Citation
The youth's book of gems for the mind and the heart

Material Information

Title:
The youth's book of gems for the mind and the heart
Spine title:
Book of gems
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 )
Place of Publication:
Auburn <N.Y.> Derby and Miller
New York
Publisher:
Stereotyped by Thomas B. Smith
Manufacturer:
Stereotyped by Thomas B. Smith
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Edition:
2nd. thousand.
Physical Description:
386 p., <1> leaf of plates : ill., music ; 23 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
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
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
"With one hundred engravings."
General Note:
Some illustrations engraved by Howland, Lossing, H. Bricher, and W.N. Dunnel.
Funding:
Brittle Books Program
Statement of Responsibility:
by Frances C. Woodworth.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
027027513 ( ALEPH )
15357950 ( OCLC )
ALJ0591 ( NOTIS )

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SECOND THOUSAND.

THE

YOUTH’S BOOK OF GEMS.

MIND AND THE HEART.

WITH ONE HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS.



BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH,

AUTHOR OF “UNCLE FRANK'S HOME STORIES,” “Boy’s AND GIRL’S LIBRARY” “STORIES ABOUT
ANIMALS,” “STORIES ABOUT BIRDS,” ETO, ETO.

AUBURN:
DERBY AND MILLER.

1852.



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852,
BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH,
In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.

etait il imenticareanatsianeianibiencantnnmaniaeesai alee Epa LLL LAL AL





STEREOTYPED BY
THOMAS B. SMITH
216 William St., N. Y.



PAGE | PAGE PAGE
A Boston Boy, 365 Drowned . 366 | Jack Mason’s Stories, 322
A Common Mistake, 66 | Duke of W n, Anecdote of, 382 aps om Thompson and the Black-
A Cunning Fox, 332 berries, 205
Admirable Example, 145 | Earl Fitzwilliam and the Farmer, 65 . Jenn 129
Age of the American States, 131 | Early Drinking, Danger of, 96 | Jonah’s Go 89
A Large Business, 367 Easter Day, 138 John Anderson my jo John, 135
A Leap for Life, 110 Editorial Table-Talk, 34, 68, 99, 132
Alexander and Bucephalus, 19 | _ 162, 196, 227, 260, 291, 325, 356, 385 Katydid, 20
American Rustic Hospitality, 313 | Enemies, how to treat them, 338 | Kites in China, 116
Anclont Lighting Rods, 171 | English Bible? 940 | Large Serpents, Anecdotes of, 333
Ancient Lightnin | English Bible,
Ancient Thobes, ’ 269 | Ettrick Shepherd, 55 | Laug Bi 327
A New Taste, 349 | Europe, Letters from, 266 | Letters from Euro 206, 344
Animals, Instinct of, 14 Liberty and Religion, 122
An Indian Story, 67 | Farming in the Western Country, 350 | Liberty, Spirit of, 17
A Noble Boy, 380 Farming, Lights and Shadows of, 236 Light, ee seal 30
April-Fool kgg, 156 | First Thank-Offering, 311 Little Girls, a Word to, 194
Arabian Nights, 290 | Fish Fascinated by Music, 173 | Little Grave, 192
Ass and Race Horse—A Fable, 243 Fisherinan and the Little Fish, 139 | Little Hero of Haarlem, 308
A Visit to the Locksmith’s, 381 | Floating Islands, 223 | Little Miners, 185
Awkward Mistake, 93. | Florisis, Visit to, 153 Little Reasoner, 183
| Flowers, 167 | Little Workers, a Lesson from, 362 -
Bad Memory, 137 | Fox-Hounds, Kennel of, 244 | Long-toed Shoes, 235
Baron Von Humboldt, 284 | Fox aa 270 | Lying, 125
Bash-Bish, 242 | Fruit and Blossoms, 21
Bat, Anecdotes of, 347 | Funny Mistake, 128 | Man’s Life, Changes in, 346
Bees, Habits of, 121 | Funny Quarrel, 217 | May Song—Music, 166
Bird of Paradise, 207 Mermaids, Chapter on, 31
Blind Boy at Play, 343 | Galileo, 23 | Mice fond of Music, 176
Blossoms and Fruit, 21 | Generosity of an Elder Brother, 355 | Monkey’s Memory, 217
Bonfire, 159 | Gencrous Blacksmith, 158 | Monkey and Telescope—A Fable, 349
Boys and Fruit, 194 | Geyser Springs, 289 | Money, Continental, 49
Brotherly Affection, 373 | “Give us our Daily Bread,” 278 | Mother’s Last Lesson, 312
Bucephalus and Alexander, 19 | Goats, Stories about, 219 | Mouse in Liquor, 365
Business First and then Pleasure, 145 | Going to the Fire, 65 | My Children, a Letter to, 225
re | Gold Repeater, 58 | My Early Friend, 105
mee Ann, 209 | Grasshopper, Song of, 283 | My Heart’s in the 231
Call yeme Poor 2? 93 | Great Earthquake at Lisbon, 306 | My Mother’s Voice, 156
Caraccas, Earthquake in, 222 My Sister, 7
Carriages in Olden Time, 11 | Hail in India, 354 ‘
Charlie Cleveland and Father Hall, Robert, 60 | Nature, Perfection of, 118
Blinker, 232 | Hard Reading, 380 | Never be Idle, 348
Chide Mildly the Erring, 206 | Harry and his Dog, 143 | Never give a Kick for a Hit, 370
Children, are they all Kings ? 87 | Harvest, 246 | Never Hold Malice. 382
Children, Sorrows of, 324 | Hebrew Mother and her Child, 40 | New York, Early History of, 254
Clara Sinclair, 286 | Hindoo Mother, 149
Clovis, Anecdote of, 268 Honest Farmer, 150 | Obedience and Di 88
Corie, Come Away, 249 Honcst Negro, 352 | Obey God rather than Man, £07, 346
Conceit, 378 Hopkinson, Judge, 108 | Obstinate Boy, 245
Contentment, 265 Hornet’s Nest, 316 | Old Man and Princess, 210
Contrary Boy, 368 Horse, Sagacity and Attachment
Conversation about Death, 378... of, ' 77 | Paris, 136
Count and Peasant, 91 Howard’s Opinion of Swearers, 48 | Parrot, Anecdotes of, 295
Country Lad and the River, 363 | How Smart we are, 125. Passing through a Thunder Cloud 305
w Tree, 226 Humming Birds, 303 Philosophy Outdone, 141
zy Ann, 273 | Pitch, a Lake of, 324
Curious Beetle, 195 | Idiot’s Death, 276 Politeness, 67
| Idleness, Beware of, 66 Pool of Bethesda, 364
Deaf Old Men, 15 | Il Temper, 243 Pope in the Fourteenth Century, 180
Deer, Strange Instinct of, 178 Imagination, Freaks of, 216 Powder Plot, 61
Depth of Different Seas, 279 Incidents at the West, 123 Praying and Trying, 311
Dicky Morton, 46 Indiana, a Word about, 252 President Fillmore, 263
Dick, the Squirrel, 97 Indian Customs, 302 Prim, the End of, 2838
Do as you would be done by, 47 , Indian Story, 272 Printing, a Chapter on, 71
Dogs, Stories about, 45, 271 Italian Customs, 253 Providence, Trust in, 193
Don’t Kill the Birds, 321 “It’s of No Use,” 275 ' Providential Guest, 384







INDEX.

een

PAGE
Puss ana Dash, 172
Quaker and Commissioner, 259
Quarrelsome Children, 174
Queer Notion, 206
Rats, Ingenuity of, 98
Rat ‘with a Bell A Fable, ill
Reindeer in Norway, 298
Rocking Stones, 94
Scandal, 25
Scene in Boston, 355
Schoolboy Days, 26
Sebastian Cabot, 115
Seeds, Long Vitality of, 114
Biborian Sledge Dogs 191

iberian

Sir Humphrey Davy, Boyhood of, 339
Sir John Franklin, 359
Silk and Silk Worms, 114
Stag Proud of his Horns, 148
Star-Spangled Banner, 199
Sleep, Necessity of, 341
Snow in the Arctic Regions, 301
Something about the Sulks, 320
Song of the Snow—Music, 358
Spiders fond of Music, 205
Spring, 150
Squirrel Family, Anecdotes of, 342
Squirrel Robbing, 329
Stork, Anecdotes of, 318, 375

Swearers, Howard’s Opinion of, 48

The Autumn Leaf, 175
The Bad Spectacles, 223

Brother and Sister—Frontis-
piece,
Brother and Sister Conversing, 8

PAGE
The Bee-Tree, 117
The Beggar Girl, 215
The Bird’s Complaint, 184
The Bird’s Nest, 157
The Bichow and the Birds, 376
The Blue-Bird, 151

The Boy and his Bobolink—Mu-
sic, 102
The Burial of Sir J ohn Moore, a

The Bustard,

The Cat a Fisherman, 179
The Child and the Cloud, 54
The Child’s First Prayer—Music, 38
The a, 85
The Dog and his Shadow, 64

The Dog afd the Mirror—A Fa-

ble, 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 Princo and the Pig, 316
The Rainy Day, 126
The Scent of the Rose, 210
Tho Spider and Sailor, 25
The Starling, 257
The Summer Time, 226
The Talisman, 211



ENGRAVINGS.

Dick the Squirrel,
Indian Girl’s Song,

The Dog and the Mirror, 103
Brother and Sister among the A Primitive Dwelling, 104
Birds, . 9 | Judge Hopkinson, 108
Carriages in Olden Time, 11 | Sebastian Cabot, 115
The Horse Litter, 12 | Burial of Sir John Moore, 119
The Sedan Chair, 12 | The Stag and his Mate, 123
Sedan Chair, of a Later Style, 13 | Jenny Lind, 129
A Coachman of the Olden Time, 14 | John Anderson and Wife, 135
Alexander taming Bucephalus, 18 | The Fisherman and the Little
Blossoms and Fruit, 21 Fish, 139
Galileo, 23 | Harry and his Dog, 142
Boys Let Loose from School, 26 | The Stag Proud of his Horns, 148
Statue of Wesley at Richmond, The Blue Bird, 151
England, Flower Vase, 153
Mermaid, 31 | The Bird’s Nest, 157
The Young Gleaner, 39 | Flower Scene, 167
The Ignis Fatuus, 42 | Puss and Dash, 172
Shepherd 44 | Mice fond of Music, 176
Continental Money, 49 | The Pope in the Fourteenth Cen-
Greenough’s Statue of Washing- ee, 180
ton, 52 | The Bird’s Complaint, 184
Birthplace of the Ettrick Shep- William in Distress, 186
herd, 55 | The Little Grave, 192
The Dog and his Shadow, 64 | A Curious Beetle, 195
R. Hoe and Co.’s Patent Type- Star-Spangled Banner, 199
Revolving Press, 71 | Whale Capsizing a Boat, 202
Interior of a Printing Office, 72 | Bird of Paradise, 207
Hand Press, 79 | Old Garrison House at Cape
ates ve Machine, = _s i 209
Crocodile, e ir 215
Jonah and his Gou G _— 218

rd, 89
Rocking Stone at Fall River, Mass. 94 }

oats,
My Pe* Goat,

PAGE
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
Wars, How they Happen, 258
Washington, Greenough’s Statue

of, 52
Water, 253
Water is Best, 297
oe 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
a 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,

The Lament of the Weary One, 310

The Yellow Bird’s Lament, 5

Jack Mason’s Stories,

seueting Bill, 327
necdotes of Large Se ts, 333

A South American a. 336

Anecdotes of the Squirrel Fami-

MER
William Penn,

353
Sir John Franklin, 359
The Pool of Bethesda, 364
The Bustard, 371
The Bishop and the Birds, 376
The Wild Sheep, 383





8 ke

My Sister.



















BY THEODORE THINEER,



Ir 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
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. O 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



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8 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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-
' yeal? 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 donot 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.
piece of workmanship, that little spar-
row’s nest.
ing at it, 1 thought it would be a fine
thing to take those little sparrows home

It was a charming

Well, as I stood there look-

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

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THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 9
PRE FEEREFSEREEHEERPTEHRTTTEPeTreneennneneennileinminenimteinistieitinntininienindammniasiiiieaiitiinitauia, seid
feelings, that my arm was entirely un- | never could harm one of the dear little
nerved. I did not violate the peace of | things since.
that happy family, but left them chirp-| I remember once having killed a robin
ing their gratitude and gladness. Boys | withastone. Idid it rather through care-
have often strong temptations to rob the | lessness than by design, however. The
nests of the beautiful birds that cluster | robin was as busy as he could be pick-
around the abodes of men, so confid- ing currants in our yard, when I threw
ingly, so lovingly. I have had some|a stone at him, to frighten him away.
such temptations. But never, since my |The stone hit the poor fellow, how-
sister’s eloquent plea ever—strange enough, I always thought,
for the young spar- | for I was a very indifferent marksman—
rows, have I yielded | and he fell down from the bushes, flut-
to this temptation. | tered a few minutes, gasped a few times
That plea has secur- | for breath, and died. I wept along time
ed the happiness of | about that tragic affair. The image of
many a forest war-|the dying robin did not leave my mind
bler. I owe much | for the entire summer, and I did not
of the good-will IJlove to go near the spot where he died
have ever cherished | for months afterward.
toward the birds to] That was a sad day for us all, when
the tenderness with |we learned that this cherished sister
which she always | must die, and it was a sadder day still
treated them. Ij when the dreaded hour arrived. Yet
— her end was calm and peaceful.. Her-
. Pep sun went down while it was yet day.
ey 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
repose.

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 free
To leave the real world for things which seem.”

“For things which seem.” But are they
seeming only ?
























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10 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

es

The Time-Piece.
A NEW YEARS THOUGHT.



BY WM. OLAND BOURNE,

Tick! tick! tick!
How swift the moments go!
Tick! tick! tick!
How rapid the minutes flow!
They come and they pass!
They sparkie and fiy!
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.

One !
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!

Two!
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 giory’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!

Tick ! tick! tick!

Let the year to Gon 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 !

One! Two! THREE!
The year is on its way ! |
Oh, Farner ! 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 Year in endless bliss
shall roll !

LOWVILLE, N. ¥.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET

iL





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

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
citizens.”

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

over the realm. In the year 1601, they | that term can be used in this connection,



12

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-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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.



THE HORSE LITTER.

jesty declared that the lives and limbs

In 1634, the coach found very power-
ful enemies in the shape of sedan chairs | of his subjects being greatly endangered
and horse-litters. The latter vehicle is | by the number of coaches in London
represented in the second engraving. | and Westminster, this new style of con-
Sir Saunders Duncombe, about that veyunes would be a good substitute.
time, brought the sedan chair into fash- |The sedan which was in use about this
ion; and the king granted him the priv- ‘time, is represented by the following
lege of “letting sedan chairs to hire for engraving, which also shows how it was
the term of fourteen years.” His ma- ‘borne from place to place. The vehicle





THE SEDAN CHAIR,



?
s
4
q
i



— =
a



——————



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

13



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-

ing.

4

SEDAN CHAIR, OF A LATER STYLE,

But sedans, borne by men, after a
while, became, if possible, more un pop-
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
burden.,”’

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-
tion :

“ Coach-makers may use many trades,
And get enough of meanes ;
And coach-men may turne off their jades,
And help to drain the fens.
Heigh doune, derry, derry doune,
With the hackney coaches doune !
The sythe and flail,
Cart and plow tail,
Doe want them out of toune.”



14

The next cut shows you a coachman,
as that class of people appeared soon



A COACHMAN OF THE OLDEN TIME.

after the Restoration. If such a looking
man should make his appearance in our
streets in these days, I am not sure but
he would have an invitation to exhibit
himself in the museum. But his stuffed
boots, his odd-looking hat, to say no-
thing about his coat and pantaloons,
were regarded as quite in good taste, in
the time of the second Charles. How
fashion rules over taste!

—————>__—

Instinct of Animals.

ERHAM quotes Olaus, in his ac-
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
catch the crabs below, and hauling up
and devouring such as laid hold of it.
On our own sea coast, rats also have
been known to add a new dish to their
dietary, by taking crabs; though it is
not easy to imagine how the capture is

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

effected, and certainly it is not by angling
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
ray observed a dormouse to dip its tail
into a dish of milk, and then carry it,
smeared with the fluid, to its mouth;
and similar ingenuity has been witnessed

‘in its conveyance of water, when the
‘little creature could not otherwise ob-

tain a supply. The modes employed by
dogs of different races in capturing and
devouring the crab, and especially that
pugnacious species, the velvet crab (Por-
tunus puber,) well illustrate the experi-
ence which has become propagated in
the breed over the ignorance of the un-
initiated. On the first discovery of the
prey, a terrier runs in to seize it, and is
immediately and severely bitten in the
nose. But a sedate Newfoundland dog
of my acquaintance proceeds more s0-
berly in his work: he lays his paw on it,
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
cracked beyond redemption, and then
the dainty dish is devoured at leisure.—
Couch’s Illustrations of Instinct.

sleet

«A zrrrte boy on his death-bed,
urging his father to repentance, said,
‘Father, I am going to heaven; what
shall I tell Jesus is the reason why you
won't love him!’ Before the weeping
father could answer, the child had fallen
asleep in Jesus.”





THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 15



The Deaf Old Men —

@ HAVE got a laughable story | every shilling I’m worth. I’ve never
to tell you about two been intoxicated since the last election:
old men, which you will | and as to money, I never borrowed a
find a good moral in; farthing of him in my life, or of any-
for it is a great shame, | body living—and I’ll go tell him so to
and very wicked, to pick he face, that I will—the lying old

g Sport out of the infirmities of | rogue!” and he would take up his stout

mankind, even if we do no in- = walking-staff. and sally out to put




jury to any one. I well remem- | his threat into execution, Before this,
ber a waggish youth who would | however, the young scamp had been to
have fun, whatever it might cost him, | old Billy Barton, cramming him with a
and never seemed so happy as when he parcel of lies, and telling him what his
was about some work of mischief; and | uncle had said about him,
when he could amuse himself no other “Mr. Barton!” he would holla into
way, he would begin playing trick: with | his ear, while old Billy was taking his
his deaf uncle. There was an old neigh- | walk at the other end of the town, “my
bor, who lived opposite, quite as dull _uncle says you undid his stye-door last
of hearing as his uncle was, for neither | night, and let his pigs out—somebody
the one nor the other could hear him- | saw you—and they’ve eaten up all the
self speak; and it was the delight of , peas and young cabbage, and rooted up
this Scapegrace of a nephew to set these | the flower-beds, and done five pounds’
w> deaf old men together by the ears ;| worth of damage—and he’s gone to
and as neither of them could hear what get a warrant out against you—and I
the other said, you may readily imagine | thought I would tell you, that you
what a droll scene an explanation must might make it up with him without going
have been between them. This grace- | to law.”
less young scamp first poured his poison} You may easily fancy how old Billy
into the ear of one, then into the ear of raved and stormed after such a charge
the other. Every two or three days he/as this, for deaf as he was, he could
would say to his deaf relative, « Uncle, | make himself heard; and how he set
old Billy Barton says you get drunk | off at once to repel the accusation and
every night—that you run up a score | defend himself—not having time, in the
everywhere, when any one will trust [heat of his passion, to ‘inquire who this
you—and that you owe money to every | “somebody” was, that had seen him,
publican in the place—and have never and brought the charge against him.
paid him the last half-guinea he lent! Meantime the young scamp used to
you, uncle—and he stops everybody he | run and assemble his companions in the
meets to tell them of it!” Street, to witness, as he would say,
“He’s an old rascal—and doesn’t | « such a row between his uncle and old
speak the truth—and I’ll have an action Barton ;” and the nephew so managed





against him—that I will—if it costs me | matters, and measured his distance, that



the two old men were almost sure to | would begin to collar one another, and
meet in the greatest thoroughfare in | no doubt there would soon have been @
town. At it they would go as fast as | fight between them, had not some peace-
ever their tongues could rattle, blowing | loving neighbor have interfered, and, al-
one another up—foaming and raving, | though he failed in reconciling them,
and stamping their sticks upon the patched up for the time a temporary
ground, and clenching their fists in each | cessation of hostilities.

other’s faces—neither of them hearing | So matters progressed, till the fre-
a word which the other said, but from | quency of their quarrels caused some
the earnest manner, and vehemence of mutual friend to interfere, and inquire
action, each believing the other was | into the cause ; when, to the astonish-
maintaining the accusation which the | ment and amusement of them both,
mischief-making young nephew had first | “my nephew” was found out; and
founded. «You say I get drunk every | heartily did they laugh as the explana-
night,” the deaf old uncle would ex- tion was in turns hammered into their
claim, stamping his stick as he spoke. | ears ; and a dozen times did the merry
«You say I turned your pigs out of the | old men rise and shake hands ; then sit
stye last night ” old Barton would ex- | down again to laugh ; for the friend
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!”
«“T’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






























scene of excellent mischief, which they
had agreed to put into operation ; and
the thought of it so tickled their old

again louder than they even did when
abusing each other. Nay, I verily be-
lieve, that from the bottom of their

had so many quarrels without any cause,

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

their designs, that he, suspecting nothing,
bade us, as he’d often done, to “ make
haste, and come along, to see such a row
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 rup

|

|

fancies with delight, that they roared —

hearts, they were glad that they had —

merely for the sake of the “making it:

old work, and they pretended, as usual,
to believe all that he said ; and so well
did they mimic a passion, and conceal”



who reconciled them had concocted a

sh ei Rs,
pw tae 3

—



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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,

17

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, did I!’ 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 ;

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













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

bones, I can assure you they gave him
such a thrashing as caused him to re-

deaf old men together by the ears,

_ 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-
‘hance 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, «]
get drunk every night, do I!” Tap,

member the day when he first set two

And long as it is since, I can scarcely
refrain from laughing, while recalling

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,” _



18 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

own shadow, which had before appeared
to frighten him. Then he threw off his
RE is a story about Alexander cloak, and sprang upon the back of the
the Great and his favorite horse, horse, and let him go as fast as he
named Bucephalus, which our pleased. The animal flew across the
) readers ought to hear. A very plain, at the top of his speed, while the
spirited horse had been sent to | king and his courtiers looked on, at first
Philip, Alexander’s father, when | with extreme fear, but afterward with
the greatest admiration and pleasure.
When Bucephalus had got tired of run-
parks connected with the palace, and | ning, he was easily reined in, and Alex-
the king and many of his courtiers went ander returned to the king, who praised
to see him. The horse pranced about so him very highly, and told him that he
furiously, that everybody was afraid of | deserved a larger kingdom than Mace-
him. He seemed perfectly unmanage- don. Alexander had a larger kingdom,
able. No one was willing to risk his | some years after—a great deal larger one
life by mounting such an unruly animal, | —though thatis a part of another story.
Philip, instead of being thankful for the | | Bucephalus became the favorite horse
present, was inclined to be ‘1 ill humor | of Alexander, and was very tractable
about it. In the meantime, the boy and docile, though full of life and spirit.
He would kneel upon his fore legs, at

Alexander and Bucephalus.



the latter wasa boy. ‘This horse
was taken out into one of the

ES

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











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 deal.
He had him buried with great solemnity,
and built a small city on the spot of his
interment, which he named Bucevhalia,
in honor of his favorite.

—_——_.>—_——-

Impromptu,
ADDRESSED BY A PRIEST TO THE LEGI#s-
LATURE OF CONNECTICUT.

“ 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 Connect I cut away.”

the command of his master, in order —





SS 8 ek ee



ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS.





io 1 aioe Ga oui ar





THE YOUTHS CABINET.

Blossoms and Fruit.



BY THE MAN WITH THE MAGNET.

BLOSsoms

ast 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
I was
delighted with the appearance of the

Sweetness there is in their odor.

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. |
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



a inineniiiemnniaanatls

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
their fruits 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-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

pect it—we have a on ae. ein cae teat teiindee Man aden an Ss 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 pero?
said your prayers night and morning
and that you meant to be a Ohriatian.
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.





THE YOUTH'S CABINET. 93
| 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 on,
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, Ina 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 would
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
in equal times, increase as the numbers | was not so successful with the ecclesias-

V 2 JÂ¥























HIS 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,



“~

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ND

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,
« E pur si muove,” (“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-
ie0’s life. He died the same year that
Isaac Newton was born. What a coin-
cidence.



The Intemperate Girl.



BY J. P. MCORD.



4 GIRL guilty of intemperance !—
how shocking and deplorable !”’
So I seem to hear my young
readersexclaim. Shocking and
deplorable, indeed, for a man to be in-



temperate—much more for a little girl.
But perhaps you are thinking worse of
lier than you ought. A person may be

intemperate in other things besides rum,

cider, and the like; he may be intempe-
rate in the use of food; and this is the
kind of intemperance in whieh the girl
indulged, of whom I am about to write.
I shall eall her name Delia.

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, Afterall 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,



THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 25

Srnec re

it should be eaten in proper quantities, |he did in nearly the following words.
and at proper times. The excessive in- | Whether his statements contain anything
dulgence of appetite is injurious to|new, I am not certain; they were at
health and comfort, and an abuse of the | least new to me. WM. A. ALOOTT.
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. xxy.
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-
tues.


























The spider, when about to cross a
pond or stream of water, will run a little
way, and then give a spring or leap from
the bank, upon its surface. I suppose
that they prepare themselves for their
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 onthe
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
brown color,

e- ame

The Spider a Sailor.
Seandal.

Dr. Jounson, being once in company
with some seandal-mongers, one of them
having accused an absent friend of re-
sorting to rouge, he abserved, “It is
perhaps, after all, much better for a
lady to redden her own cheeks, than to
blacken other people’s characters.”

r. Eprror,—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



| before.

2b
School-Boy Days.

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2 ‘Raa
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\ No > IS \ DS +
Zona ‘ia ey N girls at school.
SS I 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

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THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

oo

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 sufficient by
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.



BOYS LET LOOSE FROM scCHOOL.

‘Tt is not every boy’—says the story-
telling basket maker—‘ who knows what
a downright village school is, such a one
as I have before me at this moment,

where I passed some of my early days.
You ought to have seen the scholars, —

e

Poe 3 ee

.
ie ade

when they were let out of the school- |

house. But as, perhaps, you never en-





THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 27

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
O 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

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
tosmoke, 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
Joined each other; and Africa was with only think a rat would ever dream of
hem a market-town, where they sold | getting into. Sometimes they managed
Striches’ eggs, They tore up their books | to arrive at school just in time to see the
make paper boats of, and swam them, | better-behaved scholars leaving.
































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STATUE OF WESLEY, AT RICHMOND, ENGLAND.





John Wesley.

(

nent divine.

_ lived.

_ retains to this day.



3 England, in the year. 1703.

;



















‘more deeply felt in the family circle.
“John’s mind, early in his childhood,
from which sprang his future eminence.

“Serious Call.” This book, with some
others of a similar character, awakened
in his mind a strong religious fervor.
“He earnestly inquired what he should
“do to be saved, and, as he then hoped,
‘through the influence of the Spirit of
“God, he became a disciple of Christ,
“and was adopted into the divine family.
An after life, however, it would seem that
e dated his conversion at a later period.
Boon after he became familiar with the
books above alluded to, he, in connection
with several other students of the uni-
ersity, formed an association, which
met at stated times, for the purpose of
eligious worship, and for the mutual
emprovement of its members.

THE YOUTHS CABINET.





EW men of modern times have ac-
complished more than this emi-
Few have left a

more indelible and extended im-
pression upon the age in which they
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

John Wesley was born in Epsworth,
His father
_ was a clergyman of the Church of Eng-
land. Although a man of considerable
talent and of decided piety, it seems that
i the influence of the mother was much

“She it was who sowed those seeds in
“which afterward took deep root, and

hile John was in college, he read Law’s

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, in
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
themselves.

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 1785,
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 svork.
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



importance of small things. His.whole



30

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.


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 jive 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
horseback.”

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
Wesley.

Velocity of Light.

iaHT travels at the rate of nearly

two hundred thousand miles ina

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.



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eaten



maids, as the term signifies.

on Tipsy tes Saige sts eee oe io re

cording to the stories about. it.

_ the lower extremities like a fish.





_ artificial ornaments,
on the opposite page is the representa-
~ tionof 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.

4 “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 2”

__ Well, it seems improbable in the high-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

In the engraving

31














A Chapter on Mermaids.

HERE has been a great deal said,
written and sung, respecting a
certain order of the animal crea-
tion called mermaids, or sea-

An odd

sort of thing a mermaid must be, ac-

It is
_Tepresented as having the head and up-

_ per part of the body like a woman, and

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

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



32 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

terrestris insencneeehteai

never been caught and examined by a by the music, and thus drawn to the
naturalist. Do not, however—I repeat | shore, where the sirens were ready to
it—give me credit for the belief, that} make them pay for their entertainment
such an intelligent, genteel-looking sea- | by taking their lives.
lady as the one representetl in the en-| These sirens, I am inclined to believe,
graving, has ever had a being. I can- | were playing hide and seek in the brain-
not easily believe that. Some poet, in | chamber of some of the people who have
one of his highest flights of fancy, or | seen a sea-monster which they called a
else some one who has a knack of tell- mermaid. At any rate, there is a good
ing fish-stories, has evidently had a hand | deal of fable, to say nothing respecting
in sketching this picture. These poets, | heathen mythology, in the stories about
by the way, take great liberties some-|the mermaid. A great many of these
times: when they want to tell large | stories were collected, a few years since,
stories, they just step over the boun- by a French gentleman, and published
dary line of sober prose into poet-land, | with others of a similar nature, in a book
and then’ they seem to think they have | called “ Melanges d’ Histoire Naturelle.”
a licence to call in the aid of fancy as | You would be amused, if you should
often as they please, and for the man-| read these stories—more amused than
ufacture of about as wild tales as they | instructed, perhaps; though we may
choose. For instance: the poet takes the | find kernels of excellent wheat, if we
liberty to introduce the mermaid to us | will only look carefully for them, in
as a very fine singer. “Hark!” he says, | places which appear barren enough. [
will give you a specimen of these stories:
Near the middle of the eighteenth
century, there was a good deal of ex-




























“What fairy-like music steals over the sea,
Entrancing the senses with charmed melody ?
"Tis the voice of the mermaid, that floats o’er

the main, ; _ _ | citement produced, especially among the
deen wr her song with the gondolier’s | 1ovors of the marvellous, by a detailed and
strain.”

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
& 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

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 | willing to give anybody who wished, .an
80 sweetly, that those who passed any- | opportunity for examining her,

where near their island were charmed i She proved to be of about the size of



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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.
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 merman, and that they were

You may take it for





not more than fifty feet from him at the
time. In appearance, 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 h2d aot

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, never found
a place in natural history.



34

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



BUOPTORLAL DABLE-DALR, |

OMETHING ABOUT OURSELVES.



The patrons of the Youtu’s
j) Canrnet, as they glance
J 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 Casrnet 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,

TO CORRESPONDENTS,

Tue bureau of the Casinet 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-



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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-
ferred.

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-

35



less, have much more talent than they
dream of.



CHARADE NO. I.

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 seize,
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
moat,
And stemmed back the tides of her flood ;
It has strengthened the muniments circling a
town
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
mind, , :
If it faileth in pleasing surprise.
LOUIS.
VLINT, MICH.



36





RIDDLE NO, I

Tm with the humble and the haughty,

Moth and monarch feel my power ;
Earth could never do without me,

I'm 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.

ELLA.



LATIN PUZZLE NO. Tf.

Mr. Tainxer,—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.”



RUPERT.
ENIGMA NO. I.

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, 14, 19, 14, 13.
My 4, 2, 1,14, is acoin. My 3, 12, 2,
8, is a city near which Christ performed

a miracle. My 7, 16, isa 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,



ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS NO. I.

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

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 ?



ENIGMA NO. II.

I am composed of 14 leters. 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 NewYork is
proud of my whole. M.



CHARADE NO. II,

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 YOUTH’S CABINET... 37



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
moriths 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 #1 Quartel de
San Carlos almost entirely disappeared



by the sinking of the ground. The night
of Holy Thursday presented a distress-
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, 1797.
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-



38

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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.

ee | eee

The Bad Spectacles.

A certain 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 ?”

“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
chose

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
please,

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

better.” _

“W ell, 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?” said he.

“Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see.”

“Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball—

Pray, let me ask you, can you read at all?”

“ No, you great blockhead ! 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.
Selected.

Floating Islands.

HERE 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 en them, and
noble elms grow upon one in the laké&
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 deposite 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.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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Ann); “A ad atime.

The Young Gleaner.

BY

Tuus 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



SHE EDITOR.

“ God is 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;
Ceased for aye her tears to flow ;
Then her sunny face beamed brighter,
Then it caught a heavenly glow.

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



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



The Hebrew Mother and her Child.

Bs 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. Ske 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
ery ; 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, Iam very,
very hungry.” ‘ Hush, Naasson, hush,
my son! [ 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, J
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

* Nasson,



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 r
The mother could bear it no longer.
She looked again into the barrel; there
was still ahandful. ‘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

Al

ec ETL

said; but make me thereof a little cake
first, and bring it me; after, make for
thee andfor thy son. [or 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
earth.” |

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 cruge
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 het one
lock of love, and with a single gasp, ex-
pired. ‘
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 YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Ignis Fatuus.

TY on 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
pyraustz 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 confervee, 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 fatuiis 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 fatuiis, 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



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ie
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.

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-
_yinced 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



43



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 nearer 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.”







THE YOUTH’S CABINET.




Sy

{nner 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 4
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,

orm,

Stories abo

ut Dogs.

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
‘n 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 instant-



46

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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
who treat such animals with cruelty !



Dicky Morton.

icky Morron was a fine little

fellow. He was about nine years

of age when | 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 tavo 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.
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
he 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,

He was a good boy.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 bis 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. He 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.” He 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, “1 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.—tichmond
Christian Advocate.



AT

«Do as you would be done by.”

« never will play with Charley

Mason again, mother. He’s a
naughty boy, and I don’t love
him.”

«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 af

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?”

“«O,-yes, indeed.”

«And do you think Charley would
have let you?”

«©, 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 2?’ 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



48

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

niente ieee ata ati

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
it?”

“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 ?”

“TI 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 rea]
nice balloon, bigger than his first one
was.”

“ 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.

i

Howard’s Opinion of Swearers.

Howarp, 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
bad.”



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Continental Money.

ue 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.



50

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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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.

HE sentence or proposition consti-
tutes the soul and essence of
language, and is the® central
point of all grammatical inves-

tigations,

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
whole.

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 YOUTH’S CABINET.

The subject is a substantive, i. e. the
idea of asubstance, 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
mind.

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-
gile.”

3. A substantive; as, “John is @
physician.”

4. Anadverb; as, “the fire is owt.”

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, “ Almighty.”





51

These two
factors are combined, not necessarily by
the speaker, nor necessarily at the mo-
ment of speaking, into one idea (not one
thought) and that the idea of substance.

According to the different forms of the
attributive combination, the attribute
may be,

1, Anadjective ; as “the virtuous 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, thes 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
expressed,

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 go.”

5. By a pronominal word ; as, “ killed
him.” Soy



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



All these combinations or groupings,
it is evident, constitute one cdea, 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
combination.

«The anxious father,” is an attributive
sombination.

“ Wrote a letter,” is an objective com-
bination.

“ Anxious about the child,” is an ob-
jective combination.

“A long letter,”
combination.

In this way, sentences may be devel-
oped to an indefinite extent.

is an attributive

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New Haven, Or.

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Greenough’s Statue of Washington.

0 ONE of the many thousands who
annually visit the capital of our
nation, fails to spend a few
moments in gazing upon Horatio

Greenough’s Statue of Washington, a
view of which is given in the above en-
graving. 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



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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-relicf.
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 in 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

53

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
times.”’

The Honest Jew.

Wuen 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. ‘“Isaw 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 areward for honesty.” Seeing that
I looked rather surprised, he observed,
“You seem rather astonished, and |
have only to request, that when you
hear any of our race abused, you will
remember that you have met with an
honest Jew ; and I assure you that I am
not the only one.” —Selected.



5A

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Tia chndeninapmmnenreeachecsanincoan NNN

The Child and the Cloud.



BY MRS. BE. A, COMSTOCK,



— Floating cloud, wintry cloud,

Whither away ?

Cloud. Where giant trees are bowed,

Ch.

Cl.

Ch.

Cl.

Ch.

Cl.

Ch.

Cl.

‘Cl.

g

In my rude play.

T’o the old oak tree, cloud ?
Blow gently there !
The old oak is proud,
I will not spare.

Oh cloud, do not shake
Its limbs ; nor rend ;

If it would not break,
Why, let it bend!

See yon quivering trees !
Go thou to them;
They bend in every breeze,

The breeze they stem.

Let thy force, then, be spent
On yon tall tree ;

T’o the oak I was sent—
It needeth me.

Why to this household tree
Hast thou been sent ?

To break the haughty knee
That has not bent.

Say, what mighty power

Sends to the tree ?
He who in a coming hour
Will send to thee.

Speak thou, O wondrous cloud,
Why send to me ?

If thy knee is not bowed,
He’ll break thy knee.

Ah? now the truth I take—
I, too, must bend ;
‘Yes, if thou would’st not break,
‘Like thy-oak friend.

Ch.

Cl.

Moth.

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

Why dost thou change thy form
To beauty bright ?

~ For mercy, not for storm,

I come to-night.

Like angel’s form, I ween,
Thou glidest now ;

Redeemed child, thou hast seen
’Tis bliss to bow.

Joy thy white bosom sends
Upon my head ;

Thus on each head that bends,
Rapture is shed.

Thou canst both heal and break—
Bliss comes with thee ;

T’o that bliss I will take
Thyself with me.

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 YOUTH’S CABINET.





The Ettrick Shepherd.

amzs Hoge, 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
schoo). 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. ae

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, and
changed the very form of his features.

Hogg’s account of the manner in which.

FY



56

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ee nnn Lae

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-
2d 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 fair queen might prove

“The wondrous powers of Scottish 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 livedin a cottage
which he had built at Altrive, ona 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



THE YOUTHS CABINET.

bunt, he declared his belief that his death
was near. In the autumn of 1835, he
was attacked with a dropsical com-
plaint; and on the 21st November of
that year, he breathed his last, as calm-
iy, and with as little pain, as he ever fell

57

asleep in his gray plaid on the hill-side.
His death was deeply mourned in the

vale of Ettrick, for all rejoiced in his

fame; and notwithstanding his foibles,
the shepherd was generous, kind-heart-
ed, and charitable far beyond his means.

What I know.



TO BE SPOKEN BY A LITTLE

BOY OR GIRL. .



A zit 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
Pll do my very best, and you
Must patient be, and love me too.
I cannot yet read very weil,
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 O's, and U’s,
And M’s, and N’s, and W’s,
And hope that I shail soon succeed,
To write a letter you ean read.
I now ean add seven, eight and nine,
And numerate them in a line;
As for the multiplication table,
That’s no great things; for Iam able
To go already up to six,
And den’t mean that shall be a fix;
I know the States from Maine to Texas,
The beundaries no lenger vex us;
And every capital Pil 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 on.
Now if I know all this at seven,
Don’t be afraid—when I am. eleven,
Pi let you see a thing or two,
And show what Thomas R. can do.

Rew Yorx.





THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Gold Repeater.



TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF BERTHOLD AUERBACH,



was in my fif-
teenth year. I
was apprentic-
ed to my uncle,
and wished for
nothing in the
world 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
Saviour 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-



other’s pleasure! 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,



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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



59

is, after all, whiter and thicker ; and then
too it repeats so prettily, bim, bam.” I
pressed the spring with all my might,

but it did not yield—there 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
sitting-room.

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 the

aa



6C

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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
truth.

