set them in the stick. But the com.
positor, from long practice, becomes very
expert in distributing. He throws the




types and spaces in their appropriate
boxes, almost as fast as you can count.
The journeyman-compositor generally
works by the piece, to use the term cur-
rent in the printing-office. He receives
pay according to the amount of matter
he sets up. Would you like to know
what rule is adopted to ascertain this
amount? Of course it would not do to
make the estimate according to the num-
ber of square inches embraced in his mat-
ter; because there are a great many dif-
ferent sizes of type, and to set a square
inch of Nonpareil, for instance, he must
use double the number of separate let-
ters, that would be necessary in the
same space, if the fount was Pica. So
he adopts another standard. He makes
out his bill according to the number of
ems which he has set up. But very
likely I shall have to explain to you
what is meant by an em. It is a square
of the fount. I will try to make it
plainer still. Suppose the thickness of
a particular fount-the entire measure
of the body of the type from top to
bottom, as it stands in the stick-is just
one eighth of an inch. Then your em
is one eighth of an inch square; and the
number of ems, or squares, in a line
being ascertained, you multiply that
number into the number of ems, or
squares, which the matter measures the
other way, or lengthwise, and you will
have the number of ems in a page. It
will not do, always, to count the num-
ber of lines in a page, and to multiply
the number of these lines into the num-
ber of ems in each separate line. If a
compositor should measure leaded mat-
ter in this way, he would cheat him-
self; for he is allowed to measure his
leads just as if his matter were solid,

So he has a measure, with the ems
marked on it, as inches are marked on a
carpenter's rule, and uses this in order
to embrace the leads in his estimate.
Leaded matter, other things being
equal, is more desirable than solid.
The compositor can set more ems of
the former than the latter. He is very
fond, too, and for the same reason, of
copy in which the author introduces a
great number of paragraphs; for, of
course, it does not take so long to put
in quadrats as letters and spaces; and
in both these instances, he calls the mat-
ter fat. Nothing looks so tasteful, to
his eye, as a page which is generously
leaded, and broken up into frequent
I ought not, perhaps, to spin out my
chapter any longer, though I should
very much like, while I have my hand
in, to tell you something about the pro-
cess of stereotyping. However, you may
consider that branch of the art as on the
table, to be taken up at another time.
But stop a moment. I cannot let you
off, boys and girls, until the compositor
has set up another stickful. There is a
very fine sonnet, from the pen of my
friend William Oland Bourne, on the
Power of the Press, which, if my memo-
ry does not play me false, is just exactly
the thing to serve for a good ending to
this chapter. We must have it printed,
I guess.
A million tongues are thine, and they are heard
Speaking of hope to nations in the prime
Of freedom's day, to hasten on the time
When the wide world of spirit shall be stirred
With higher aims than now-when man shall call
Each man his brother-each shall tell to each
His tale of love, and pure and holy speech
Be music for the souls high festival.
Thy gentle notes are heard, like choral waves,
Beaching the mountain, hill, and quiet vale;
Thy thunder-tones are like the sweeping gale,
Bidding the tribes of men no more be slaves
And earth's remotest island hears the sound
That floats ether wings the earth around.


The Crocodile.

ON the banks of the fertile and many.mouthed Nile,
A long time ago, lived a fierce Crocodile,
Who round him was spreading a vast desolation,
For bloodshed and death seemed his chief ocr"pation.
'Twas easy to see
No pity had he;
His tears were but water-there all could agree.

The sheep he devoured, and the shepherd, I ween;
The herd feared to graze in the pastures so green;
And the farmer himself, should he happen to meet him,
The monster ne'er scrupled a moment to eat nm.
There never before
Was panic so sore,
On the banks of the Nile, as this creature spread o'er.

Wherever he went, all were flying before him,
Though some, in their blindness, thought fit to adore him;
But as they came near, each his suit to prefer,
This god made a meal of his base worshiper.
By day and by night,
It was his delight
His votaries to eat-it was serving them right.
Grown proud of his prowess, puff'd up with success,
The reptile must travel-how could he do less?
So, one fine summer morning, he set out by water,
On a pleasure excursion-his pleasure was slaughter!--
To Tentyra's isle,
To visit awhile,
The careless inhabitants there to beguile.


The men of Tentyra were able before
To conquer each monster that came to their shore;
But now they, with horor, were. f~if c onfess
That#4 q4V It R meite1 distress.

Was i maim e nation.

It met; bsM a s the4 a fts fright,
They faiN to dltinguish the wrong from the right;
When, just at this crisis, an Ichneumon small
Stept forth on the platform, in front of them all,
With: modesty winning,
To give his opinion
Oftmeasures and means to secure the dominion.

"Grave sirs," said he, bowing, "I see your distress,
And your griefs are, I fear me, past present redress;
Yet still, if to listen should be your good pleasure.
I think I can help you, at least, in a measure:
For 'tis my impression,
A little discretion
Than valor itself is a far greater blessing.

No doubt, 'tis a noble and great undertaking1
Great war on a mighty great foe to be making
But still, I assure you, 'tis better by far
Not to let this great foe become mighty for war.
While the crocodile lies
In an egg of small size,
To crush him at once you should never despise.

You see me before you, a poor, feeble creature:
Yet I cope with this monster-for such is my natun,
And while you have met here in grand consultation,
This one crocodile to expel from the nation,
I thought it a treat
For breakfast to eat
A dozen or more, which I happened to meet."

And now that my fable is pretty near ended,
I think there should be a brief moral appended:
Beware how you let evil habits grow up.
While feeble and young, you to crush them may hope;
But let them remain
Till strength they attain,
You may find your best efforts to conquer them vain.
masw, Pa.

m1t YOUth'Sr ( VA BNs.

Are Children all Kings


SHERE is a book of high authority
to be found in our libraries, in
which all mankind are represent-
ed as kings. Now, as children
belong to the race, it would seem that
they are kings also.
For a king is a sovereign, or ruler.
Does not one of the definitions of Noah
Webster's great dictionary say so? And
are not children rulers, along with their
parents and other friends, over a mul-
titude which no man can number?
If I have excited your curiosity, my
young friends, by these remarks, it is
but right that I should gratify it. It is
but right that I should tell you what I
mean; and in what old book of authority
it is, and in what chapter and verse, you
are constituted kings.
If you look in the first chapter of
Genesis, at the twenty-eighth verse,
you will find the following language:-
have dominion over the fish of the sea,
and over the fowls of the air, and over
every living thing that moveth upoht the
Now, whose words, think you, were
these; and to whom were they directed ?
Were they not the words of the King of
kings, and addressed to the first pair of
our race-to those from whom all the
rest of the human race were to descend ?
Were not you and 1, and the whole of
the present generation, thus placed over
the present animal tribes, both of sea and
land ?
And what was the object of the great
Creator, the King of kings, and Lord of
lords, in thus making us all kings over
V. 6

the countless millions, which by the
breath of his power, he has formed
Was it that we should rule them as witk
a tod of iron; 6t in gentleaesi, tad ten
derness, and love? Was it that we
might promote their happiness; or was
it that we might exercise our power-
exercise our "dominion"---ia making
them miserable ?
These qttwtions may be answered, by
ascertaining wh*t are the duties of a good
king to his human subjects? HoW does
a good kittigbf Gteat Britai, for exam-'
pie, etermse dominion over the inm y
millions of his Ibjects, a as to iasver
the intentions of God cort it him?
Not, most certainly, in thating them
labor to such an eiteht as to 6eder
them mere slaves. Not in keep~lg them
in ignorance all their lives. Not in mak-
ing war against them. Not in frighten-
ing away to the *oods all whe alvive
the general massacre.
The good child, who it con6oious that
he is made a king of the shimals atout
him, will do all in his power to pe.
mote their happiness. He will not make
war upon birds or fishes, unless under
the most absolute and pressing necessity.
Unless he greatly needs them for food, or
is annoyed by thAih i an :Pm.ti degree,
he will not hunt, fish, or entrap them.
He will greatly prefer to feed~eari.
My residence is neatly tirrdamded by
chestnut trees, and the place is some-
times called Chestnut Grove." Birds,
in gtest numbers, frequent the place,
both in winter and stmet. Only thb
other day, though the rather was quite
cold, and the snow rather deep, no lew
than five or sit spatrows teaie round
the door, where the crumbs from the
table had been thrown, sad even hopped