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! 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 bim, 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 found 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 bick-
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
the same time, take care to remain con-
tent and happy when a less perfect lot
fails to our share. I have learnt to be
content with this watch, and it is to me
a treasure beyond all price.

a



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
Will, and Butler’s Analogy.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Powder Plot.

amzs and Henry Holt
were bright, intel-
ligent boys, but of
that restless turn
of mind that made
: them wish con-
stantly to be em-
2 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

7S 3
i



(CY
4 fA.)
k C



power to stop it, had not a man who
happened to be passing near, seen the
smoke, and put out the fire before it had
time to do any damage. When James
and Henry were told that the pleasure
of a few moments which they expected
to enjoy by disobeying their parents,
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, “1 will disobey my
parents, and destroy property, just for
the sake of a little fun.” The difficulty
is, boys do not thank.

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
him.

« Well, let us leok 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?”

«Ok 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 les-
sons, which I hope the little boy re-
membered; but they were lessons which
James and Henry did not easily learn,



62

THE YOUTHS CABINET.



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
them.

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
trouble.

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



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 ata 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,

were not
dirt, soon began to scramble up; but
poor James still lay on the ground, bleed-
ing and black, and did not attempt to
rise.
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.
alarmed ; but she was @ 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 had 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.





63

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
hurt, but only covered with

Two of the men took him up, and

Mrs. Holt was very much

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
happened.”

To James this was worse than the
pain he suffered.

Gradually his wounds began to heal ;
and by the middle of the next week,



64

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



nearly 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
be 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
he 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.



A FABLE——TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, BY ELIZUR WRIGHT, JR.



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 Asop’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.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Earl Fitzwilliam and the Farmer.

» FARMER 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-
cure an estimate of the loss you have
sustained, I will repay you.” The farm-
er replied, that anticipating his Jord-
ship’s consideration and kindness, he had
requested a friend to assist him in esti-
mating the damage, and they thought
that asthe 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 earl,



65

«this is what I like; this is as it should

be between man and man.” He then
entered into conversation with the farm-

er, asking him some questions about
his family—how many children he had,
dc. 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-
maily,



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 thermometer
make so much difference? That is, the
extremities being cooled to thirty-two
degrees, we must not approach the fire,
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 fire as suddenly as we please, and



66

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 Yourn’s
Castner, 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-





THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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
wellas for a general reason. Everybody
can see what the general reasonis, The
particular reason can only be understood
by a correspondent who sends a poetical
charade, with something in it about Ab-
salom.—THEODORE THINKER.

Beware of Idleness.

F 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
fiends. 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.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

An Indian Story.

x THE early settlement of this coun-
try a strange Indian arrived at an
‘nn 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,

field !”
mind the scene at the inn, and bidding
him farewell, exclaimed, “I am that In-





67

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 country. The In-
dian asked him if he knew the ground,

and he eagerly answered, “It is Litch-
The Indian then recalled to his

dian! Now I pray you go home.”

Politeness.

rv. 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 read,
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
manners.

-



68

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

lenient I ETD

EDITORIAL PTABLETALK.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.





==Ai OME one of our
; numerous read-

not tell who,
= as he _ has
S not chosen to
Y 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
say.”

Ed MANA | — =—— ee

SNOW.

Tue white-winged snow,
By winter's fierce blow,

Is swept with many a whirl,
Till the landscape is white,
With the snow flakes light

Lying in many a drifted curl.

Then the éartl’s brown breast
‘Ts in pure white drest,
And sparkles in the calm moonlight,

ers—we can-

While the sleigh-bells are rung,
And the snow-balls are flung,
When the earth is robed in white.

The trees are all dress’d
In a glittering vest,
That shines in the sun’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

Whitens 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.
OSCAR.



Esteir, 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 writcr 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. |



THE YOUTH'S CABINET.

ENIGMA NO. III,

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, 25
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, 13,
‘s 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, 8,8,
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.



















CHARADE NO. IIl.
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 bestows
A fleeter step and true,

Unless, indeed, it treads too close
Upon the other’s shoe.

My sum, let not my first e’er miss,
For ’tis his rightful dole.

And mind, if e’er you answer this,
Do not forget my whole.

FLorence, MIcn. LOUIS.



THE ENIGMATICAL DEPARTMENT.

For the answers to the enigmas,
charades, and matters of that genius,
-which follow, we are indebted to Miss
- Crara H. P. of Schenectady, N. Y. |

69

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

—_—_——_—_——_

ANSWER TO CHARADE NO. I.
BUT-TRESS.



ANSWER TO RIDDLE NO. |.
THE LETTER H.



ANSWER TO LATIN PUZZLE NO. I.
“POO MUCH OF ONE THING IS GOOD FOR NOTHING.”



LATIN AND ENGLISH ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO.I.

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

agite,”

Youth 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 WHAT
you ARE ABourT ;” which is certainly good
advice for us all.



ANSWER TO ARITHMETICAL QUESTION NOw KE,

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.



ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO, II.

Year is a portion of time. Many seek
Fame. Tchad is a lake on the Eastern
continent. The Reed is an essential part
of a clarionet. The whole, of which the
city of New York is proud, is “ THE FREE
ACADEMY.”

—_—————

ANSWER TO CHARADE NO UI.

BREAK-FAST,



TJ

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



~\ 2

aos

AL
esl Ks

—



A Chapter on Printing.



BY THEODORE THINEER.



aw 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
read.

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
Ve 5

some countries, prior to the fifteentn
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
named.

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-

gree of perfection which would astonish
MAR



MI

|

\\ mv
{ i

a

ry
i

ily f]

typ
Ng

Ta









THE YOUTHS CABINET.

the original inventor, almost as much as
his rude types and. press astonished 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 details of
ihe 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.
Yousee a portion of a printing-office inthe
last engraving. The man whois at work
there is a compositor, that is, one whose
part of the business is to arrange

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 book 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 small cap-
itals. on the. other side, Counting from
the bottom of the case, on the left hand,
upward, the capitals begin on the fourth
row. The first box contains A, the
second toward the right hand contains
B, and so on. On the other side of the

the |

73



wide division, the small capitals are
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. is,
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 than any 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, of the arrangement aids
the memory, where it becomes necessary,
as in this case, to draw so often upon the
memory,

Before the. compositor can do anything
toward putting the manuscript before
him in type, he must have a composing-
stick. ‘This is an iron frame, so constuct-



74

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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 Canrnet, 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,
fo 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 Canine, 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.





THE YOUTH’S CABINET. |

«eset aia

These different sizes and styles of
type are called founts. The smallest
type used in the Casrvet is called Von-
pareil. The largest—that in which the
principal part of the entire work is set-—
‘s 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 Casrnet 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
cmaller. Minion is the next below that ;
then Nonpareil, then Agate, then Pearl,
‘then Diumond, 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 this 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-

letter he wants.



75

oo —

ferent widths, which are lower than the
letters.
They are placed in the lower case, at the
extreme right of the compositor, on the
front or lower side.

These are called quadrats.

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
«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 asmall 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
see.

When the line is completed, it often.



76 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

emer EEE Ln

happens that there is a space at the end,
too small to admit another syllable.
What is to be done 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
lines.

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 Jead, or thin
piece of metal, between each line, The
Castner 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 lofig, 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, now, that the compositor
has set up two or three galleys-full of
matter, and suppose him to be at work
on the Yourn’s Caxiyer still, He then



ww

THE YOUTHS CABINET. is

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
the page comes to be printed, will make
a line of division between the two col-
amns. 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, 80 as to hold the
whole firmly together; after which he
lifts the page from the galley, and places
t on the imposing-stone. This is @
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
simpler.

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 bé printed from the types
which the compositor has, sel up- To
avoid confusion, although the CaBINET is
stereotyped, every line of. it, 1 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.

| though,



The pages must be arranged on the
imposing-stone in such, a manner, that.
when the sheet is print , they will fol-
low each other in proper order. This
process is called imposing. ‘The Cast-
net is called a large octayo. Sixteen
pages are printed at once. In other
words, to, employ the language of the
printer—for you are ina printing-otfice
now, and must talk as the printers do—
there are sixteen pages in @ form. So
the man who is imposing these pages,
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 ;
‘¢ he should be ata 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 moyed so as, 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



78

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

<

be ascertained is the amount of margin
required inthe 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, guoins,
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.
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

Be-.

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 Castner, had no sort
of marks of punctuation whatever ; for
where they are misplaced, as they sc
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
think.

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-



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

79

rt LE LE LAD

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-sheet 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



Canter is printed on one of these

steam- presses.
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



80

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
description.

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-
cst 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 whieh 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
gradually.

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 tocover 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

, Taust be large enough to cover the bed,



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

nn
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,

is culled 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-
vanged 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 put in
twice. It takes a long time to correct
such a proof; though a careful compos-
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-









SL

though more rarely, a fourth. After
this, the form is supposed to be correct,
and the pressman takes it into his charge,
to work off, 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 from:
the types better than when dry. One
side of the paper being printed, the
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
éach separate half-sheet, which are fold -
ed by themselves. Sometimes, a aiffer-
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
mneh more delicate surface. This roller



Ue east

LL) ame



CYLINDER PRINTING MACHINE,



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

EE

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 modern invention. I canremem-
ber very well when, instead of this con-
trivance, they used what they called balls,
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.
Thero are four or more corresponding

cylinders, also revolving horizontally,
which, as the central cylinder turns
round, come in contact, in 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-cylinders,
and four places where the sheet is: intro-
duced. Four persons are required to
put on the sheets, and the same number
to take them off. Ten thousand impres-
sions are printed in an hour by this ma- °
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’



84

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.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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
Jeaded, and broken up into frequent
paragraphs,

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 stirr’d
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 soul’s high festival.
_ Thy gentle notes are heard, like choral waves,
eaching the mountain, hill, and quiet vale ;
ae thunder-tones are like the sweeping gale,
Bidding the tribes of men no more be slaves ;
Aud earth’s remotest island bears the sound
That floats on ether wings the earth around.





THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ds

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The Crocodile.

A FABLE FOR LITTLE FOLKS AND GREAT ONES TOO.



BY MRS. J. L. GRAY.



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 oc~ypation.
’T'was easy to see
No pity had he;
His tears were but water—there all could agree.

The sheep he devour’d, and the shepherd, I ween;
The herd fear’d 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 nim,
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.



86 , THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



The men of Tentyra were able before
To conquer each monster that came to their shore;
But now they, with horror, were fain to confess
That the crocodile. gave, them. no, little distress.

So. in great conatemation,
A grand, consultation,
Was ealld to, convene, of the head: ofthe nation.

It met; but alas such tho. terror. and fright,
They fail’d to distinguish 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 ,
Of measures 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 undertaking,
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 nature,
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 happen’d 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,
Easton, Pa.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Are Children all Kings ?

S eeeeeenatell

BY DR. W. A. ALCOTT.

|

nere 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 upon the
earth.”

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 I, 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





87

{he countless millions, which, by the
breath of his power, he has formed ?
Was it that we should rule them as with
a tod of iron; of in gentleness, and ten-
derness, and love?
might promote their happiness; or was
it that we might exercise our power—
exercise our “dominion”—in making
them miserable ?

Was it that we

These questions may be answered, by

ascertaining what are the duties of a good
king to his human subjects? How does
a good king of Great Britain, for exam-
ple, exercise dominion over the many
millions of his subjects, so as to atiswer
the intentions of God concerning him?

Not, most certainly, in making them

labor to such an extent as to render

them mere slaves. Not in keeping them
in ignorance all their lives. Not in mak-

ing war against them. Not in frighten-

ing away to the woods all who survive

the general massacre.

The good child, who is conscious that
he ig made a king of the animals around
him, will do all in his power to pro
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 thém in an unusual degree,
he will not hunt, fish, or entrap them.
He will greatly prefer to feed thém.

My residence is nearly stirrounded by
chestnut trees, and the place is some-
times called “Chestnut Grove.” Birds,
in gteat numbers, frequent the place,
both in winter and summer. Only the
other day, though the weather was quite
cold, and the sndéw father deep, no less
than five or six sparrows came around
the door, where the crumbs from the
table had been thrown, and even hopped

MAB



88

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

eee eee en .

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 tieir 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.



Obedience and Disobedience.

HEN children are away from
home, they are bound to obey
those to whose care their

7 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.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



Jonah’s Gourd.

Great 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 takena
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 upon



90

THE YOUTHS CABINET.

a_i ssssstshessessesstesesessshsary

Nineveh. So he went outa 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!
when the sun rose, the heat was very
severe; and he fainted, and said again,
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 ?”

This gourd, that Jonah mourned over
so much, is described by Jerome, acele-
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
little here from the translation in our English version.

I think the idea of grief, rather than anger, is conveyed
in the original.

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
edges.

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 !



Vanity of Elizabeth.

ALEIGH 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 1593, 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 YOUTHS CABINET.

91

RES

The Count and

the Peasant.



TRANSLATED FROM THB FRENCH FOR THE CABINET,

BY THE EDITOR,



into a store, and
the counter, he beg-
gs ged the merchant to
lend him six francs on this
pledge.

“Do you take me for a
fool?’ said the merchant. “J
would not lend two sous on
tuch 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

) we day, a peasant went

placing his hat on’

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 find 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 car-
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, asa signal for the coach-
man to stop; and the man ran up to the
window of the carriage, and said to the
count—

“T 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

+.



92

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

sss

for me to thank you, still less to inquire
your name and place of residence. The
merchant did not know you. So Ihave
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!”

“T 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
present.”

_ “T 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,
sir.”

“ How is that, my friend ?”

“T 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
tome. 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-
ing.”

The peasant was punctual at the ap-
pointed hour. As soon as he was an-
nounced, the count ran to meet him, 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 rendered



THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. 93

An Awkward Mistake.

rarmeR, who had purchased a

calf from a butcher, desired him

to drive it to his farm, and place

‘t 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
Jodging, 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 eseape with
his life — Selected.

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
‘n 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
them.


























Call ye me Poor?

Call ye me poor? 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,
I'll hope a brighter day to see.

Call ye me poor? I am not s0,

While God’s rich bounty still is mine ;
To him my all of good I owe—

Whom, scorner, owest thou for thine ?



94

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

eS
————

ESS a })
4 s Pu a



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. Wegot 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-
sition.

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 puzzles 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 apetite for more
knowledge respecting it. It is a most
interesting study; and I advise all my
young friends to look into it, by all
means, if they get a chance.



THE YOUTH'S CABINET.

The Four: Words.

« ( SOGVE ovr little words did

~“Y me more good,
when I was a boy,
than almost any-
thing else,” said a
Doing friend to me the
other day. “I can-

| not reckon up all
SSR the good they have
» RD | done; they were the first



¢! We ~ words: that my mother
ee Ms taught me.”
i “Indeed! What were
Vitae 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 riot 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. “1 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,
“Jt will prove to be a most excellent
pear.” It began to look very beautiful.

Â¥



95

It was full and round, a rich glow was
dyeing its cheeks, and its grain was clear
and healthy.

«Ts 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. Iused 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
pear! 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



96

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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. Iran 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 todo. 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 astar looking down
upon me through the leaves. ‘“TuHou,
Gop, serst 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. Noone 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.

youne 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.



THE YOUTH'’S CABINET.

97



Dick, the Squirrel.

nr, Eprror,—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-

mitted.



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-

w. W. P.
Hartrorp, Cr.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A PET SQUIRREL.

Poor 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! 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 pass’,
I weep to say, was Dicky’s last.

Poor Dick would play till almost frantie—
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.



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® AND THE HEART.

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SECOND THOUSAND.

THE

YOUTH’S BOOK OF GEMS.

MIND AND THE HEART.

WITH ONE HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS.



BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH,

AUTHOR OF “UNCLE FRANK'S HOME STORIES,” “Boy’s AND GIRL’S LIBRARY” “STORIES ABOUT
ANIMALS,” “STORIES ABOUT BIRDS,” ETO, ETO.

AUBURN:
DERBY AND MILLER.

1852.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852,
BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH,
In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.

etait il imenticareanatsianeianibiencantnnmaniaeesai alee Epa LLL LAL AL





STEREOTYPED BY
THOMAS B. SMITH
216 William St., N. Y.
PAGE | PAGE PAGE
A Boston Boy, 365 Drowned . 366 | Jack Mason’s Stories, 322
A Common Mistake, 66 | Duke of W n, Anecdote of, 382 aps om Thompson and the Black-
A Cunning Fox, 332 berries, 205
Admirable Example, 145 | Earl Fitzwilliam and the Farmer, 65 . Jenn 129
Age of the American States, 131 | Early Drinking, Danger of, 96 | Jonah’s Go 89
A Large Business, 367 Easter Day, 138 John Anderson my jo John, 135
A Leap for Life, 110 Editorial Table-Talk, 34, 68, 99, 132
Alexander and Bucephalus, 19 | _ 162, 196, 227, 260, 291, 325, 356, 385 Katydid, 20
American Rustic Hospitality, 313 | Enemies, how to treat them, 338 | Kites in China, 116
Anclont Lighting Rods, 171 | English Bible? 940 | Large Serpents, Anecdotes of, 333
Ancient Lightnin | English Bible,
Ancient Thobes, ’ 269 | Ettrick Shepherd, 55 | Laug Bi 327
A New Taste, 349 | Europe, Letters from, 266 | Letters from Euro 206, 344
Animals, Instinct of, 14 Liberty and Religion, 122
An Indian Story, 67 | Farming in the Western Country, 350 | Liberty, Spirit of, 17
A Noble Boy, 380 Farming, Lights and Shadows of, 236 Light, ee seal 30
April-Fool kgg, 156 | First Thank-Offering, 311 Little Girls, a Word to, 194
Arabian Nights, 290 | Fish Fascinated by Music, 173 | Little Grave, 192
Ass and Race Horse—A Fable, 243 Fisherinan and the Little Fish, 139 | Little Hero of Haarlem, 308
A Visit to the Locksmith’s, 381 | Floating Islands, 223 | Little Miners, 185
Awkward Mistake, 93. | Florisis, Visit to, 153 Little Reasoner, 183
| Flowers, 167 | Little Workers, a Lesson from, 362 -
Bad Memory, 137 | Fox-Hounds, Kennel of, 244 | Long-toed Shoes, 235
Baron Von Humboldt, 284 | Fox aa 270 | Lying, 125
Bash-Bish, 242 | Fruit and Blossoms, 21
Bat, Anecdotes of, 347 | Funny Mistake, 128 | Man’s Life, Changes in, 346
Bees, Habits of, 121 | Funny Quarrel, 217 | May Song—Music, 166
Bird of Paradise, 207 Mermaids, Chapter on, 31
Blind Boy at Play, 343 | Galileo, 23 | Mice fond of Music, 176
Blossoms and Fruit, 21 | Generosity of an Elder Brother, 355 | Monkey’s Memory, 217
Bonfire, 159 | Gencrous Blacksmith, 158 | Monkey and Telescope—A Fable, 349
Boys and Fruit, 194 | Geyser Springs, 289 | Money, Continental, 49
Brotherly Affection, 373 | “Give us our Daily Bread,” 278 | Mother’s Last Lesson, 312
Bucephalus and Alexander, 19 | Goats, Stories about, 219 | Mouse in Liquor, 365
Business First and then Pleasure, 145 | Going to the Fire, 65 | My Children, a Letter to, 225
re | Gold Repeater, 58 | My Early Friend, 105
mee Ann, 209 | Grasshopper, Song of, 283 | My Heart’s in the 231
Call yeme Poor 2? 93 | Great Earthquake at Lisbon, 306 | My Mother’s Voice, 156
Caraccas, Earthquake in, 222 My Sister, 7
Carriages in Olden Time, 11 | Hail in India, 354 ‘
Charlie Cleveland and Father Hall, Robert, 60 | Nature, Perfection of, 118
Blinker, 232 | Hard Reading, 380 | Never be Idle, 348
Chide Mildly the Erring, 206 | Harry and his Dog, 143 | Never give a Kick for a Hit, 370
Children, are they all Kings ? 87 | Harvest, 246 | Never Hold Malice. 382
Children, Sorrows of, 324 | Hebrew Mother and her Child, 40 | New York, Early History of, 254
Clara Sinclair, 286 | Hindoo Mother, 149
Clovis, Anecdote of, 268 Honest Farmer, 150 | Obedience and Di 88
Corie, Come Away, 249 Honcst Negro, 352 | Obey God rather than Man, £07, 346
Conceit, 378 Hopkinson, Judge, 108 | Obstinate Boy, 245
Contentment, 265 Hornet’s Nest, 316 | Old Man and Princess, 210
Contrary Boy, 368 Horse, Sagacity and Attachment
Conversation about Death, 378... of, ' 77 | Paris, 136
Count and Peasant, 91 Howard’s Opinion of Swearers, 48 | Parrot, Anecdotes of, 295
Country Lad and the River, 363 | How Smart we are, 125. Passing through a Thunder Cloud 305
w Tree, 226 Humming Birds, 303 Philosophy Outdone, 141
zy Ann, 273 | Pitch, a Lake of, 324
Curious Beetle, 195 | Idiot’s Death, 276 Politeness, 67
| Idleness, Beware of, 66 Pool of Bethesda, 364
Deaf Old Men, 15 | Il Temper, 243 Pope in the Fourteenth Century, 180
Deer, Strange Instinct of, 178 Imagination, Freaks of, 216 Powder Plot, 61
Depth of Different Seas, 279 Incidents at the West, 123 Praying and Trying, 311
Dicky Morton, 46 Indiana, a Word about, 252 President Fillmore, 263
Dick, the Squirrel, 97 Indian Customs, 302 Prim, the End of, 2838
Do as you would be done by, 47 , Indian Story, 272 Printing, a Chapter on, 71
Dogs, Stories about, 45, 271 Italian Customs, 253 Providence, Trust in, 193
Don’t Kill the Birds, 321 “It’s of No Use,” 275 ' Providential Guest, 384