into the piazza. There were little child-
ren in my family, and they saw the
birds, and even made provision for them,
by scattering more crumbs. Was not
this to exercise their kingly power in a
proper manner? What if they had
thrown stones at them, or in any other
way frightened them? Would a good
king of Great Britain or Spain delight in
frightening his subjects? Would he not
prefer to do them a favor, as often as
possible ?
Would that all our children-kings
loved the birds and fishes, and, indeed,
the whole animal creation, and took as
much pains to make their subjects happy
as many now do to make them miserable!
Many wonder that wars continue-
such wars, for example, as the war
against Mexico. But why should not
they who are trained to make war on
all the inferior animals, which God has
placed under their care, follow on in the
same path, as far as Mexico? It would
be strange, to me, if they should not
do so.

Obeiene and is l tlce.
ziHEa children are away from
home, they are bound to obey
those to whose care their
parents have entrusted them.
Three boys, Robert, George, and Alfred,
went to spend a week with a gentleman,
who took them to be agreeable, well-be-
haved boys. There was a great pond
near his house, with a floodgate, where
the water ran out. It was cold weather,
and the pond was frozen over; but the

gentleman knew that the ice was very
thin near the floodgate. The first morn-
ing after they came, he told them they
might go and slide on the pond, if they
would not go near the floodgate. Soon
after they were gone, he followed them,
to see that they were safe. When he
got there, he found Robert sliding in the
very place where he had told him not
to go. This was disobedience outright.
George was walking sullenly by the side
of the pond, not so much as sliding at
all, because he had been forbidden to
venture on the dangerous part. This
was sullen obedience; which is, in reality,
no obedience at all, because it comes not
from the heart. But Alfred was cheer-
fully enjoying himself, in a capital long
slide, upon a safe part of the pond. This
was true obedience. Suddenly, the ice
broke where Robert was sliding; he im-
mediately went under water, and it was
with difficulty that his life was saved.
The gentleman concluded that Alfred
was a lad of integrity, but that his two
brothers were not to be trusted. Obe-
dience secured him happiness, and the
confidence of the kind gentleman with
whom he was staying; while the others
deprived themselves of enjoyment, lost
the gentleman's confidence, and one of
them nearly lost his life; and yet, to
slide on the dangerous part of the pond
would have added nothing to their en-
joyment. They desired it from mere
wilfulness, because it was forbidden.
This disposition indulged, will always
lead boys into difficulty; and if they
cherish it while boys, it will go with
them through life, and keep them always
"in hot water." There is never any-
thing lost by obedience to parents, while
there is often a great deal gained by it




Jonah's Gourd.
SGREAT number of people-and I
should not be surprised if some
of my readers were among the
number suppose that the
Gourd which sheltered Jonah from the
heat of the sun, was the same plant
which now goes by the name of the
gourd. That is a mistake, however.
The plant which is so called in Scrip-
ture, is so different from our gourd, that
I have had a picture made of it, that my
readers may form a correct notion of it.
Do you remember the story of the
gourd, that afforded so comfortable a
shade for the prophet? Jonah had
been sent by the Lord to preach to the
people of Nineveh, and to tell them, that
unless they repented, the city would be
destroyed in forty days. His preaching, it
would seem, had more effect than that

of many preachers of the present day.
At all events, the Ninevites believed
what the prophet said, and set them-
selves in earnest about the business of
reformation. They proclaimed a fast,
and put on sackcloth, from the king
down to the meanest of the inhabitants.
God is always merciful, and disposed
to forgive, when he sees any signs of
repentance. He forgave the people of
Nineveh. He did not destroy them, as
he had threatened to do, if they failed
to heed the preaching of his prophet.
Jonah did not like this. He had taken a
good deal of pains to publish the de-
cision of God, in relation to the city;
and now, it would appear, he wanted to
see the city destroyed. He was angry,
and told God that he thought it was
better for him to die than to live.
However, he did not quite despair of
seeing the divine sentence executed upoa



Nineveh. So he went out a little dis-
tance from the city, where he could have
a good view of it, and made him a tent,
determining to remain there until the'
matter which lay so near his heart was
decided. The sun was very hot there;
and God "prepared a gourd, and made
it to come up over Jonah, that it might
be a shadow over his head." Jonah
was delighted with this gourd. But the
very next day, God sent an east wind,
and destroyed the gourd. Poor Jonah I
when the sun rose, the heat was very
severe; and he fainted, and said sgals
that it was better for him to die than to
live. Now comes the lesson which the
Lord meant to teach the prophet. "Do-
est thou well to grieve* for the gourd ?"
" I do well to grieve," he replied, even.
unto death." Then said the Lord,
" Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for
which thou hast not labored, neither
madest it to grow, which came up in a
night, and perished in a night; and
should not I spare Nineveh, that great
city, wherein are more than six-score
thousand persons, that cannot discern
between their right hand and their left
hand, and much cattle ?"
Thisgourd, that Jonah mourned over
so much, is described by Jerome, a cele-
brated father in the Christian church,
who flourished in the fourth century, as
a kind of shrub, having broad leaves like
the vine, affording a very thick shade,
and supported by its own stem. It
grows very abundantly in Palestine, and
chiefly in sandy places. If one throws
the seed upon the ground, it springs up

I hope my readers will excuse me for varying a
tiWe hereo fm the translation in oar Englsh version.
I think the idea o grlef, rather than anger, is conveyed
ato e origtoa

immediately, and grows wonderfully fast.
Within a few days after the plant is out
of the ground, it becomes quite a little
tree. The fruit of this shrub is of a tri-
angular form, with three sharp-pointed
It is proper to mention, however, that
there is some little doubt as to what par-
ticular plant the gourd was. The con-
test respecting this question grew so high
between Jerome and Augustine, who
lived at the same time, that, according to
some historians-we hope that part of
the story is not true-these two venera-
ble fathers absolutely proceeded from
hard words to blows, and tried to beat
the truth into each other's heads with
their fists! It is said, too, that Augus-
tine accused his friend Jerome of heresy,
at Rome, because of his opinion respect-
ing the gourd. How ridiculous! espe-
cially as neither of these men pretended
to have seen the plant which he had fixed
upon as the one mentioned in Scripture I

Vanity of Elizabeth.
ALRIGH informs us that Queen
Elizabeth, in the days of her de-
crepitude, ordered all pictures of
herself, done by artists who had
not flattered her ugliness, to be collected
and burned; and in 1693, she issued a
proclamation forbidding all persons, save
" especial cunning painters, to draw her
likeness." She quarreled at last with
her looking-glass, as well as with her
painters. During the latter years of her
life, the maids of honor removed mir-
rors, as they would have removed poison,
from the apartments of royal pride.



The Count and the Peasant.


ze day, a peasant went
into a store, and
placing his hat on
the counter, he beg-
ged the merchant to
lend him six francs on this
"Do you take me for a
fool ?" said the merchant. "
would not lend two sons on
such a piece of rubbish."
"Whatever it may be," replied the
peasant, I would not part with it for
twenty crowns; but at this moment, I
happen to have great need of the money
I ask of you. I sold some wheat about
a week ago, and I ought to have re-
ceived the money for it to-day. I reck-
oned on this amount to pay my tax to-
morrow, in order to save my property
from being seized by the collector. But
the poor man who owes me, has been
called to bury his son. His wife is sick
with grief; and they are unable to pay
me until eight days from this time. As
I have often bought goods of you, and
as you know me to be an honest man, I
thought you would not hesitate to lend
me these six francs, which I need so
much. The amount is nothing for you;
it is much for me. But however that
may be, there is my hat, which I will
leave in pledge. It is much better se-
curity than you seem to regard it."
The merchant only laughed, and
shrugged his shoulders, and unfeelingly
shut the door in the face of the peasant.
The Count of C- happened to be
in the store at the time. He had listened