INDEX.

een

PAGE
Puss ana Dash, 172
Quaker and Commissioner, 259
Quarrelsome Children, 174
Queer Notion, 206
Rats, Ingenuity of, 98
Rat ‘with a Bell A Fable, ill
Reindeer in Norway, 298
Rocking Stones, 94
Scandal, 25
Scene in Boston, 355
Schoolboy Days, 26
Sebastian Cabot, 115
Seeds, Long Vitality of, 114
Biborian Sledge Dogs 191

iberian

Sir Humphrey Davy, Boyhood of, 339
Sir John Franklin, 359
Silk and Silk Worms, 114
Stag Proud of his Horns, 148
Star-Spangled Banner, 199
Sleep, Necessity of, 341
Snow in the Arctic Regions, 301
Something about the Sulks, 320
Song of the Snow—Music, 358
Spiders fond of Music, 205
Spring, 150
Squirrel Family, Anecdotes of, 342
Squirrel Robbing, 329
Stork, Anecdotes of, 318, 375

Swearers, Howard’s Opinion of, 48

The Autumn Leaf, 175
The Bad Spectacles, 223

Brother and Sister—Frontis-
piece,
Brother and Sister Conversing, 8

PAGE
The Bee-Tree, 117
The Beggar Girl, 215
The Bird’s Complaint, 184
The Bird’s Nest, 157
The Bichow and the Birds, 376
The Blue-Bird, 151

The Boy and his Bobolink—Mu-
sic, 102
The Burial of Sir J ohn Moore, a

The Bustard,

The Cat a Fisherman, 179
The Child and the Cloud, 54
The Child’s First Prayer—Music, 38
The a, 85
The Dog and his Shadow, 64

The Dog afd the Mirror—A Fa-

ble, 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 Princo and the Pig, 316
The Rainy Day, 126
The Scent of the Rose, 210
Tho Spider and Sailor, 25
The Starling, 257
The Summer Time, 226
The Talisman, 211



ENGRAVINGS.

Dick the Squirrel,
Indian Girl’s Song,

The Dog and the Mirror, 103
Brother and Sister among the A Primitive Dwelling, 104
Birds, . 9 | Judge Hopkinson, 108
Carriages in Olden Time, 11 | Sebastian Cabot, 115
The Horse Litter, 12 | Burial of Sir John Moore, 119
The Sedan Chair, 12 | The Stag and his Mate, 123
Sedan Chair, of a Later Style, 13 | Jenny Lind, 129
A Coachman of the Olden Time, 14 | John Anderson and Wife, 135
Alexander taming Bucephalus, 18 | The Fisherman and the Little
Blossoms and Fruit, 21 Fish, 139
Galileo, 23 | Harry and his Dog, 142
Boys Let Loose from School, 26 | The Stag Proud of his Horns, 148
Statue of Wesley at Richmond, The Blue Bird, 151
England, Flower Vase, 153
Mermaid, 31 | The Bird’s Nest, 157
The Young Gleaner, 39 | Flower Scene, 167
The Ignis Fatuus, 42 | Puss and Dash, 172
Shepherd 44 | Mice fond of Music, 176
Continental Money, 49 | The Pope in the Fourteenth Cen-
Greenough’s Statue of Washing- ee, 180
ton, 52 | The Bird’s Complaint, 184
Birthplace of the Ettrick Shep- William in Distress, 186
herd, 55 | The Little Grave, 192
The Dog and his Shadow, 64 | A Curious Beetle, 195
R. Hoe and Co.’s Patent Type- Star-Spangled Banner, 199
Revolving Press, 71 | Whale Capsizing a Boat, 202
Interior of a Printing Office, 72 | Bird of Paradise, 207
Hand Press, 79 | Old Garrison House at Cape
ates ve Machine, = _s i 209
Crocodile, e ir 215
Jonah and his Gou G _— 218

rd, 89
Rocking Stone at Fall River, Mass. 94 }

oats,
My Pe* Goat,

PAGE
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
Wars, How they Happen, 258
Washington, Greenough’s Statue

of, 52
Water, 253
Water is Best, 297
oe 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
a 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,

The Lament of the Weary One, 310

The Yellow Bird’s Lament, 5

Jack Mason’s Stories,

seueting Bill, 327
necdotes of Large Se ts, 333

A South American a. 336

Anecdotes of the Squirrel Fami-

MER
William Penn,

353
Sir John Franklin, 359
The Pool of Bethesda, 364
The Bustard, 371
The Bishop and the Birds, 376
The Wild Sheep, 383


8 ke

My Sister.



















BY THEODORE THINEER,



Ir 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
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. O 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



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8 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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-
' yeal? 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 donot 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.
piece of workmanship, that little spar-
row’s nest.
ing at it, 1 thought it would be a fine
thing to take those little sparrows home

It was a charming

Well, as I stood there look-

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

<= ie. ae wk pana aa
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 9
PRE FEEREFSEREEHEERPTEHRTTTEPeTreneennneneennileinminenimteinistieitinntininienindammniasiiiieaiitiinitauia, seid
feelings, that my arm was entirely un- | never could harm one of the dear little
nerved. I did not violate the peace of | things since.
that happy family, but left them chirp-| I remember once having killed a robin
ing their gratitude and gladness. Boys | withastone. Idid it rather through care-
have often strong temptations to rob the | lessness than by design, however. The
nests of the beautiful birds that cluster | robin was as busy as he could be pick-
around the abodes of men, so confid- ing currants in our yard, when I threw
ingly, so lovingly. I have had some|a stone at him, to frighten him away.
such temptations. But never, since my |The stone hit the poor fellow, how-
sister’s eloquent plea ever—strange enough, I always thought,
for the young spar- | for I was a very indifferent marksman—
rows, have I yielded | and he fell down from the bushes, flut-
to this temptation. | tered a few minutes, gasped a few times
That plea has secur- | for breath, and died. I wept along time
ed the happiness of | about that tragic affair. The image of
many a forest war-|the dying robin did not leave my mind
bler. I owe much | for the entire summer, and I did not
of the good-will IJlove to go near the spot where he died
have ever cherished | for months afterward.
toward the birds to] That was a sad day for us all, when
the tenderness with |we learned that this cherished sister
which she always | must die, and it was a sadder day still
treated them. Ij when the dreaded hour arrived. Yet
— her end was calm and peaceful.. Her-
. Pep sun went down while it was yet day.
ey 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
repose.

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 free
To leave the real world for things which seem.”

“For things which seem.” But are they
seeming only ?
























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10 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

es

The Time-Piece.
A NEW YEARS THOUGHT.



BY WM. OLAND BOURNE,

Tick! tick! tick!
How swift the moments go!
Tick! tick! tick!
How rapid the minutes flow!
They come and they pass!
They sparkie and fiy!
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.

One !
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!

Two!
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 giory’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!

Tick ! tick! tick!

Let the year to Gon 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 !

One! Two! THREE!
The year is on its way ! |
Oh, Farner ! 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 Year in endless bliss
shall roll !

LOWVILLE, N. ¥.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET

iL





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

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
citizens.”

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

over the realm. In the year 1601, they | that term can be used in this connection,
12

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-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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.



THE HORSE LITTER.

jesty declared that the lives and limbs

In 1634, the coach found very power-
ful enemies in the shape of sedan chairs | of his subjects being greatly endangered
and horse-litters. The latter vehicle is | by the number of coaches in London
represented in the second engraving. | and Westminster, this new style of con-
Sir Saunders Duncombe, about that veyunes would be a good substitute.
time, brought the sedan chair into fash- |The sedan which was in use about this
ion; and the king granted him the priv- ‘time, is represented by the following
lege of “letting sedan chairs to hire for engraving, which also shows how it was
the term of fourteen years.” His ma- ‘borne from place to place. The vehicle





THE SEDAN CHAIR,



?
s
4
q
i



— =
a
——————



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

13



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-

ing.

4

SEDAN CHAIR, OF A LATER STYLE,

But sedans, borne by men, after a
while, became, if possible, more un pop-
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
burden.,”’

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-
tion :

“ Coach-makers may use many trades,
And get enough of meanes ;
And coach-men may turne off their jades,
And help to drain the fens.
Heigh doune, derry, derry doune,
With the hackney coaches doune !
The sythe and flail,
Cart and plow tail,
Doe want them out of toune.”
14

The next cut shows you a coachman,
as that class of people appeared soon



A COACHMAN OF THE OLDEN TIME.

after the Restoration. If such a looking
man should make his appearance in our
streets in these days, I am not sure but
he would have an invitation to exhibit
himself in the museum. But his stuffed
boots, his odd-looking hat, to say no-
thing about his coat and pantaloons,
were regarded as quite in good taste, in
the time of the second Charles. How
fashion rules over taste!

—————>__—

Instinct of Animals.

ERHAM quotes Olaus, in his ac-
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
catch the crabs below, and hauling up
and devouring such as laid hold of it.
On our own sea coast, rats also have
been known to add a new dish to their
dietary, by taking crabs; though it is
not easy to imagine how the capture is

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

effected, and certainly it is not by angling
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
ray observed a dormouse to dip its tail
into a dish of milk, and then carry it,
smeared with the fluid, to its mouth;
and similar ingenuity has been witnessed

‘in its conveyance of water, when the
‘little creature could not otherwise ob-

tain a supply. The modes employed by
dogs of different races in capturing and
devouring the crab, and especially that
pugnacious species, the velvet crab (Por-
tunus puber,) well illustrate the experi-
ence which has become propagated in
the breed over the ignorance of the un-
initiated. On the first discovery of the
prey, a terrier runs in to seize it, and is
immediately and severely bitten in the
nose. But a sedate Newfoundland dog
of my acquaintance proceeds more s0-
berly in his work: he lays his paw on it,
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
cracked beyond redemption, and then
the dainty dish is devoured at leisure.—
Couch’s Illustrations of Instinct.

sleet

«A zrrrte boy on his death-bed,
urging his father to repentance, said,
‘Father, I am going to heaven; what
shall I tell Jesus is the reason why you
won't love him!’ Before the weeping
father could answer, the child had fallen
asleep in Jesus.”


THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 15



The Deaf Old Men —

@ HAVE got a laughable story | every shilling I’m worth. I’ve never
to tell you about two been intoxicated since the last election:
old men, which you will | and as to money, I never borrowed a
find a good moral in; farthing of him in my life, or of any-
for it is a great shame, | body living—and I’ll go tell him so to
and very wicked, to pick he face, that I will—the lying old

g Sport out of the infirmities of | rogue!” and he would take up his stout

mankind, even if we do no in- = walking-staff. and sally out to put




jury to any one. I well remem- | his threat into execution, Before this,
ber a waggish youth who would | however, the young scamp had been to
have fun, whatever it might cost him, | old Billy Barton, cramming him with a
and never seemed so happy as when he parcel of lies, and telling him what his
was about some work of mischief; and | uncle had said about him,
when he could amuse himself no other “Mr. Barton!” he would holla into
way, he would begin playing trick: with | his ear, while old Billy was taking his
his deaf uncle. There was an old neigh- | walk at the other end of the town, “my
bor, who lived opposite, quite as dull _uncle says you undid his stye-door last
of hearing as his uncle was, for neither | night, and let his pigs out—somebody
the one nor the other could hear him- | saw you—and they’ve eaten up all the
self speak; and it was the delight of , peas and young cabbage, and rooted up
this Scapegrace of a nephew to set these | the flower-beds, and done five pounds’
w> deaf old men together by the ears ;| worth of damage—and he’s gone to
and as neither of them could hear what get a warrant out against you—and I
the other said, you may readily imagine | thought I would tell you, that you
what a droll scene an explanation must might make it up with him without going
have been between them. This grace- | to law.”
less young scamp first poured his poison} You may easily fancy how old Billy
into the ear of one, then into the ear of raved and stormed after such a charge
the other. Every two or three days he/as this, for deaf as he was, he could
would say to his deaf relative, « Uncle, | make himself heard; and how he set
old Billy Barton says you get drunk | off at once to repel the accusation and
every night—that you run up a score | defend himself—not having time, in the
everywhere, when any one will trust [heat of his passion, to ‘inquire who this
you—and that you owe money to every | “somebody” was, that had seen him,
publican in the place—and have never and brought the charge against him.
paid him the last half-guinea he lent! Meantime the young scamp used to
you, uncle—and he stops everybody he | run and assemble his companions in the
meets to tell them of it!” Street, to witness, as he would say,
“He’s an old rascal—and doesn’t | « such a row between his uncle and old
speak the truth—and I’ll have an action Barton ;” and the nephew so managed





against him—that I will—if it costs me | matters, and measured his distance, that
the two old men were almost sure to | would begin to collar one another, and
meet in the greatest thoroughfare in | no doubt there would soon have been @
town. At it they would go as fast as | fight between them, had not some peace-
ever their tongues could rattle, blowing | loving neighbor have interfered, and, al-
one another up—foaming and raving, | though he failed in reconciling them,
and stamping their sticks upon the patched up for the time a temporary
ground, and clenching their fists in each | cessation of hostilities.

other’s faces—neither of them hearing | So matters progressed, till the fre-
a word which the other said, but from | quency of their quarrels caused some
the earnest manner, and vehemence of mutual friend to interfere, and inquire
action, each believing the other was | into the cause ; when, to the astonish-
maintaining the accusation which the | ment and amusement of them both,
mischief-making young nephew had first | “my nephew” was found out; and
founded. «You say I get drunk every | heartily did they laugh as the explana-
night,” the deaf old uncle would ex- tion was in turns hammered into their
claim, stamping his stick as he spoke. | ears ; and a dozen times did the merry
«You say I turned your pigs out of the | old men rise and shake hands ; then sit
stye last night ” old Barton would ex- | down again to laugh ; for the friend
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!”
«“T’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






























scene of excellent mischief, which they
had agreed to put into operation ; and
the thought of it so tickled their old

again louder than they even did when
abusing each other. Nay, I verily be-
lieve, that from the bottom of their

had so many quarrels without any cause,

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

their designs, that he, suspecting nothing,
bade us, as he’d often done, to “ make
haste, and come along, to see such a row
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 rup

|

|

fancies with delight, that they roared —

hearts, they were glad that they had —

merely for the sake of the “making it:

old work, and they pretended, as usual,
to believe all that he said ; and so well
did they mimic a passion, and conceal”



who reconciled them had concocted a

sh ei Rs,
pw tae 3

—
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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,

17

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, did I!’ 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 ;

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













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

bones, I can assure you they gave him
such a thrashing as caused him to re-

deaf old men together by the ears,

_ 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-
‘hance 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, «]
get drunk every night, do I!” Tap,

member the day when he first set two

And long as it is since, I can scarcely
refrain from laughing, while recalling

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,” _
18 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

own shadow, which had before appeared
to frighten him. Then he threw off his
RE is a story about Alexander cloak, and sprang upon the back of the
the Great and his favorite horse, horse, and let him go as fast as he
named Bucephalus, which our pleased. The animal flew across the
) readers ought to hear. A very plain, at the top of his speed, while the
spirited horse had been sent to | king and his courtiers looked on, at first
Philip, Alexander’s father, when | with extreme fear, but afterward with
the greatest admiration and pleasure.
When Bucephalus had got tired of run-
parks connected with the palace, and | ning, he was easily reined in, and Alex-
the king and many of his courtiers went ander returned to the king, who praised
to see him. The horse pranced about so him very highly, and told him that he
furiously, that everybody was afraid of | deserved a larger kingdom than Mace-
him. He seemed perfectly unmanage- don. Alexander had a larger kingdom,
able. No one was willing to risk his | some years after—a great deal larger one
life by mounting such an unruly animal, | —though thatis a part of another story.
Philip, instead of being thankful for the | | Bucephalus became the favorite horse
present, was inclined to be ‘1 ill humor | of Alexander, and was very tractable
about it. In the meantime, the boy and docile, though full of life and spirit.
He would kneel upon his fore legs, at

Alexander and Bucephalus.



the latter wasa boy. ‘This horse
was taken out into one of the

ES

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











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 deal.
He had him buried with great solemnity,
and built a small city on the spot of his
interment, which he named Bucevhalia,
in honor of his favorite.

—_——_.>—_——-

Impromptu,
ADDRESSED BY A PRIEST TO THE LEGI#s-
LATURE OF CONNECTICUT.

“ 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 Connect I cut away.”

the command of his master, in order —


SS 8 ek ee



ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS.


io 1 aioe Ga oui ar


THE YOUTHS CABINET.

Blossoms and Fruit.



BY THE MAN WITH THE MAGNET.

BLOSsoms

ast 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
I was
delighted with the appearance of the

Sweetness there is in their odor.

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. |
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
a inineniiiemnniaanatls

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
their fruits 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-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

pect it—we have a on ae. ein cae teat teiindee Man aden an Ss 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 pero?
said your prayers night and morning
and that you meant to be a Ohriatian.
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.


THE YOUTH'S CABINET. 93
| 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 on,
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, Ina 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 would
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
in equal times, increase as the numbers | was not so successful with the ecclesias-

V 2 JÂ¥























HIS 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,
“~

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ND

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,
« E pur si muove,” (“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-
ie0’s life. He died the same year that
Isaac Newton was born. What a coin-
cidence.



The Intemperate Girl.



BY J. P. MCORD.



4 GIRL guilty of intemperance !—
how shocking and deplorable !”’
So I seem to hear my young
readersexclaim. Shocking and
deplorable, indeed, for a man to be in-



temperate—much more for a little girl.
But perhaps you are thinking worse of
lier than you ought. A person may be

intemperate in other things besides rum,

cider, and the like; he may be intempe-
rate in the use of food; and this is the
kind of intemperance in whieh the girl
indulged, of whom I am about to write.
I shall eall her name Delia.

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, Afterall 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,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 25

Srnec re

it should be eaten in proper quantities, |he did in nearly the following words.
and at proper times. The excessive in- | Whether his statements contain anything
dulgence of appetite is injurious to|new, I am not certain; they were at
health and comfort, and an abuse of the | least new to me. WM. A. ALOOTT.
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. xxy.
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-
tues.


























The spider, when about to cross a
pond or stream of water, will run a little
way, and then give a spring or leap from
the bank, upon its surface. I suppose
that they prepare themselves for their
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 onthe
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
brown color,

e- ame

The Spider a Sailor.
Seandal.

Dr. Jounson, being once in company
with some seandal-mongers, one of them
having accused an absent friend of re-
sorting to rouge, he abserved, “It is
perhaps, after all, much better for a
lady to redden her own cheeks, than to
blacken other people’s characters.”

r. Eprror,—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
| before.

2b
School-Boy Days.

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SS I 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

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THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

oo

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 sufficient by
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.



BOYS LET LOOSE FROM scCHOOL.

‘Tt is not every boy’—says the story-
telling basket maker—‘ who knows what
a downright village school is, such a one
as I have before me at this moment,

where I passed some of my early days.
You ought to have seen the scholars, —

e

Poe 3 ee

.
ie ade

when they were let out of the school- |

house. But as, perhaps, you never en-


THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 27

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
O 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

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
tosmoke, 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
Joined each other; and Africa was with only think a rat would ever dream of
hem a market-town, where they sold | getting into. Sometimes they managed
Striches’ eggs, They tore up their books | to arrive at school just in time to see the
make paper boats of, and swam them, | better-behaved scholars leaving.
































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STATUE OF WESLEY, AT RICHMOND, ENGLAND.


John Wesley.

(

nent divine.

_ lived.

_ retains to this day.



3 England, in the year. 1703.

;



















‘more deeply felt in the family circle.
“John’s mind, early in his childhood,
from which sprang his future eminence.

“Serious Call.” This book, with some
others of a similar character, awakened
in his mind a strong religious fervor.
“He earnestly inquired what he should
“do to be saved, and, as he then hoped,
‘through the influence of the Spirit of
“God, he became a disciple of Christ,
“and was adopted into the divine family.
An after life, however, it would seem that
e dated his conversion at a later period.
Boon after he became familiar with the
books above alluded to, he, in connection
with several other students of the uni-
ersity, formed an association, which
met at stated times, for the purpose of
eligious worship, and for the mutual
emprovement of its members.

THE YOUTHS CABINET.





EW men of modern times have ac-
complished more than this emi-
Few have left a

more indelible and extended im-
pression upon the age in which they
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

John Wesley was born in Epsworth,
His father
_ was a clergyman of the Church of Eng-
land. Although a man of considerable
talent and of decided piety, it seems that
i the influence of the mother was much

“She it was who sowed those seeds in
“which afterward took deep root, and

hile John was in college, he read Law’s

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, in
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
themselves.

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 1785,
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 svork.
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



importance of small things. His.whole
30

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.


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 jive 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
horseback.”

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
Wesley.

Velocity of Light.

iaHT travels at the rate of nearly

two hundred thousand miles ina

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.
—




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eaten



maids, as the term signifies.

on Tipsy tes Saige sts eee oe io re

cording to the stories about. it.

_ the lower extremities like a fish.





_ artificial ornaments,
on the opposite page is the representa-
~ tionof 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.

4 “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 2”

__ Well, it seems improbable in the high-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

In the engraving

31














A Chapter on Mermaids.

HERE has been a great deal said,
written and sung, respecting a
certain order of the animal crea-
tion called mermaids, or sea-

An odd

sort of thing a mermaid must be, ac-

It is
_Tepresented as having the head and up-

_ per part of the body like a woman, and

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

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
32 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

terrestris insencneeehteai

never been caught and examined by a by the music, and thus drawn to the
naturalist. Do not, however—I repeat | shore, where the sirens were ready to
it—give me credit for the belief, that} make them pay for their entertainment
such an intelligent, genteel-looking sea- | by taking their lives.
lady as the one representetl in the en-| These sirens, I am inclined to believe,
graving, has ever had a being. I can- | were playing hide and seek in the brain-
not easily believe that. Some poet, in | chamber of some of the people who have
one of his highest flights of fancy, or | seen a sea-monster which they called a
else some one who has a knack of tell- mermaid. At any rate, there is a good
ing fish-stories, has evidently had a hand | deal of fable, to say nothing respecting
in sketching this picture. These poets, | heathen mythology, in the stories about
by the way, take great liberties some-|the mermaid. A great many of these
times: when they want to tell large | stories were collected, a few years since,
stories, they just step over the boun- by a French gentleman, and published
dary line of sober prose into poet-land, | with others of a similar nature, in a book
and then’ they seem to think they have | called “ Melanges d’ Histoire Naturelle.”
a licence to call in the aid of fancy as | You would be amused, if you should
often as they please, and for the man-| read these stories—more amused than
ufacture of about as wild tales as they | instructed, perhaps; though we may
choose. For instance: the poet takes the | find kernels of excellent wheat, if we
liberty to introduce the mermaid to us | will only look carefully for them, in
as a very fine singer. “Hark!” he says, | places which appear barren enough. [
will give you a specimen of these stories:
Near the middle of the eighteenth
century, there was a good deal of ex-




























“What fairy-like music steals over the sea,
Entrancing the senses with charmed melody ?
"Tis the voice of the mermaid, that floats o’er

the main, ; _ _ | citement produced, especially among the
deen wr her song with the gondolier’s | 1ovors of the marvellous, by a detailed and
strain.”

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
& 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

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 | willing to give anybody who wished, .an
80 sweetly, that those who passed any- | opportunity for examining her,

where near their island were charmed i She proved to be of about the size of
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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.
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 merman, and that they were

You may take it for





not more than fifty feet from him at the
time. In appearance, 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 h2d aot

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, never found
a place in natural history.
34

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



BUOPTORLAL DABLE-DALR, |

OMETHING ABOUT OURSELVES.



The patrons of the Youtu’s
j) Canrnet, as they glance
J 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 Casrnet 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,

TO CORRESPONDENTS,

Tue bureau of the Casinet 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-
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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-
ferred.

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-

35



less, have much more talent than they
dream of.



CHARADE NO. I.

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 seize,
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
moat,
And stemmed back the tides of her flood ;
It has strengthened the muniments circling a
town
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
mind, , :
If it faileth in pleasing surprise.
LOUIS.
VLINT, MICH.
36





RIDDLE NO, I

Tm with the humble and the haughty,

Moth and monarch feel my power ;
Earth could never do without me,

I'm 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.

ELLA.



LATIN PUZZLE NO. Tf.

Mr. Tainxer,—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.”



RUPERT.
ENIGMA NO. I.

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, 14, 19, 14, 13.
My 4, 2, 1,14, is acoin. My 3, 12, 2,
8, is a city near which Christ performed

a miracle. My 7, 16, isa 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,



ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS NO. I.

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

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 ?



ENIGMA NO. II.

I am composed of 14 leters. 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 NewYork is
proud of my whole. M.



CHARADE NO. II,

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 YOUTH’S CABINET... 37



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
moriths 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 #1 Quartel de
San Carlos almost entirely disappeared



by the sinking of the ground. The night
of Holy Thursday presented a distress-
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, 1797.
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-
38

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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.

ee | eee

The Bad Spectacles.

A certain 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 ?”

“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
chose

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
please,

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

better.” _

“W ell, 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?” said he.

“Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see.”

“Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball—

Pray, let me ask you, can you read at all?”

“ No, you great blockhead ! 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.
Selected.

Floating Islands.

HERE 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 en them, and
noble elms grow upon one in the laké&
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 deposite 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.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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Ann); “A ad atime.

The Young Gleaner.

BY

Tuus 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



SHE EDITOR.

“ God is 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;
Ceased for aye her tears to flow ;
Then her sunny face beamed brighter,
Then it caught a heavenly glow.

Toils che now from morn till even,
In the sunshine and the rain,
Blest to be beloved of Heaven,
Though a gleaner ’mid the grain.
FY
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



The Hebrew Mother and her Child.

Bs 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. Ske 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
ery ; 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, Iam very,
very hungry.” ‘ Hush, Naasson, hush,
my son! [ 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, J
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

* Nasson,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 r
The mother could bear it no longer.
She looked again into the barrel; there
was still ahandful. ‘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

Al

ec ETL

said; but make me thereof a little cake
first, and bring it me; after, make for
thee andfor thy son. [or 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
earth.” |

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 cruge
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 het one
lock of love, and with a single gasp, ex-
pired. ‘
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 YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Ignis Fatuus.

TY on 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
pyraustz 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 confervee, 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 fatuiis 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 fatuiis, 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
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ie
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.

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-
_yinced 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



43



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 nearer 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.”

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.




Sy

{nner 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 4
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,

orm,

Stories abo

ut Dogs.

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
‘n 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 instant-
46

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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
who treat such animals with cruelty !



Dicky Morton.

icky Morron was a fine little

fellow. He was about nine years

of age when | 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 tavo 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.
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
he 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,

He was a good boy.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 bis 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. He 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.” He 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, “1 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.—tichmond
Christian Advocate.



AT

«Do as you would be done by.”

« never will play with Charley

Mason again, mother. He’s a
naughty boy, and I don’t love
him.”

«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 af

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?”

“«O,-yes, indeed.”

«And do you think Charley would
have let you?”

«©, 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 2?’ 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
48

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

niente ieee ata ati

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
it?”

“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 ?”

“TI 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 rea]
nice balloon, bigger than his first one
was.”

“ 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.

i

Howard’s Opinion of Swearers.

Howarp, 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
bad.”
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Continental Money.

ue 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.
50

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

reer neeereereeeeerrenteeneenpenenensepeeeeseeeeineesenrenetetensisetinmeinshacentticmtaaatitt Nia

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.

HE sentence or proposition consti-
tutes the soul and essence of
language, and is the® central
point of all grammatical inves-

tigations,

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
whole.

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 YOUTH’S CABINET.

The subject is a substantive, i. e. the
idea of asubstance, 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
mind.

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-
gile.”

3. A substantive; as, “John is @
physician.”

4. Anadverb; as, “the fire is owt.”

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, “ Almighty.”





51

These two
factors are combined, not necessarily by
the speaker, nor necessarily at the mo-
ment of speaking, into one idea (not one
thought) and that the idea of substance.

According to the different forms of the
attributive combination, the attribute
may be,

1, Anadjective ; as “the virtuous 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, thes 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
expressed,

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 go.”

5. By a pronominal word ; as, “ killed
him.” Soy
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



All these combinations or groupings,
it is evident, constitute one cdea, 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
combination.

«The anxious father,” is an attributive
sombination.

“ Wrote a letter,” is an objective com-
bination.

“ Anxious about the child,” is an ob-
jective combination.

“A long letter,”
combination.

In this way, sentences may be devel-
oped to an indefinite extent.

is an attributive

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New Haven, Or.

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Greenough’s Statue of Washington.

0 ONE of the many thousands who
annually visit the capital of our
nation, fails to spend a few
moments in gazing upon Horatio

Greenough’s Statue of Washington, a
view of which is given in the above en-
graving. 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
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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-relicf.
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 in 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

53

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
times.”’

The Honest Jew.

Wuen 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. ‘“Isaw 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 areward for honesty.” Seeing that
I looked rather surprised, he observed,
“You seem rather astonished, and |
have only to request, that when you
hear any of our race abused, you will
remember that you have met with an
honest Jew ; and I assure you that I am
not the only one.” —Selected.
5A

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Tia chndeninapmmnenreeachecsanincoan NNN

The Child and the Cloud.



BY MRS. BE. A, COMSTOCK,



— Floating cloud, wintry cloud,

Whither away ?

Cloud. Where giant trees are bowed,

Ch.

Cl.

Ch.

Cl.

Ch.

Cl.

Ch.

Cl.

‘Cl.

g

In my rude play.

T’o the old oak tree, cloud ?
Blow gently there !
The old oak is proud,
I will not spare.

Oh cloud, do not shake
Its limbs ; nor rend ;

If it would not break,
Why, let it bend!

See yon quivering trees !
Go thou to them;
They bend in every breeze,

The breeze they stem.

Let thy force, then, be spent
On yon tall tree ;

T’o the oak I was sent—
It needeth me.

Why to this household tree
Hast thou been sent ?

To break the haughty knee
That has not bent.

Say, what mighty power

Sends to the tree ?
He who in a coming hour
Will send to thee.

Speak thou, O wondrous cloud,
Why send to me ?

If thy knee is not bowed,
He’ll break thy knee.

Ah? now the truth I take—
I, too, must bend ;
‘Yes, if thou would’st not break,
‘Like thy-oak friend.

Ch.

Cl.

Moth.

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

Why dost thou change thy form
To beauty bright ?

~ For mercy, not for storm,

I come to-night.

Like angel’s form, I ween,
Thou glidest now ;

Redeemed child, thou hast seen
’Tis bliss to bow.

Joy thy white bosom sends
Upon my head ;

Thus on each head that bends,
Rapture is shed.

Thou canst both heal and break—
Bliss comes with thee ;

T’o that bliss I will take
Thyself with me.

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 YOUTH’S CABINET.





The Ettrick Shepherd.

amzs Hoge, 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
schoo). 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. ae

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, and
changed the very form of his features.

Hogg’s account of the manner in which.

FY
56

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ee nnn Lae

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-
2d 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 fair queen might prove

“The wondrous powers of Scottish 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 livedin a cottage
which he had built at Altrive, ona 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
THE YOUTHS CABINET.

bunt, he declared his belief that his death
was near. In the autumn of 1835, he
was attacked with a dropsical com-
plaint; and on the 21st November of
that year, he breathed his last, as calm-
iy, and with as little pain, as he ever fell

57

asleep in his gray plaid on the hill-side.
His death was deeply mourned in the

vale of Ettrick, for all rejoiced in his

fame; and notwithstanding his foibles,
the shepherd was generous, kind-heart-
ed, and charitable far beyond his means.

What I know.



TO BE SPOKEN BY A LITTLE

BOY OR GIRL. .



A zit 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
Pll do my very best, and you
Must patient be, and love me too.
I cannot yet read very weil,
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 O's, and U’s,
And M’s, and N’s, and W’s,
And hope that I shail soon succeed,
To write a letter you ean read.
I now ean add seven, eight and nine,
And numerate them in a line;
As for the multiplication table,
That’s no great things; for Iam able
To go already up to six,
And den’t mean that shall be a fix;
I know the States from Maine to Texas,
The beundaries no lenger vex us;
And every capital Pil 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 on.
Now if I know all this at seven,
Don’t be afraid—when I am. eleven,
Pi let you see a thing or two,
And show what Thomas R. can do.

Rew Yorx.


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Gold Repeater.



TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF BERTHOLD AUERBACH,



was in my fif-
teenth year. I
was apprentic-
ed to my uncle,
and wished for
nothing in the
world 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
Saviour 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-



other’s pleasure! 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,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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



59

is, after all, whiter and thicker ; and then
too it repeats so prettily, bim, bam.” I
pressed the spring with all my might,

but it did not yield—there 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
sitting-room.

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 the

aa
6C

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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
truth.

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! 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 bim, 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 found 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 bick-
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
the same time, take care to remain con-
tent and happy when a less perfect lot
fails to our share. I have learnt to be
content with this watch, and it is to me
a treasure beyond all price.

a



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
Will, and Butler’s Analogy.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Powder Plot.

amzs and Henry Holt
were bright, intel-
ligent boys, but of
that restless turn
of mind that made
: them wish con-
stantly to be em-
2 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

7S 3
i



(CY
4 fA.)
k C



power to stop it, had not a man who
happened to be passing near, seen the
smoke, and put out the fire before it had
time to do any damage. When James
and Henry were told that the pleasure
of a few moments which they expected
to enjoy by disobeying their parents,
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, “1 will disobey my
parents, and destroy property, just for
the sake of a little fun.” The difficulty
is, boys do not thank.

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
him.

« Well, let us leok 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?”

«Ok 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 les-
sons, which I hope the little boy re-
membered; but they were lessons which
James and Henry did not easily learn,
62

THE YOUTHS CABINET.



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
them.

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
trouble.

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
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 ata 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,

were not
dirt, soon began to scramble up; but
poor James still lay on the ground, bleed-
ing and black, and did not attempt to
rise.
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.
alarmed ; but she was @ 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 had 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.





63

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
hurt, but only covered with

Two of the men took him up, and

Mrs. Holt was very much

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
happened.”

To James this was worse than the
pain he suffered.

Gradually his wounds began to heal ;
and by the middle of the next week,
64

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



nearly 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
be 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
he 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.



A FABLE——TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, BY ELIZUR WRIGHT, JR.



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 Asop’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.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Earl Fitzwilliam and the Farmer.

» FARMER 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-
cure an estimate of the loss you have
sustained, I will repay you.” The farm-
er replied, that anticipating his Jord-
ship’s consideration and kindness, he had
requested a friend to assist him in esti-
mating the damage, and they thought
that asthe 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 earl,



65

«this is what I like; this is as it should

be between man and man.” He then
entered into conversation with the farm-

er, asking him some questions about
his family—how many children he had,
dc. 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-
maily,



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 thermometer
make so much difference? That is, the
extremities being cooled to thirty-two
degrees, we must not approach the fire,
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 fire as suddenly as we please, and
66

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 Yourn’s
Castner, 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-





THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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
wellas for a general reason. Everybody
can see what the general reasonis, The
particular reason can only be understood
by a correspondent who sends a poetical
charade, with something in it about Ab-
salom.—THEODORE THINKER.

Beware of Idleness.

F 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
fiends. 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.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

An Indian Story.

x THE early settlement of this coun-
try a strange Indian arrived at an
‘nn 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,

field !”
mind the scene at the inn, and bidding
him farewell, exclaimed, “I am that In-





67

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 country. The In-
dian asked him if he knew the ground,

and he eagerly answered, “It is Litch-
The Indian then recalled to his

dian! Now I pray you go home.”

Politeness.

rv. 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 read,
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
manners.

-
68

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

lenient I ETD

EDITORIAL PTABLETALK.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.





==Ai OME one of our
; numerous read-

not tell who,
= as he _ has
S not chosen to
Y 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
say.”

Ed MANA | — =—— ee

SNOW.

Tue white-winged snow,
By winter's fierce blow,

Is swept with many a whirl,
Till the landscape is white,
With the snow flakes light

Lying in many a drifted curl.

Then the éartl’s brown breast
‘Ts in pure white drest,
And sparkles in the calm moonlight,

ers—we can-

While the sleigh-bells are rung,
And the snow-balls are flung,
When the earth is robed in white.

The trees are all dress’d
In a glittering vest,
That shines in the sun’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

Whitens 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.
OSCAR.



Esteir, 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 writcr 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. |
THE YOUTH'S CABINET.

ENIGMA NO. III,

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, 25
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, 13,
‘s 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, 8,8,
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.



















CHARADE NO. IIl.
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 bestows
A fleeter step and true,

Unless, indeed, it treads too close
Upon the other’s shoe.

My sum, let not my first e’er miss,
For ’tis his rightful dole.

And mind, if e’er you answer this,
Do not forget my whole.

FLorence, MIcn. LOUIS.



THE ENIGMATICAL DEPARTMENT.

For the answers to the enigmas,
charades, and matters of that genius,
-which follow, we are indebted to Miss
- Crara H. P. of Schenectady, N. Y. |

69

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

—_—_——_—_——_

ANSWER TO CHARADE NO. I.
BUT-TRESS.



ANSWER TO RIDDLE NO. |.
THE LETTER H.



ANSWER TO LATIN PUZZLE NO. I.
“POO MUCH OF ONE THING IS GOOD FOR NOTHING.”



LATIN AND ENGLISH ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO.I.

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

agite,”

Youth 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 WHAT
you ARE ABourT ;” which is certainly good
advice for us all.



ANSWER TO ARITHMETICAL QUESTION NOw KE,

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.



ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO, II.

Year is a portion of time. Many seek
Fame. Tchad is a lake on the Eastern
continent. The Reed is an essential part
of a clarionet. The whole, of which the
city of New York is proud, is “ THE FREE
ACADEMY.”

—_—————

ANSWER TO CHARADE NO UI.

BREAK-FAST,
TJ

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



~\ 2

aos

AL
esl Ks

—



A Chapter on Printing.



BY THEODORE THINEER.



aw 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
read.

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
Ve 5

some countries, prior to the fifteentn
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
named.

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-

gree of perfection which would astonish
MAR
MI

|

\\ mv
{ i

a

ry
i

ily f]

typ
Ng

Ta



THE YOUTHS CABINET.

the original inventor, almost as much as
his rude types and. press astonished 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 details of
ihe 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.
Yousee a portion of a printing-office inthe
last engraving. The man whois at work
there is a compositor, that is, one whose
part of the business is to arrange

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 book 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 small cap-
itals. on the. other side, Counting from
the bottom of the case, on the left hand,
upward, the capitals begin on the fourth
row. The first box contains A, the
second toward the right hand contains
B, and so on. On the other side of the

the |

73



wide division, the small capitals are
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. is,
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 than any 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, of the arrangement aids
the memory, where it becomes necessary,
as in this case, to draw so often upon the
memory,

Before the. compositor can do anything
toward putting the manuscript before
him in type, he must have a composing-
stick. ‘This is an iron frame, so constuct-
74

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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 Canrnet, 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,
fo 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 Canine, 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.