attentively to the conversation, and had
been struck with the air of honesty
which appeared in the countenance of
the peasant. He approached him, as
the merchant was turning him out of the
store, and put the six francs into his
hand, saying, pleasantly--
"Here is what you asked for, my
friend. Since you ind it so difficult to
get the money of others, I shall have the
pleasure of obliging you myself."
As he said these words, he went hastily
out of the store, casting behind him a
look of indignation at the merchant, en-
tered his carriage, and drove off. He
was nearly out of sight, before the
peasant, struck dumb with astonishment
and joy, had come a little to himself.
A month after this, .as the count was
crossing the King's Bridge, in his ear-
riage, he heard some one crying to the
coachman to stop. He put his head out
of the window, and saw, on the footpath,
a man running at the top of his speed,
following his horses. He immediately
pulled the cord, as a signal for the coach-
man to stop; and the man ran up to the
window of the carriage, and said to the
"I hope you will excuse me, sir; I
am quite out of breath, trying to over-
take you. Are you not the gentleman
who slipped six francs into my hand, in
a store, about a month ago ?"
"Yes, my friend. I recollect the cir-
cumstance," said the count.
"Well, sir, here is the money that I
received from you. When you gave it
to me, you did not leave time enough



for me to thank you, still less to inquire
your name and place of residence. The
merchant did not know you. So I have
come here every Sunday since that day,
to see if you would not cross the bridge.
Happily, I have, found you to-day. I
should never have had any peace until
I had met you. May God bless you-
you and your children-for the good
you have done me !"
"I rejoice," replied the count, "in
being able to oblige so honest a man;
but I assure you, that I did not intend
to have you return this money. I meant
to have you receive it as a small
"I knew nothing of that, sir; and I
have never received money before, except
when I earned it. I had done nothing
for you, and you had done enough for
me, in lending the money'. I beg you to
receive it."
"No, my friend; it belongs no more
to you nor to me. Do me the favor to
buy something with it for your children,
and present this little keepsake to them
in my name."
"Very well; on these conditions, it
would ill become me to refuse you."
"Well, say no more about the mat-
ter. But answer me one question. How
came you to ask so confidently for six
francs, on the pledge of your hat, which
is hardly worth six sous ? I have had
my curiosity a good deal excited respect-
ing that matter, ever since the other day
when we met."
That hat is worth everything to me,
How is that, my friend ?"
I will give you the history of it:
Some years ago, the son of the lord of
our village, as he was sliding on a small

pond near the castle, fell through the ice.
I was at work near the place, and hear-
ing the cries of the lad, I ran to the
spot, leaped into the hole, and had the
happiness of rescuing the boy, and of
presenting him alive to his father. The
youth was not ungrateful for the service
I rendered him. He gave me several
acres of land, with a little sum of money,
sufficient to enable me to build a cottage,
and to set me up in housekeeping. And
this was not all. As I had lost my hat
in the water, he placed his own on my
'head, saying, as he did it, that he wished
he was able to put a crown in its place.
Tell me, now, if you do not think I
ought to prize this hat? I do not wear
it in the field, when I am at work.
Everything there recalls sufficiently the
memory of my benefactor, although he
is now dead. My children, my wife, my
cottage, my land-they all speak of him
to me. But when I go to the city, I al-
ways wear this hat, so as to have some-
thing about me to remind me of him.
I am sorry it begins to wear out. Do
you see ? It shows for itself. But as
long as there is a single morsel of it re-
maining, it will be invaluable to me."
The count had been an attentive lis-
tener to this story; and when it was com-
pleted, he took from his portfolio a
card, and giving it to the peasant, said,
"Here is my address, my friend. I
must leave you now. But do me the
favor to call upon me to-morrow morn-
The peasant was punctual at the ap-
pointed hour. As soon as he was an-
nounced, the count ran to meet hhi, and
taking him by the hand, he said to him,
" My dear friend, you have not saved an
only son for me; but you have ordered