THE YOUTH’S CABINET. |

«eset aia

These different sizes and styles of
type are called founts. The smallest
type used in the Casrvet is called Von-
pareil. The largest—that in which the
principal part of the entire work is set-—
‘s 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 Casrnet 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
cmaller. Minion is the next below that ;
then Nonpareil, then Agate, then Pearl,
‘then Diumond, 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 this 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-

letter he wants.



75

oo —

ferent widths, which are lower than the
letters.
They are placed in the lower case, at the
extreme right of the compositor, on the
front or lower side.

These are called quadrats.

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
«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 asmall 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
see.

When the line is completed, it often.
76 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

emer EEE Ln

happens that there is a space at the end,
too small to admit another syllable.
What is to be done 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
lines.

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 Jead, or thin
piece of metal, between each line, The
Castner 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 lofig, 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, now, that the compositor
has set up two or three galleys-full of
matter, and suppose him to be at work
on the Yourn’s Caxiyer still, He then
ww

THE YOUTHS CABINET. is

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
the page comes to be printed, will make
a line of division between the two col-
amns. 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, 80 as to hold the
whole firmly together; after which he
lifts the page from the galley, and places
t on the imposing-stone. This is @
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
simpler.

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 bé printed from the types
which the compositor has, sel up- To
avoid confusion, although the CaBINET is
stereotyped, every line of. it, 1 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.

| though,



The pages must be arranged on the
imposing-stone in such, a manner, that.
when the sheet is print , they will fol-
low each other in proper order. This
process is called imposing. ‘The Cast-
net is called a large octayo. Sixteen
pages are printed at once. In other
words, to, employ the language of the
printer—for you are ina printing-otfice
now, and must talk as the printers do—
there are sixteen pages in @ form. So
the man who is imposing these pages,
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 ;
‘¢ he should be ata 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 moyed so as, 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
78

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

<

be ascertained is the amount of margin
required inthe 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, guoins,
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.
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

Be-.

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 Castner, had no sort
of marks of punctuation whatever ; for
where they are misplaced, as they sc
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
think.

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-
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

79

rt LE LE LAD

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-sheet 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



Canter is printed on one of these

steam- presses.
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
80

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
description.

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-
cst 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 whieh 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
gradually.

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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 tocover 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

, Taust be large enough to cover the bed,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

nn
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,

is culled 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-
vanged 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 put in
twice. It takes a long time to correct
such a proof; though a careful compos-
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-









SL

though more rarely, a fourth. After
this, the form is supposed to be correct,
and the pressman takes it into his charge,
to work off, 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 from:
the types better than when dry. One
side of the paper being printed, the
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
éach separate half-sheet, which are fold -
ed by themselves. Sometimes, a aiffer-
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
mneh more delicate surface. This roller
Ue east

LL) ame



CYLINDER PRINTING MACHINE,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

EE

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 modern invention. I canremem-
ber very well when, instead of this con-
trivance, they used what they called balls,
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.
Thero are four or more corresponding

cylinders, also revolving horizontally,
which, as the central cylinder turns
round, come in contact, in 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-cylinders,
and four places where the sheet is: intro-
duced. Four persons are required to
put on the sheets, and the same number
to take them off. Ten thousand impres-
sions are printed in an hour by this ma- °
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’
84

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.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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
Jeaded, and broken up into frequent
paragraphs,

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 stirr’d
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 soul’s high festival.
_ Thy gentle notes are heard, like choral waves,
eaching the mountain, hill, and quiet vale ;
ae thunder-tones are like the sweeping gale,
Bidding the tribes of men no more be slaves ;
Aud earth’s remotest island bears the sound
That floats on ether wings the earth around.


THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ds

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The Crocodile.

A FABLE FOR LITTLE FOLKS AND GREAT ONES TOO.



BY MRS. J. L. GRAY.



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 oc~ypation.
’T'was easy to see
No pity had he;
His tears were but water—there all could agree.

The sheep he devour’d, and the shepherd, I ween;
The herd fear’d 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 nim,
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.
86 , THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



The men of Tentyra were able before
To conquer each monster that came to their shore;
But now they, with horror, were fain to confess
That the crocodile. gave, them. no, little distress.

So. in great conatemation,
A grand, consultation,
Was ealld to, convene, of the head: ofthe nation.

It met; but alas such tho. terror. and fright,
They fail’d to distinguish 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 ,
Of measures 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 undertaking,
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 nature,
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 happen’d 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,
Easton, Pa.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Are Children all Kings ?

S eeeeeenatell

BY DR. W. A. ALCOTT.

|

nere 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 upon the
earth.”

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 I, 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





87

{he countless millions, which, by the
breath of his power, he has formed ?
Was it that we should rule them as with
a tod of iron; of in gentleness, and ten-
derness, and love?
might promote their happiness; or was
it that we might exercise our power—
exercise our “dominion”—in making
them miserable ?

Was it that we

These questions may be answered, by

ascertaining what are the duties of a good
king to his human subjects? How does
a good king of Great Britain, for exam-
ple, exercise dominion over the many
millions of his subjects, so as to atiswer
the intentions of God concerning him?

Not, most certainly, in making them

labor to such an extent as to render

them mere slaves. Not in keeping them
in ignorance all their lives. Not in mak-

ing war against them. Not in frighten-

ing away to the woods all who survive

the general massacre.

The good child, who is conscious that
he ig made a king of the animals around
him, will do all in his power to pro
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 thém in an unusual degree,
he will not hunt, fish, or entrap them.
He will greatly prefer to feed thém.

My residence is nearly stirrounded by
chestnut trees, and the place is some-
times called “Chestnut Grove.” Birds,
in gteat numbers, frequent the place,
both in winter and summer. Only the
other day, though the weather was quite
cold, and the sndéw father deep, no less
than five or six sparrows came around
the door, where the crumbs from the
table had been thrown, and even hopped

MAB
88

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

eee eee en .

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 tieir 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.



Obedience and Disobedience.

HEN children are away from
home, they are bound to obey
those to whose care their

7 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.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



Jonah’s Gourd.

Great 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 takena
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 upon
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a_i ssssstshessessesstesesessshsary

Nineveh. So he went outa 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!
when the sun rose, the heat was very
severe; and he fainted, and said again,
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 ?”

This gourd, that Jonah mourned over
so much, is described by Jerome, acele-
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
little here from the translation in our English version.

I think the idea of grief, rather than anger, is conveyed
in the original.

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
edges.

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 !



Vanity of Elizabeth.

ALEIGH 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 1593, 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 YOUTHS CABINET.

91

RES

The Count and

the Peasant.



TRANSLATED FROM THB FRENCH FOR THE CABINET,

BY THE EDITOR,



into a store, and
the counter, he beg-
gs ged the merchant to
lend him six francs on this
pledge.

“Do you take me for a
fool?’ said the merchant. “J
would not lend two sous on
tuch 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

) we day, a peasant went

placing his hat on’

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 find 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 car-
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, asa signal for the coach-
man to stop; and the man ran up to the
window of the carriage, and said to the
count—

“T 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

+.
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sss

for me to thank you, still less to inquire
your name and place of residence. The
merchant did not know you. So Ihave
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!”

“T 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
present.”

_ “T 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,
sir.”

“ How is that, my friend ?”

“T 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
tome. 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-
ing.”

The peasant was punctual at the ap-
pointed hour. As soon as he was an-
nounced, the count ran to meet him, 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 rendered
THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. 93

An Awkward Mistake.

rarmeR, who had purchased a

calf from a butcher, desired him

to drive it to his farm, and place

‘t 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
Jodging, 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 eseape with
his life — Selected.

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
‘n 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
them.


























Call ye me Poor?

Call ye me poor? 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,
I'll hope a brighter day to see.

Call ye me poor? I am not s0,

While God’s rich bounty still is mine ;
To him my all of good I owe—

Whom, scorner, owest thou for thine ?
94

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eS
————

ESS a })
4 s Pu a



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. Wegot 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-
sition.

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 puzzles 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 apetite for more
knowledge respecting it. It is a most
interesting study; and I advise all my
young friends to look into it, by all
means, if they get a chance.
THE YOUTH'S CABINET.

The Four: Words.

« ( SOGVE ovr little words did

~“Y me more good,
when I was a boy,
than almost any-
thing else,” said a
Doing friend to me the
other day. “I can-

| not reckon up all
SSR the good they have
» RD | done; they were the first



¢! We ~ words: that my mother
ee Ms taught me.”
i “Indeed! What were
Vitae 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 riot 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. “1 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,
“Jt will prove to be a most excellent
pear.” It began to look very beautiful.

Â¥



95

It was full and round, a rich glow was
dyeing its cheeks, and its grain was clear
and healthy.

«Ts 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. Iused 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
pear! 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
96

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



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. Iran 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 todo. 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 astar looking down
upon me through the leaves. ‘“TuHou,
Gop, serst 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. Noone 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.

youne 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.
THE YOUTH'’S CABINET.

97



Dick, the Squirrel.

nr, Eprror,—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-

mitted.



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-

w. W. P.
Hartrorp, Cr.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A PET SQUIRREL.

Poor 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! 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 pass’,
I weep to say, was Dicky’s last.

Poor Dick would play till almost frantie—
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.
98

Dick’s faults were few—his virtues many;
He'd crack his nuts when he had any,
And when no other duty found,

_ Would turn his wheel around and round,

But, ah! poor Dick is dead and gone,
And we his fate cannot but mourn ;
His nuts are crack’d, his pranks are done;
His cage stands empty and alone.
Beneath the willow-tree he sleeps;
And William mourns, and Katy weeps;
Affection dug his humble gra
And o’er his head the branches wave.
G. L. 8.

renee aremnewens

Ingenuity of Rats,

HE Rat, that “hateful and rapa-
cious creature,” as Goldsmith
honestly designates it, formerly
abounded in prodigious numbers

at Inverness, in Scotland; and a travel-
er, about the year 1830, describes his
surprise at witnessing the flocks of them
that used to sally out into the streets in
the morning twilight, after dry weather,
succeeded by a shower of rain. It is re-
lated, that about this period, when the
rats increased to a great degree in some
small villages in the Highlands, and
found it difficult to subsist, they used
to creep into the manes and tails of the
horses (which were then generally matted
and tangled, being seldom subjected to
the comb,) and in this way were trans-
ported to other places, to plant new col-
onies, and find fresh quarters,

This mode of conveyance, was certain-
ly dexterous and’ ingenious; but did our
readers ever see or hear of a party of
rats stealing eggs? The process is this.
The roost being discovered, and the
rats mustered, one of the fraternity,

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

generally of goodly port and dimensions,
lies down on his back, and holds the egg
within his four limbs, embracing it closely

and cordially. His brethren then pull

him off by the tail, each taking his turn
im dragging the live machine, like the

| populace at the carriage of a “great

man,” who, it is probable, may be of a
kindred species.

A gentleman in the country informed
us, the other day, that he was greatly
amused at observing, one morning, the
dexterity and perfect fairness with which
a small band of these mischievous in-
truders were feasting in his dairy. A
pretty capacious dish of milk had been
set out, long enough for considerable
cream to rise upon the surface; and the
rats, finding the prize, immediately com-
menced skimming the dish. One of
them stood up against the dish, and an-
other mounted his shoulders in due
form, like school-boys preparing to plun-
deran apple-tree. He then whisked his
tail over the surface of the bowl, and
turning round, held it to his expectant
companions below, who stripped it of
its treasure. This was repeated for some
time ; then another took his place, occa-
sionally shifting the position; and after
they had all skimmed the dish, they
scampered off in the morning sunshine,
to burrow in their holes and corners.—
Inverness Courier,

ALEXANDER THE Great valued learn-
ing so highly, that he used to say,
“ that he was more indebted to Aristotle
for giving him knowledge, than to his
father Philip for life.”
THE YOUTHS CABINET.

EDITORIAL TABLE-TALE.

POSTING UP THE BOOKS.
tL day long—it is now
night, by the way, and
our lamp has been
burning some hours—
we have been looking
over a large. heap of
manuscripts, sent, at different times, for
publication in the CaBINer. All day
long, we have been at work in this way,
and still there are a score or more of
letters, from different parts of the coun-
try, which, though they may have been
glanced at before, are still to be examined
critically. We have already found in
this heap, however, some very excellent
things, as well as some not so excellent,
and others quite indifferent. On the
whole, we like to examine the letters of
our little friends; it is one of the very
pleasantest of our tasks. We would
rather our correspondents would write
more than less. Still, there is pain con-
nected with every such general examina-
tion. We are obliged to decline publish-
ing so many of these favors, that it robs
us of some pleasure which we should
otherwise have. We don’t like to refuse
any bright-faced little boy or girl, who
knocks at the Canter door with a man-
uscript. But pain is never far off in this
world, when pleasure shows her face ;
and it would be vain and unreasonable to
suppose that this case should be an ex-
ception. Some of our readers, who oc-
casionally send us something for our
pages, seem to think that we are too
nice in our taste. They perhaps remind
us of what Pope said—that



“ Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne‘er was, nor is, nor is to be,”

and wish we would fix our standard ata
lower point. We do assure all such, that
scarcely a week occurs in the whole year,
in which, on account of personal friend-
ship, or for some other reason, we are
not repeatedly and strongly tempted to
do just that thing. If our feelings, and

not our judgment—our heart, and not

our head—held the reins, we venture to
say that we should be lenient enough to
suit everybody on this continent, to say
nothing about the inhabitants of Eurepe,
Asia, Africa, and Australia. As it is,
however, and as it is likely to be, we
must not lose sight of the great aim,
which is, always to provide the best
things we can get, in the entertainments
we give our friends.

This preface will suffice, and with
many wi.] much more than suffice, to in-
troduce what follows, which is more par-
ticularly addressed to correspondents.

“The Sleigh Ride” is not accepted.
Poetry, of all other varieties of compo-
sition, should conform strictly to the
models of good taste. This fugitive does
not so conform. ‘Therefore it cannot
find a place in our pages.

The lines commencing, “ Look within
yon chamber rare,” are somewhat bet-
ter, but still too faulty, in our judgment,
to deserve the printer’s acquaintance.

A poetical article from m. J. is on file,
which is excellent, very excellent. So
is everything, in fact, from the pen of
this gifted writer. We are going to
keep her article a month or two, before
we publish it, as a little boy sometimes
keeps a nice cake that has been present-
ed to him, so as to enjoy the treat a long
time in anticipation, |

ro
100



The fable of “ The Crocodile,” in this
numher, we cannot doubt, will please
our readers very much; and for it, in
behalf of some ten thousand little folks,
we thank the author, at a venture.

The article signed “ Aqua”—a very
good. one, by the way, which ought to
be published, by all means—we have
handed over to the editor of the Youth’s
Temperance Advocate.

We like your enigma very well, Miss
Essie. It is ingeniously constructed,
and much more originals than seven-
eighths of those which are submitted to
us for publication. The only objection
to it is, that in it the authors of the
‘* Wheat-sheaf” are complimented rather
more highly than they would wish to be
in this connection. Write us another
enigma, friend Essie, on a different
theme, and in a similar vein.

Since we are on the subject of enig-
mas, by the way, it seems to be neces-
sary to state again what we have already
repeated several times—not for the ben-
efit of Miss Essie, but for numerous
other enigma-makers—that it is quite
contrary to our rules to publish an enig-
ma, or anything of the kind, unless the
writer previously enlightens the editor in
relation to its hidden mysteries. We
want that rule to be distinctly under-
stood—in Schenectady, as well as else-
where.

The “ Indian Girl’s Song,” with some
slight alterations from the editor’s pen,
is accepted. As it is very brief, perhaps
we may as well serve it up at our table,
It reads thus:

THE INDIAN GIRL’S SONG.

I'm a child of the forest, as free as the wind,
When it flies o'er the hills and the mountains ;



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



As free as the wild and the swift-footed hind,
As I roam beside rills and fresh fountains.

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I'm a child of the forest, as happy and gay
As the lark that soars high in the morning,
And sings to the sun its melodious lay,
In thanks for his kindly returning.

=
‘THE YOUTHS CABINET. 101

Ge
I'ma child of the forest, as rich as a queen, States. My 14, 21, 2, 3, 16, 18, 6, 10,
Though her gems and her jewels may glitter; | is an island in the Mediterranean. My
For mine are the rays of the sun’s golden sheen, 1. 17, 20, 4, 21, 13, 18, j eid
Which to me are far purer and brighter. » 10, 20, Si Bane OMe POR vee —
fs odin , ms Vermont. My 20, 4, 1, 13, 1s a town
’m a child of the forest, and ever will 2 : +
te ) | in Spain. My 8, 21, 5, 19, 15, 1, 17, 3,
Till my dust to the earth shall be given; ls . :
And then, etill as rich, as happy, as free, | is a capital of one of the United States.
I hope for a dwelling in heaven. My 1, 18, 4, 16, 3, 21,18 @ county in
New York. My 3, 22, 6, 13, 10, is a
river in Europe. My 6, 13, 3, 16, 21, is
. , sae | & country in Asia. My 22, 10, 20, 3,1,
be published in due time. The writer's | js a county in Maine. My 3, 1, 11 4
° . . + . . . ” 3 ? ,
wish, in connection with its publication, | 7, js the capital of one of the United

shall be complied with, as soon as she | States. My whole is a useful motto.
sends us her post-office address, which a c. A. M

did not accompany her last communica-
tion, and which we have forgotten. As CHARADE NO. IV.
to the other article which she sends— | Jn Africa my first doth live.

“ My Childhood”—we do not consider it | My next to cattle men do give,

: To shield them from the rain and snow;
“= od; and perhaps we shall be com- They fice to it when winds do blow.

pelled to place it in another pigeon-hole. | yfy {hird’s a part of speech, you'll find—
The “ Autobiography of a Pod of Cot- | Only one letter, do you mind.

ton” is pretty good. But does not the | My fourth’s what children often are,

little rogue tell a fib or two about his And then all pleasure they do mar.

early history; or is not his memory eee i iaies Ca to tell.



M. M. W. |

—— ee



«“ My Early Friend” is good, and shall

—_—_$_————





rat ?— ?
her poor ?—one or the other Unless siany manseeelll
he was treated very unlike most of his
brothers, he was torn in pieces before he ANSWER TO RIDDLE NO. fl,
set sail for England. How is that? Alliteration’s artful ald,
; ie Wherewith you’ve sought to frame your riddle,
We pause for a reply from some little Ilumines what therein was shade,
subscriber in Louisiana or Alabama, or Through first and last, and through the middle,
. ; ‘ Antithesis makes still more clear
come other State in which cotton is pro- | What you would have us find with trouble,
duced, Tell us all about it, will you not? And failing on the ready ear,
It saves the mind from labor double.
on: Initial’d with the aspirate,
Humble and haughty wait your choosing ;
ENIGMA NO. IV. And moth and monarch end their state,

Tam composed of twenty-two letters. When you your aid are not refusing.
Earth, without you, would cease to live

My 3, 1, 18, Is a river in Europe. My (Though you're of five her last division)
13,1, 17, 19, 8, 7, 9, 10, 1s a Sea in Ku- Nor showers nor sunshine beauty give,
a 9 i make her groves like groves Elysian.
— My 3, 12, 20, 10, 22, 21, 17, 4, You help to form the slender thread,
is one of the United States. My 14, 22, By which are level’d piles or sewing 5
4, 3, 9, 13, is one of the countries of You help to build this complex head,
Whereon we find our bump of knowing.

Kurope. My 16, 5, 12, 20, 10, 138, 3, We take a peep—we see your name
is an island w 1s one. M 15 In rank the first, yet bays refusing,

, | . cat of But P y : Mute letter H; though shy of fame,
20, 1, 2, 6, 3, 10, Is one of the United | You win therewith, instead of losing. Louw.
102 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.





The Boy and his Bobolink. Dialogue.



MUSIC FROM THE GERMAN.—COPIED, BY PERMISSION, FROM BRADBURY’s “ MUBICAL
GEMS .FOR SCHOOL AND HOME.”



Chorus. Solo.

Sa Hea

; - ww wy
1. Boy, ) _.Come, smg a song there, Bobolink, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,
: .( You have enough to eat and drink, Ha, ha. ha, ha, ha. ha.”










4 yon - - - der, My songs would make you won - - - der! But
Chorus. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Chorus. Ha, ha, ha, ha. _




Chorus. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! No room to sing his song. .
. ho -
Vu se | Z ——_—_ ee
VT ee ee a ee
Seo pata EER
—— es sree,
2. 3.
Boy. “ Well, go and sing me two or three, Up, up he flew, from tree to tree,
But then be sure come back to me; “ Rogue !” says the boy,“ you're cheating me !”
Fly to the linden nearest, “ No, no, twas you who cheated,
Then sing your best and clearest.” When your trap-cage you baited ;
He raised the door, and in a wink, You took my freedom, and ’tis plain,
Out flew the happy Bobolink. I only take it back again !”

Chorus, Ha, ha, ha! Out flew the Bobolink. | Chorus, Ha, ha, ha! He takes it back again.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 103








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The Dog and the Mirror—A Fable,

BY J. P. M’CORD.



Wuen Ann appear’d, with brush and broom,

To clean and whiten o’er the room,

She first removed, with thoughtful care,

Whate’er her hand could find to bear:

She stood the mirror in the hall,

- Aslope against the stately wall.

‘As all the doogg,were open flung,

T'o catch the zephyrs as they sprung,

The dog, who never thought it sin

To steal a morsel, wander’d in,

In hopes to fiud some choicer fare

Than vulgar dogs are used to share.

Around from this to that he goes,

To try their nature with his nose;

Till, chancing near its front to pass,

He sees his ianage ia the glass.

As, startled at the sight, he stares,

The figure back upon bim glares;

With him it moves, with him it scowls,

Shows teeth for teeth, and at him growls.

His lofty spirit scorns to brook

That saucy, fierce, defiant look;

Ele swells with rage, he burns to dart

Just vengeance through the culprit’s heart,
Â¥V. 7 APR
THE YOUTHS CABINET.



But ere his limbs can forward spring,
Successive strokes against him ring—
They came from Ann, who thither flew
Soon as the noise her notice drew.

As Prince beyond the entrance fled,
Well beaten with her broom, she said:
“Those who on others’ rights intrude,
Cannot the consequence elude.”

The tale, I think, reveals to view

How folly acts, and wisdom too.
Unreal wrongs, to folly, wear

A dreadful shape, a threat’ning air;
Mistaken acts excite her rage;

She arms, with shadows to engage.
While fools scan others’ faults, the wise
Inspect themselves with jealous eyes;
When, clearly imaged to their sight,
They see themselves in proper light;
When all their deeds before them pass,
As truth presents them in her glass,
The hateful objects they abhor,

And with themselves engage in war.

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THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



My Early Friend.



rar reader, let me
chat with you
a moment or
two, about an

old friend of
mine, one to
- whom I was
much attach-
ed. I can re-
call very distinctly, though more than
twenty years have passed since then,
the days when I used to ramble through
the fields and groves of my native place,
searching in every nook for the early
violets, or gathering raspberries and
whortleberries, many times at the risk
of tearing my clothes, or scratching
my arms and hands. I had no little
brother or sister to accompany me, as the

younger of my two brothers was older

than myself; but I used to have one com-
panion, who was always kind, faithful and
gentle, and under whose protection I
was never afraid to trust myself. This
was a dog, named “ Venture,” who was
a favorite with the whole family, par-
ticularly with my youngest brother and
myself. Venture came to my father's
when I was asmiall child; and as I grew
older, he seemed to consider himself as
my guardian, and I seldom left the house,
without the company of this tried friend.

Venture was rather a small dog, with
light gray hair, and a white spot on his
breast, and another on his forehead. I
used to think he had a finely-formed
head and mouth, and very expressive
eyes; and I have never since seen a dog
who looked so handsome to me, as my
good Venture. He did not appear re-
markably sagacious, but he was exceed-



ingly attentive to what he considered the
rules of etiquette, and he was gifted
with a sense of right and wrong which
seemed almost human. He would never
pass before any one , and if the room
was full, and the company seated so far
back that he could not get behind them,
he would crawl through the rundles of

° 105 >

the chairs, or squeeze himself through the —

smallest. space possible, rather than be
guilty of so gross a breach of politeness
as to go before any person. He was
very fond of the family, and rejoiced
when any of them came home after being
absent; yet he never leaped upon them

with his dirty feet, but as he met them,

he repeatedly threw his fore feet forward,
and nearly touched his mouth to the
ground. This we used to call Venture’s
bow. After making a number of these
bows, he would hold his head to be pat-
ted, and then bound away toward the
house, as if to inform the family of the
return.

Venture was never known intentionally
to touch anything that did not belong to
him; and when, occasionally, he med-
dled with something which he supposed
his, he was much mortified when he was
told of his mistake. At one time, he
was shut up accidentally in an out-build-
ing, where a quantity of beef had been cut
up; and the next morning, when he
was found, it was ascertained that he
had not taken a single mouthful, though
the poor fellow had eaten neither supper
nor breakfast.

Venture met with several very narrow
escapes. At one time, we were much
annoyed by rats, which finally became
so bold that they scampered about

>
106

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



during the night, wherever they could
find a door open, or gnaw a hole. One
morning, when I got up, one of my
shoes was missing. It could not be
found; but some years after, when the
house was undergoing some repairs and
alterations, the missing shoe, much
smaller than the foot to which it belong-
ed, was found under the floor. It seems
that the rats had carried it off, and
that they had found that they could
make no use of it, after they had stolen
it. Puss did her best to clear the house
of these intruders; but they watched
their opportunity, and raced around the
chambers at will, while she was guarding
the cellar; or gnawed the potatoes, and
scampered over the meat-barrels, while
she was hunting up chamber. In this
state of things, my mother determined
to poison them; and having procured
some arsenic, she was just spreading it
on a slice of bread and butter, when she
was suddenly called away for a moment.
She laid the bread on the hearth, where
she supposed no one would take it, and
went out. Unfortunately, this was a
place where Venture had sometimes had
his plate of food set; and when my mo-
ther came in, he was just finishing the
Jast mouthful. Poor fellow! he was soon
taken very sick; and we children were
almost beside ourselves, when told that
he would probably die. I well remember
how my brother cried and moaned, say-
ing repeatedly, “I shall never be happy
again, if Venture dies.” For some hours,
our mother gave us little hope, though
she gave poor Venture a great deal of
medicine, and fixing a little bed for him
in the house, watched him with the
greatest care; but at last, we were
rejoiced to hear her say, that she

thought he would recover. For many
days, he could hardly crawl from his
bed; and our mother fed him, as she .
would have done a sick child, with gruel.
Often, my brother and I knelt on his hit-
tle bed, and put our arms round his neck,
while he looked lovingly in our faces,
and seemed to prize our sympathy.
Some time after this, Venture was
missing. For several days, we called
him, and looked for him in vain ; and we
began to fear some one had enticed him
away; but we hoped he loved us all so
well, that he would come back again.
At length, I was playing with one of my
little companions, near a barn, that be-
longed to one of our neighbors, when,
happening to stoop down, we saw, far
under the barn, what appeared to us to
be two balls of fire. We ran into the
house in great alarm, and the gentleman
accompanied us out, to ascertain the
cause of our fears. ‘To my great de-
light, he told me that he had no doubt
we saw the eyes of my lost Venture,
who had probably followed some smaller
animal under the barn, and been unable
to return. A board was soon loosened,
above the place where he was confined ;
and we shouted with joy to see him.
But he took no notice of us, till he had
expressed his gratitude to the kind man
who had delivered him. This he did by
twice leaping up, and licking his face ;
and then he bounded forward, and start-
ed with me toward home. Every look
bespoke joy at his release ; and I hardly
know who run the faster, Venture or I,
to tell the glad news. Suddenly he
turned about, and ran back as fast as he
had come. It seemed that, upon second
thought, he concluded he had not suffi-
ciently expressed his gratitude; and
THE YOUTHS CABINET.





returning to his deliverer, he leaped up
and licked his face the third time, and

then ran home where he could find food. °

When I attended the district school,
but a short distancefrom home, Venture
accompanied me to the door, and then
came to meet me when the school was
out. But when I went toa select school,
much farther from home, he seemed to
consider it his duty to keep near me;
and though he had too much sense of
propriety to attempt to enter the school-
room, he lingered near till school closed.
As he could not go home, without neg-
lecting his self-imposed duty, he chose
to lose his dinner. This I was hardly
willing he should do; so I used to place
some bread for him in one side of my
dinner box, that he might not lose his
dinner out of kindness to me.

Venture was very obedient. He did
not, like some children that I know of,
need to be spoken to twice. Once only
was he known to disobey his master.
My father and mother were waked by

his loud barking in the night, and my

father bade him be still. He stopped
but a moment, and then barked louder
than before. Again he was commanded
to stop, and scolded for his behavior ;
but his noise increased, and in a moment
more, a voice was heard—“ Our house is
on fire; come and help us.” The house
next ours was in flames; and the faithful
dog, seeing the light, and knowing that
something was wrong, had endeavored,
in the best manner he could, to alarm his
master,

How many useful lessons may be
learned from a brute! Happy would it
be, if all human beings obeyed their own
sense of right, as fully as did my friend
Venture, L. B. M.

107



Obey God rather than Man.

sa general thing, it is the duty
of children to obey their parents;
but when a parent commands
what is wrong, the child should
not obey. A poor woman told her son
to cut down a large pear-tree, which
stood in the garden of the cottage where
they lived, for fire-wood, as they were suf-
fering from cold. The boy made no an-
swer. His mother repeated her command ;
but he stil] hesitated, and said, “« Mother,
I ought to obey you, but I must first
obey God. The tree is not ours; it be-
longs to our landlord; and you know
that God says, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’
I hope you will not make me cut it
down.” She yielded for the time; but
after suffering from cold a day or two
longer, she told him he must cut down
the tree. He then said to her, ‘‘ Mother,
God has often helped us, and supplied
our wants, when we have been in
trouble. Let us wait till this time
to-morrow. ‘Then, if we do not find
some relief, though I am sure it will be
wrong, yet if you make me do it, I
will cut the tree, in obedience to your
command.” To this she agreed. The
boy retired to his closet, and prayed
earnestly that God would help them,
and save him from being compelled
to break his law. The next morning, he
went out, and found a man whose wag-
on had broken down under a heavy
load of coal. .He told the man his case,
who agreed to let him carry away the
coal, and they might pay for it, if they
were able, when he called for the pay.
But he never called.
This boy set an example which chil-
dren will do well to follow.
108

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Judge Hopkinson.

LL our readers will be interested

b\ in the man whose portrait is here
JO presented, when they are told
that his name is Joseph Hopkin-

son, the author of that popular national
song, “ Hail, Columbia.” His father’s
name was Francis Hopkinson. If you
will look at the picture representing the
signing of the Declaration of Independ-
ence, you will see his signature among
the rest. Joseph was born in Philadel-
phia, in the year 1770; so that when our
independence was declared, he must
have been about six years old. During
his life, which terminated only some

eight years since, he held a good many
different public offices. Twice he was
elected to Congress, and for many years
he was judge of the district court for
the eastern district of Pennsylvania.

The song which has rendered him fa-
mous all over the country, and which
has been sung by high and low, rich and
poor, wherever there is an American
heart, was composed when Mr. Hopkin-
son was quitea young man. He himself
gives an account of its origin, from which
it appears that it was written during the
summer of 1798, when there was a pros-
pect of a war with France. Congress
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 109

was then in session at Philadelphia, de- | heart responded to it. It was sung at
liberating apon the matters connected | night in the streets of Philadelphia, by
with the war, and acts of hostility had | large assemblies of citizens, including
actually occurred. The contest between | members of Congress. Every true
England and France was raging, and | American heart responded to it.

the people of the United States were What a mighty power there is, after
divided into parties for the one side or | all, in a simple song or ballad! It has
the other; some thinking that it was often more influence, for good or evil,
best to take part with republican France, than a book so heavy that a little boy or
as that nation was then called, and others | girl can scarcely lift it. This song of
inclining to think favorably of embra- Hopkinson’s is an extremely simple one.
cing the side of England, under the belief | There is no logic in it—no parade of
that she was the great salvation of good | fine words. It is one of the plainest
principles and righteous government. things of its kind in our language. But
Mr. Hopkinson thought that a better | when it is sung, it excites in the breast
plan still was to adhere to the safe prin- | of every patriot a glow of enthusiasm for
ciples of Washington—to mind our own | the republic of the western world,
business, and to take part with neither | warmer, perhaps, than that of the elo-
government, leaving them both to fight | quence of a Patrick Henry or a Web-
their'own battles. Still, there were @ ster.

great many wise men in the country, at | Little friends, I want you all to learn
the time, who thought otherwise, and | “ Hail, Columbia,” aye, and I want
party spirit ran exceedingly high in rela- | you to sing it, too. Wherever you are—
tion to the national question. At this | north or south, east or west—I hope
time, Mr. Hopkinson wrote the song, be- | and trust you will cherish these senti-
ginning, ments, and such as these. There is a
great deal of bad feeling, now-a-days, on
the part of some people living in one sec-
tion of the country, toward people living
in another section of the country. They
call each other hard names. They do
not make sufficient allowances for habits,
and preferences, and prejudices, growing
out of different early education. Instead
of yielding, for the sake of peace, as
much as they can, without giving up
morab principle, to those who disagree
with them, they seem even to cling to
every jot and tittle of their own notions,
more and more closely. This is all
wrong. When there is difference of
opinion between two individuals, or be-
tween two communities of individuals, the
























« Hail, Columbia, happy land!
Hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band !”

The object he had in writing it was to
aid in getting up an American spirit,
which should lead all classes to regard
the interests of our republic as above all
price, Nota word is said in the song
about England or France, or the quarrel
between them, or which was the more in
fault in their treatment of this nation.
But it was well adapted to take off the
attention of the public mind from other
people’s quarrels, by eliciting a strong
sympathy for the young republic. The
song did the work which was allotted to
it, and did it well. Every American
110

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

LLL DLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LL LLL LLL LLL LLL Cty

true plan—the one which is the most
sensible, as well as the most scriptu-
ral—is, for each side to endeavor to
yield a little, so that both can come to-
gether. Dear children, whatever some
older heads may do or say, I trust that
you will love the Union, and the whole
Union, and that such sentiments as those
which are so happily expressed in this
national song of ours will ever be dear
to you. Wherever I may happen to be,
whether at the north or at the south,
it would delight my heart to hear
little boys and girls singing in concert
such a chorus as the one which belongs
to “Hail, Columbia.” Hark! let us
repeat it to you :—

“Firm united let us be,
Rallying round our liberty ;
As a band of brothers join’d,
Peace and safety we shall find.”



A Leap for Life.

s the supervisor of inland revenue

at Aberystwith, in Wales, Mr.

Miller, his nephew, and two pro-

fessional gentlemen, geologists,

were examining some strata of rock in

the cliffs between Aberystwith and Llan-

rhystid, they proceeded along a narrow

ledge of projecting stone on the face of

the cliff, about one hundred and twenty

feet above the level of the sea, which

providentially happened to be af full
flow.

On passing round a projecting angle,
the professors and the revenue officer
had rounded the point, and the young
man was in the act of doing so, when the
rock, suddenly breaking from under his

feet, he was whirled round with his far
toward the sea; and as he descended,
he seized with one hand the ledge be-
neath his uncle’s feet, while he extended
the other hand to him, and it was firmly
clasped by the revenue officer, who held
him suspended for fully five minutes, dur-
ing which time he with great difficulty
kept his position, there not being more
than six inches to stand upon.

At length, a breathless pause ensued,
while Mr. Miller gazed on a rugged pro-
jection of rock, about ninety feet below
them, and on which he concluded the
unfortunate youth was doomed to be
dashed.

But the uncle, who calls himself “an
awful coward,” at length said, with all
the calmness imaginable, “ Tom, there is
but one way for it; [’ll save you, or we
will both perish together;” and with a
firm voice, he commanded the young man
to loose his hold of the rock, which was
mechanically obeyed, with a faint reply,
“ Yes, uncle.”

At this awful moment, Mr. Miller
horizontally sprang into the air, carrying
the young man with him; and such was
the force with which he leaped, that the
check caused them to perform several
somersets over each other, as they de-
scended, linked together. With the
rapidity of a flash of lightning, they dis-
appeared below the foaming billows,
having cleared the craggy ledge, which
projected more than six feet from the per-
pendicular of the point over which the
youth was suspended.

To the delight of their companions,
who were for a moment horror-struck,
they rose about twenty yards apart, buf-
feting the heavy swells of the flowing
and returning waves, At length, they


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

struck out for a rock that lay about
seventy yards in the sea, on which they
were shortly seated, and from which
they gave three hearty cheers. Their
companions attempted to procure their
rescue by obtaining a boat, but owing to
the breach in the ledge, found it impos-
sible, and had to proceed onward for
more than three hours, before they were
able to extricate themselves.

To their delight, the geologists then
found that their brave companions had
swam to an accessible part of the cliff,
and returned to Llanrhystid, not a whit
the worse from their perilous adventure.
Selected.

The Rat with a Bell.

A FABLE.

Lance old house in the country

was so infested with rats, that
nothing could be secure from
theirdepredations. They scaled

the walls, to attack flitches of bacon,
though hung as high as the ceiling.
Hanging shelves afforded no protection
to the cheese and pastry. They pene-
trated by sap into the store-room, and
plundered it of preserves and sweet-
meats, They gnawed through cupboard
doors, undermined floors, and ran races
behind the wainscots. The cats could
not get at them; they were too cunning
and too well fed to meddle with poison ;
and traps only now and then caught a
heedless straggler. One of these, how-
ever, on being taken, was the occasion
of practicing a new device.



This was, to |

111

fasten a collar with a small bell about
the prisoner’s neck, and then turn him
loose again.

Overjoyed at the recovery of his liber-

ty, the rat ran into the nearest hole, and
went in search of his companions.
heard, at a distance, the bell tinkle-tin-
kle through the dark passages, and sus-
pecting some enemy had got in among
them, away they scoured, some one way
and some another.
sued; and soon guessing the cause of
their flight, he was greatly amused by it.
Wherever he approached, it was all hur-
ry-scurry, and not a tail of one of them

They

The bell-bearer pur-

was to be seen. He chased his old
friends from hole to hole, and room to

room, laughing all the while at their

fears, and increasing them by all the
means in his power. Presently, he had
the whole house to himself. ‘That's
right,” quoth he ; “the fewer, the better
cheer.” So he rioted alone among the
good things, and stuffed till he could
hardly walk... :

For two or three days, this course of
life went on very pleasantly. He ate,
and ate, and played the bugbear to per-
fection. At length, he grew tired of
this lonely condition, and longed to mix
with his companions again upon the for-
mer footing. But the difficulty was,
how to get rid of his bell. He pulled

| and tugged with his fore-feet, and almost

wore the skin off his neck in the attempt,
but all in vain. The bell was now his
plague and torment. He wandered from
room to room, earnestly desiring to make
himself known to one of his companions,
but they all kept out of his reach. At
last, as he was moping about disconso-
late, he fell in puss’s way, and was de-
voured in an instant,—Selected,
112

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The Donkey.

EY say the donkey is a very stupid
animal; but he is not stupid,
Men beat him, and kick him, and
keep him half starved; and that

makes him not care about anything ; and

so he seems stupid. But he is bright
enough, when he is treated with gentle-
ness and love. It makes all creatures
bright and happy, to be treated kindly.