me a great service, for all that. You
have made me love men more, by proving
to me that there are still hearts full of
honesty and gratitude. As hats figure
with so much honor on your head, there
is one for you. I do not ask that you
give up that of your benefactor; I only
desire that when you cannot wear that
any longer, you treat mine in the same
way; and every year, on the same day,
you shall find another, to take the place
of the old one."
This act, on the part of the count, was
only an honest artifice, to which he re-
sorted to manage the pride of one on
whom he was conferring a favor. After
having gained the heart of the peasant
in this manner, he more easily found the
way, without wounding the feelings of
the peasant, to relieve the wants of his
family, who had been almost ruined by
misfortune. It was not long before he
had the satisfaction of seeing that fami-
ly as happy in their gratitude for acts
of kindness, as he was in performing

Call ye me Poor?

Call ye me poor 1 The sunbeams smile
As warmly, brightly on my home,
Though 'tis an humble log-built pile,
As on the lordly palace dome.
Call ye me poor Content am I
My lot to bear, where'er it be;
Though grief may sometimes cloud my sky,
IIl hope a brighter day to see.
Call ye me poor I am not so,
While God's rich bounty still is mine;
To him my all of good I owe-
Whom, corner, west thou for thine

An Awkward Mistake.
fl FARMER, who had purchased a
S calf from a butcher, desired him
to drive it to his farm, and place
it in his stable, which he ac-
cordingly did. Now, it happened, that
almost every day, a man with a grinding
organ and dancing bear, passing by that
way, began their antics in front of the
farm. After amusing the farmer, for
some time, the organ man entered the
farm-house, and asked the farmer if he
could give him a night's lodging. The
farmer replied, he could give the man
lodging, but he was at a loss where to
put the bear. After musing a little, he
determined to bring the calf inside the
house for that night, and place the bear
in the stable, which was done. Now,
the butcher, expecting the calf would re-
main in the stable all night, resolved to
steal it before morning; and the farmer
and his guest were in the night awaken-
ed by a fearful yelling from the out-
building. Both got up, and taking a
lantern, entered the stable, where the
farmer found, to his surprise, the butcher
of whom he had bought the calf, in the
grasp of the bear, which was hugging
him tremendously; for he could not bite,
being muzzled. The farmer immediately
understood the state of the case, and
briefly mentioned the circumstance to the
owner of the bear, who, to punish the
butcher for his intended theft, called out
to the bear, "Hug him, Tommy !" which
the bear did in real earnest, the butcher
roaring most hideously the whole time.
After they thought he had suffered
enough, thay set him free, and the
butcher walked off, glad to escape with
his life.-Seected.


Rocking Stones.

HAVE seen some very large boulders
of rocks in different parts of the
country, so poised upon a rocky
base, that a child can move them
with one hand. At Fall River, in Mas-
sachusetts, there is such a boulder. It
is an enormous piece of rock, weighing,
according to the estimate of the cele-
brated geologist, Professor Hitchcock,
upward of five thousand tons. A view
of it is given in the engraving. This
stone, as you see, at the point where it
touches the rock on which it rests, is
quite small; so that it can be very
easily made to move.
When a boy, I remember there was a
rock of this description not far from my
father's house. It was situated near the
top of a high hill, and it used often to
be a part of the amusement of all the
boys in the neighborhood, on Saturday
afternoons, when there was no school, to
visit the famous stone, and to set it a-
rocking backwards and forwards. We
sometimes aspired to a much greater feat,
too. We got together all our available
force, and by means of a large number

of levers, we tried hard to overturn the
stone, and to set it rolling down the hill.
It is due to the stone, nevertheless, to
add, that, either because it did not fancy
such an excursion, or because it was dis-
inclined to change in general, or for some
other reason, it never left its old po-
It is a cause of a good deal of specu-
lation among geologists, how such boul-
ders as these were ever split off from the
rock of which they originally formed a
part, and how they were carried, as it
is evident they were carried, in some in-
stances, to such a great distance from
their first position. We sometimes find
hundreds, weighing several tons each,
miles from the place where that species
of rock is formed. It putzles the wise
heads a good deal. There are, in fact,
a great many puzzling things about ge-
ology. The little I know about the
science gives me a keen appetite for more
knowledge respecting it. It is a most
interesting study; and I advise anl my
young friends to look into it, by all
means, if they get a chance.




The Four Words.
" f oun little words did
Sme more good,
when I was a boy,
than almost any.
thing ele," e said a
friend to me the
other day. "I can-
not reckon up all
the good they have
done; they were the first
words that my mother
taught me."
"Indeed I What were
i the four little words ?"
said I.
He answered me by relat-
ing the following story:
My father grafted a pear-tree; it was
a very choice graft, and he watched it
with great care. The second year, it
blossomed, but it bore but one pear. It
was said to be a very nice kind of pear,
and my father was anxious to see if the
fruit came up to the promises of the
man who gave him the graft. This sin-
gle pear, then, was an object of some
concern to my father. He wanted it to
become fully ripe, The high winds, he
hoped, would not blow off the pear; and
he gave express directions to all the
children on no account to touch it. The
graft was low, and easily reached by us.
It grew finely. "I think that graft
will meet my expectations," said my fa-
ther many times to my mother. I hope
now there is some prospect of our having
good pears."
Everybody who came into the garden
he took to the graft, and everybody said,
It will prove to be a most excellent
pear." It began to look very beautiful.

It was full and round, a rich glow was
dyeing its cheeks, and its grain was clear
and healthy.
Is it not almost ripe ? I long for a
bite," I cried, as I followed father one
day down the alley to the pear-tree.
Wait patiently, my child; it will not
be fully ripe for a week," said my father.
I thought I loved pears better than
anything else. I used often to stop and
look longingly up to this. Oh, how
good it looks! I used often to think,
smacking my lips. I wish it was all
mine. The early apples did not taste
as good, the currants were not as relish-
ing, and the damsons I thought nothing
of in comparison with this pear. The
longer I stopped under the pear-tree,
the greater my longing for it. Oh, I wish
I had it! was the selfish thought that
gradually got uppermost in my mind..
One night, after we were in bed, my
brothers fell asleep long before I did; I
tossed about, and could not get to sleep.
It was a warm, still, summer night;
there was no moon; no noise except the
hum of numberless insects. My father
and my mother were gone away. I put
my head out of the window, and peeped
into the garden; I snuffed pleasant
smells. I traced the dark outlines of
the trees. I glanced in the direction of
the pear-tree. The pear-tree-then the
pearl My mouth was parched; I was
thirsty. I thought how good would a
juicy pear taste. I was tempted.
A few moments found me creeping
down the back stairs, with neither shoes,
stockings, nor trowsers on. The slightest
creaking frightened me. I stopped on
every stair to listen. Nancy was busy
somewhere else, and John had gone to
bed. At last I fairly felt my way to the




garden door. It was fastened. It
seemed to take me ages to unlock it, so
fearful was I of making a noise, and the
bolt grated. I got it open, went out,
and latched it after me. It was good to
get out in the cool air. I ran down to
the walk. The patting of my feet made
no noise on the moist earth. I stopped
a moment, and looked all around, then
turned in the direction of the pear-tree.
Presently I was beneath its branches.
Father will think the wind has knock-
ed it off--but there was not a breath
of air stirring. Father will think some-
body has stolen it-some boys came in
the night, and robbed the garden; he'll
never know. Such were my thoughts.
I trembled at the thought of what I was
about to do. Oh, it will taste so good!
and father will never know it. He never
would think I took it. On tiptoe, with
my hand uplifted, and my head turned
upward, I beheld a star looking down
upon me through the leaves. THon,
GOD, SEEST ME !" I could not help say-
ing over and over again. God seemed
on every side. He was looking me
through and through. I was afraid to
look, and hid my face. It seemed as if
father and mother, and all the boys, and
everybody in town, would take me for a
thief. It appeared as though all my con-
duct had been seen as by the light of
day. It was some time before I dared
to move, so vivid was the impression
made upon my mind by the awful truth
in those four words, "Thou, God, seest
me." I knew he saw me.
I hastened from the pear-tree; nothing
on earth would at that moment have
tempted me to touch the pear. With
very different feelings did I creep back
to bed again. I lay down beside Asa,

feeling more like a criminal than anything
else. No one in the house had seen me,
but oh! it seemed as if everybody knew
it, and I should never dare to meet my
father's face again. It was a great
while before I went to sleep. I heard
my parents come home, and I involunta-
rily hid my face under the sheet. But I
could not hide myself from the sense of
God's presence. His eyes seemed every-
where, diving into the very depths of
my heart. It started a train of influ-
ences, which, God be praised, I never
got over.-School Friend.

Danger of Early Drinking.

SYOUNG gentleman, who lived in a
large house, in a beautiful valley,
had plenty of money, and had
he been wise, would have done
much good in many ways. But when
he was a little boy, he was accustomed
to drink liquor. He very soon learned
to love it. He became a common
drunkard, and narrowly escaped death
several times. Very early one Sunday
morning, when very drunk, he attempted
to cross the river near his house, and
was drowned. He was carried home a
corpse. What a distressing sight this
must have been to his mother, and for
his brother and sisters! And especially,
to think what had become of his soul!
Surely they would never drink any liquor
again, but hate the taste of it. Surely
all the young people who knew him,
would dread the thought of touching
that which had caused his death. Well,
let us learn this one lesson-never to
drink such liquor.-Selected.




Dick, the

Sra. EDrroR,-When I was a lad
of twelve, my father took
me with him on a summer
tour through Western New-
York. On our return, stopping in
Rochester, as we walked through the
streets, a splendid squirrel caught my
eye, as he was merrily turning the wheel
of his cage. I besought my father to
purchase him; for my heart had for some
time been set upon such a possession.
He did so; and we bore the squirrel
away in triumph, by stage and steam-
boat, to New-York. He was called Dick,
was perfectly tame, allowed me to pull
his mouth open, to show his long, sharp
teeth to visitors, and was in all respects
a remarkable animal. He had, much of
the time, free range of the house; and
such antics as he used to cut up in the
parlor, were never surpassed by quad-
ruped, or biped either, for that matter.
At night, he slept in bed with myself
and brother. That he was a great pet,
you may well suppose. A few months
passed along, and the mournful 9th of
October, 1834, arrived, when, on my re-
turn from school, I learned, amid gen-

eral weeping, that poor Dick had run out
of the front door into the street, where
a dog immediately seized and killed him.
A friend, who then resided in the family,
composed the following appropriate lines
on the occasion, which are herewith sub-
mitted. w. w. P.
Pooa Richard Dick is dead and buried,
And o'er the Styx is safely ferried;
A wicked dog poor Richard worried,
And from this world of acorns hurried.
He was not thinking of his doom,
But crack'd his nuts in William's room:
Alas I poor squirrels only know
The trees where nuts and acorns grow.
But Dick desired to see the city,
Like many who deserve our pity;
The moment Dick the threshold passed,
I weep to say, was Dicky's last.
Poor Dick would play till almost frantic-
His tricks were queer, his movements antic;
Was wont to tear the chimney paper,
And cut up many a wicked caper.
He wore a coat of sable color;
Oh. how he'd chase around the parlor,
And often try, but always fail,
To overtake his bushy tail


I ___

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