A donkey will do anything for those he

loves; but he does not care to please

those who beat him and abuse him.
Thousands of miles from here, there
is a beautiful, sunny country, called

Spain. The poor, hard-working people

there are called peasants. In that coun-

try, there are many rocks and hills, and

\

the donkey steps very safely and sure-|

footed among the stony paths, In Spain,
almost everybody has a donkey. Rich
people have them for ladies and children
to ride on, because they are so very easily
mounted, and step so ‘+ and so gen-
tly. Sometimes you will sce a plump
little donkey, covered with handsome
scarlet cloth, and three little children
riding on his back. He will step round
so carefully and softly, that even the
little baby is not afraid ; and he will stop
cloxe to the high step, that the little
ones may get off his back safely, and not
full and hurt themselves,

When the poor Spanish peasant has
Leen hard at work all day, and his don.
key has been hard at work too, they
come home very tired, and the poor jack-
ass can hardl y carry the heavy panniers
on his back. But the children stand at
the door, watching for him; and when
they see the good creature come slowly
along the road that winds down from

the hill, they throw up their caps, and
set up a merry shout. The donkey hears
them; he pricks up his long “ears, and
trots fast, in a hurry to meet them.
When he comes up to the cottage door,
they hug him round the neck, and pat
him on the side. They bring him some
of the bread they have for their own
suppers, and if they can find a turnip,
they run gladly to give it to him. He
eats from their hands, and lays his head
on their shoulders, and tries all he can
to say, “I love you, dear children,”

Oh no, the poor donkey is not stupid.
It is very pleasant to him to be loved,
and he gives back love to those who
treat him well.

I will tell you what a Spanish donkey
did once. His master was a poor man,
that carried milk to market. He did not
ride into the city in a cart, as our milk-
men do. ‘The milk was put into bottles,
and packed close in panniers, that were
thrown across the donkey’s back. The
peasant walked along beside the donkey
and his load, and thus they trudged to
market together, every day for many
years. The donkey knew his master
and mistress, just as well as they knew
each other. He would come joyfully
when they called his name, and feed
from their hands, and follow them all
around like a dog. He loved them, and
would do anything for them.

The peasant having been taken sick,
knew not what to do, till his wife sug-
gested that the donkey knew every cus-
tomer’s door as well as his master, and
would doubtless stop at each house.
Sure enough, they sent him off alone
with the milk, and he presented himself
at every customer's door, so that they
helped themselves ; and when he finished


THE YOUTHS CABINET.

his round, he started home again; and
when he came trotting up with his
empty bottles, all safe and sound, it was
a joyful meeting. His old mistress patted
him, and called him kind names ; and he
nestled his head on her shoulder, and
seemed to try to say, “ Am I not a good
boy of a donkey ?”

True Duncan and the Cat.

noe there was a little boy named
Duncan. The boys used to call
him True Duncan, because he
never would tell a lic. One day,
he was playing with an axe in the yard
of the school, and while he was chopping
a stick, the teacher’s cat, Tabby, came
along. Duncan let the axe fall right on
poor Tabby’s head, and killed her.
What to do he did not know. She was
a pet of the master’s, and used to sit on
a cushion at his side, while he was hear-
ing the lessons. Duncan stood and look-
ed at the dead creature. His face grew
red, and the tears stood in his eyes. All
the boys came running up, and every
one had something tosay. One of them
whispered to the others, and said,

“Now, fellows, we shall see whether
Duncan can make up a fib, as well as the
rest of us.” |

“Not he. Duncan, I'll warrant you,
will be as true as gold.”

Big Jones stepped up, and taking the
cat by the tail, said, “ Here, boys, I'll
just fling her into the alley, and we can
tell Mr. Cole that the butcher’s dog kill-
ed her; you know he worried her last
week,”

113

i eel

Several of them thought this would do
very well. But Duncan looked quite an-
gry. His face swelled, and his cheeks
grew redder than before.

“No!” said he, “no, Do youthink I
would Jie for such a creature as that?
It would be a lie, a ie, arre!” And
every time he said the word, his voice
grew louder and louder. ‘Then he pick-
ed up the poor thing in his arms, and
casried it into the school-room, and the
boys followed to see what would hap-
pen. ‘The master looked up, and said,

«What is this? My faithful mouser
dead! Who could have done me such an
injury 2”

All were silent for alittle while. As
soon as Duncan could get his voice, he
said,

“Mr. Cole, I am very sorry—but here
is the truth. I can’t lie, sir; I killed
Tabby. But I am very sorry for it. 1
ought to have been more careful, for I
saw her continually rubbing her sides
against the log. gl am very sorry indeed,
sir.”

Every one expected Mr. Cole to take
down his long rattan. On the contrary,.
he put on a pleasant smile, and said,

“Duncan, you are a brave boy! I
saw and heard all that passed, from my
window above. I would rather lose a
hundred cats, than miss such an example
of truth and honor in my school. Your
best reward is what you now feel in
your own conscience; but I beg you to
accept this handsome penknife, as a token
of my approbation.”

Duncan took out his little handker-
chief, and wiped his eyes. The boys
could no longer restrain themselves ; and
when Tom Pooley cried, “Three cheers

| for True Duncan!” all joined ina hearty
114

THE YOUTHS CABINET.

¢

LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LOL Cnc,

hurra. The teacher seemed willing to
allow this, and then said,

‘““My boys, I am glad you know
what is right, and that you approve it;
though I am afraid some of you could
not have done it. Learn from this time,
that nothing can make a falsehood ne-
cessary. Suppose Duncan had taken
your evil advice, and come to me with a
lie ; it would have been instantly detect-
ed, for I was a witness of what passed.
I trust he has been governed in this by a
sense of God’s presence, and I exhort
you all to follow his example, whenever
you are placed in like circumstances,”—
Youth’s Penny Gazette. .



Long Vitality of Seeds.

q3° completely is the ground impreg-
S nated with seeds, that if earth is
-) brought to the ate from the
lowest depth at which it is found,

some vegetable matter will spring from
it. I have always considered this fact as
one of the many surprising instances of
the power and bounty of Almighty
God, who has thus literally filled the
earth with his goodness, by storing up a
deposit of useful seeds in its depths,
where they must have lain through a
succession of ages, only requiring the
cnergies of man to bring them into ac-
tion. In boring for water lately, at a
spot near Kingston-on-Thames, some
earth was brought up from a depth of
three hundred and sixty feet, this earth
was carefully covered over with a hand
glass, to prevent the possibility of any
other seeds being deposited upon it; yet

in a short time plants vegetated from it,
If quicklime be put upon land which
from time immemorial has produced no-
thing but heather, the heather will be
killed, and white clover spring up in its
place. A curious fact was communicat-
ed to me, respecting some land which
surrounds an old castle, formerly be-
longing to the regent Murray, near Mof-
fat. On removing the peat, which is
about six or eight inches in thickness, a
stratum of soil appears, which is suppos-
ed to have been a cultivated garden in
the time of the regent, and from which
a variety of flowers and plants spring,
some of them little known even at this
time in Scotland.—Jesse’s Gleanings of
Nutural History.

Silk and Silk-worms.

n the year 1840, the average im-
portation of silk into Great Britain
equaled 4,999,971 pounds, or, in
round numbers, 5,000,000 pounds.

An interesting calculation has been made,
which shows the enormous number of
silk-worm caterpillars which must bury
themselves to meet the demand of that
kingdom alone upon their manufacture.
Each cocoon, on the average, weighs
about three or three and a quarter grains,
and in length will probably contain 300
yards of silk. Now, to produce the
yearly sum above mentioned, it will be
found we require about 18,000,000,000
worms, which will consume in its pro-
duction about 96,000,000 pounds’ of
leaves, grown upon about 9,600,000
trees. — Selected,
THE YOUTHS CABINET. 115

(iad
. 24

Ni

/ y FL
Be cageses/
A aS



Sebastian Cabot.

HIS distinguished individual was
born at Bristol, in England,
about the year 1447. He was
the son of John Cabot, a Vene-

tian pilot, who was much celebrated in

his time for his skill in navigation. Se-
bastian was instructed, early in life, in
such mathematical knowledge as is re-
quired by a seaman; and when he was
seventeen years of age, he had made
several voyages. In 1495, his father

obtained letters patent from Henry VII.

giving him and his three sons power to

discover unknown lands, and to conquer
and settle them. One of these sons was



Sebastian. In consequence of this per-

mission, the king supplied one ship, and
the merchants of London and Bristol a

July of T





few smalle®.c

- and in 1496, John and
Sebastian. ¢ ;

“tq@’the north-west. In
im@year, they discovered
Newfoundland, and ‘explored it as far
northward as to the sixty-seventh degree
of latitude. The particulars of this voy-
age, though exceedingly interesting on
account of the discoveries made, are not
very fully given. But it seems that ina
voyage which these navigators made
afterward, they sailed as far south as
Cape Florida, and that they were actu-
ally the first who saw the main Jand of
America. j !
In the reign of Henry VIII. Sebas-
tian procured another ship, and sailed
again on a voyage of discovery. This
time, he tried to find a southern passage
116

ee

to the East Indies. He failed, however;
and in consequence of this disappoint-
ment, it is supposed, he quitted England,
and visited Spain. Here he was treated
with great respect, and appointed _pilot-
major. A rich company of Spanish
merchants soon after gave him the com-
mand of an expedition to the Spice
Islands, through the newly-discovered
Straits of Magellan, Accordingly, in
1535, he sailed from Cadiz to the Cana-
ries and Cape de Verd Islands. But his
crew were unruly, and through their op-
position, he failed of reaching the islands.
He proceeded to the river La Plata,
where he discovered what was after-
ward called San Salvador, and erected
a fort there. Afterward he reached the
river Paraguay, and remained on the
American coast a considerable time,
with the view of forming an establish-
ment. He was disappointed, however,
in the expected aid from Spain, and
finally returned home, with all his crew.
He was not very cordi
the government, owin
failure in respect to
and in part to his severe tr
mutineers of his crew. Still, he contin-
ued in the service of Spain for some
years longer.

At the latter end of the reign of Hen-




_. ry, VIIL. he returned to England. At

the beginning of the reign of Edward
VI. the crown settled on him a pen-
sion as grand-pilot of England. From
this time, he was consulted very general-
ly on all questions relating to trade and
navigation. In 1532, being governor of
a company of merchant adventurers, he
drew up instructions to procure a li-
cense for an expedition to discover a

. passage ‘to the East Indies by the north.

THE YOUTH'’S CABINET.

He was also governor of the Russian
company, and was very active in their
affairs,

He is supposed to have died in the
year 1557, at a very advanced age. In
many respects, we of this age are greatly
indebted to him, as a navigator. He
was the first who noticed the variations
of the compass, and he published a large
map of the world, much more reliable
and valuable than any of those then in
existence.

The picture at the head of this article
is a portrait of Cabot.

Kites in China.

MISSIONARY from this country,

residing in China, writes home

that the Celestial Empire is fa-

mous for kites. He says: “The
sky is in a universal flutter of kites. I
counted this afternoon, from my window,
ninety-three, which were flown at various
heights with great skill. Some repre-
sented hawks, and admirably imitated
their manceuvres in the air, poising them-
selves, and sailing and darting; gaudy
butterflies floated around; and dragons,
formed of a long succession of circular
kites, with a fierce head, flew about the
sky. The majority were merely of a fan-
ciful shape. Loud noises, like a wind
instrument, could be heard. from them.
The most amusing form was that of a
huge fish, as it swam through the blue
above, moving its tail and fins with a lu-
dicrously natural effect, Those like ani-
mals are also flown in pairs, and made to
ficht.”

~


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



117



The Bee-Tree.



FROM A VOLUME OF

TALES BY PROF, ALDEN.



ATHER, where do bee-
trees come from?”
said Benjamin Adams,
as he came home from
an expedition after
strawberries, and sat

down in the doorway, near his

father.

“Your question,” said Mr,
Adams, “is rather a singular
one. The trees grow in the usual man-
ner, and in time decay, and become hol-
low, and then the bees take possession
of them.”

“What makes the bees take posses-
sion of them ?”

“Tt is natural for them to swarm,
after they have become numerous; and
‘as they are not able to make hives for
themselves, if none are provided for
them, they do the next best thing they
can, namely, select a hollow tree. They
sometimes go into holes in the rocks.”

“Do you suppose that they look
around, and find a hollow tree to go to
before they swarm ?”

“TI don’t know. Sometimes they go
to a tree so directly, that it would seem
as if they knew beforehand where they
were going.”

“ Father, do you think there is a bee-
tree on our land ?”

‘“T don’t know of any.”

“ Don’t you think there is one?”

“ No.”

“Don’t you think there may be one?”

“No; there are few trees on -my




“T rather think there is one on our
land, somewhere.”

“What reason have you to think
so ?” |

“I don’t know, sir; there was one on
Mr. Darby’s land last year.”

“So you think it is our turn this year.
No, my boy, there is no bee-tree on our
land, depend upon it.” i"

Benjamin whispered to himself, “I
know there is.’” His manner, during the
latterspart of the conversation, had been
so peculiar, as to attract the attention of
his father, though he said nothing about
it. The reason of this peculiar manner
will appear from what is about to be re-
lated,

While Benjamin, in company with two
other boys, were gathering strawberries
in a remote pasture belonging to Mr.
Adams, they game to a large tree which
had been left ‘standing when the -field
was cleared. The top had long since
decayed, and fallen off; about twenty
feet of the trunk remained. One of the
boys happfned to look up, and saw
something going in and out at a knot-
hole.

“T’ve found a bee-tree!” he exclaim-
ed. The other two boys rushed to the
spot, and saw the bees flying out and in.

“ How shall we get the honey 2” said
one.

“T’ll climb up and get it,” said the
other boy that was with Benjamin. He
made the attempt; but the tree was so
large that he could not climb x... How

farm old enough to have hollows in | he was to get the honey, even if he had

them large enough for bees to live in.”

* fers

succeeded in climbing, does not. appeag.
118 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

a Sn meaning ileal ini

A council was now held, It was pro-
posed to get an axe, to cut the tree
down; but it was concluded that it was
too large for boys to manage. It was
proposed to call in help; but then the
glory of the spoils would have to be di-
vided. They finally agreed to go home,
as it was near sunset, and come the next
day with some matches, and set fire
to the tree and burn it down. Se-
crecy was agreed upon among them-
selves, lest their plans should be in-
terfered with. The reader will now un-
derstand why Benjamin was so confident
that there was a bee-tree on his father’s
land, and why his manner was so pecu-
liar while talking with his father about
it. He felt that he was acting improp-
erly in concealing the matter from his
father. He tried to satisfy his conscience
by saying he was bound by his promise
of secrecy ; but he knew that he had no

right to make that promise.

The next morning the boys met, ac-
cording to agreement, ang proceeded to
the pasture. They kindled a fire, which

soon set the tree in a blaze, almost to.

the top, This attracted the attention
of some men in a neighboring field, and
they came to see what “— going on.
The boys were obliged to tell them what
they were deing. ‘‘ You foolish fellows,
you will burn ;the honey all up.” This
had not .oceurred to the boys. They
only intended to burn the tree down.
One of the men had an axe with him,
and he proceeded to eut the tree down.
‘He thought it was pretty hot work.
‘Another went to his house and got seve-
yal pails ‘to put the honey in. The tree
‘was soon down, All rushed to its top,
‘where, instead of ‘bees and honey, they
found afew yellow wasps. The men

were quite angry that they had been de-
ceived, and made the boys take the pails
and bring water from quite a distance,
and put the fire out.

If Benjamin had believed what his
father said, or had frankly made known
to him the supposed discovery, he would
have saved himself from guilt in the
matter, as well as from the toil he under-
went, and the mortification he suffered
when the matter became known.

Perfection of Nature.

Pon examining the edge of the
sharpest razor or lancet with a
microscope, it will appear fully as
broad as the back of a knife—

rough, uneven, and full of notches and
furrows. An exceedingly small needle
resembles an iron bar. But the sting of
a bee, seen through the same instrument,
exhibits everywhere the most beautiful
polish, without the least flaw, blemish, or
inequality ; and it ends in a point too
fine to be discerned. The threads of a
fine lawn seem coarser than the yarn
with which ropes are made for anchors.
But a silk-worm’s web appears perfectly
smooth and shining, and everywhere
equal. The smallest dot that is made
with a pen, appears irregular and un-
even. But the little specks on the wings
or bodies of insects, are found to be the
most accurately circular. How magnifi-
cent is the system of nature! The wis-
dom of God, I have often thought, ig
quite as clearly exhibited in the smallest
objects of creation, as in those of the
greatest magnitude. |




THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 119

-





#

Hh



' The Burial of Sir John Moore.



BY REV. CHARLES WOLFE.

-”_—_-_eoeeeee

Nor a drum was heard, not a funeralynote,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;

Not a soldier discharged his funeral shot,
O’er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly, at dead of- night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,

By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
V. 8 APR
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



We thought, as we hollow’d his narrow bed,
And smooth’d down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head,
And we far away on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk o’er the spirit that’s gone,
And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him;

But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory.


THE YOUTH'’S CABINET.

‘121



Habits of Bees.

© Tis a great time among a
community of bees, when
the swarming season ar-
rives. It often happens,
before these curious in-

sects separate from the old

hive, to seek their fortunes for
themselves, that there has been
an unusual silence in the hive,

Naturalists suppose that this

silence is caused through their feeding,

and making a hearty meal, and resting
themselves before they set out on their
journey. And as a proof of this, the
crops of those which swarmed have been
found filled with honey, while such as





remained behind were comparatively

empty. Also, previous to swarming, a
number of male bees may be discovered
on the outside of the hive, as if waiting
until the sun shone out that they might
take their departure. When the queen-
bee first breaks out from her cell, she en-
deavors to get at the cells in which the
rest of the queen-bees are enclosed, that
she may destroy them ; for, by some un-
accountable instinct, she cannot bear to
have arival queen near her. She is pre-
vented, however, from destroying them,
by the male bees, who are on the watch,
and who, whenever she approaches the
cells in which her rival queens are en-
closed, pull, and drag, and bite at her,
until they drive her away: and a pretty
rage she gets into, I can tell you; for
she runs about from one bee to another,
as if she said, “Am I to be mistress
here, or am I not? because, if I am not,
I’m off; and that’s the long and the
short of it. I’m not a-going to be an-

noyed by those lazy huzzies who are in

bed, I can tell you, and who, when they
get up, will be turning my house topsy-
turvy. A pretty hive indeed we should
have of it, with three or four mistresses,
all ordering about! But really, I’ve
worked myself into such a passion, and
am so hot, that I must go out and have
a mouthful or two of fresh air.”

And out she goes, accompanied by a
whole regiment of bees; and this is the
first swarm. A few days after her de-
parture, up stairs march two or three
more heavy bees; and, knocking at the
chamber-door of another of the queens,
who still remains behind, they exclaim,
“Come, madam, get up; there’s too
many of us here—you must be packing.
We’ve so many lodgers in the house,
that we’re forced to sleep two or three
in a bed; and that’ll never do, you know,
this hot weather ; for the close breathing
of so many of us causes the wax to melt
and run down the bed-curtains: so get
up and get your breakfast, and be off
with you; for there’s a whole lot of idle
fellows, who have done nothing but eat
and sleep for this last day or two, and
the sooner we are rid of them and you,
the better.” And up she does get ; and
you may fancy in what sort of a tem-
per, after so much abuse as this; and
after trying, but in vain, to get at the
rest. of her sisters, who are still in bed,
to kill them, she is also driven out, as
the queen was before her; and this com-
pletes the second swarm. Sometimes,
during the summer, three or four swarms
will, in this way, leave the hive, each
party headed by their queen-bee, until
the numbers are so much thinned with-
in, that they are no longer enabled to
prevent the remaining queen-bees from
quitting their cells; and then it is that
122

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

iid

battle royal commences. Nor is there

ever a moment’s peace in the house,
while two queens remain alive under the
same roof; but when all the rest are
killed, the surviving queen sits quietly

down upon her throne, and'for another

season, reigns peacefully over her loving
subjects.

The working bees are divided into two
classes, namely, into nurse-bees and the
wax-workers. The nurse-bees feed and
take care of the young grubs, also put-
ting a finishing touch to the combs and
cells which the workers have commen-
ced; confining themselves, also, more
within doors, and seeming to throw all
the care and trouble of bringing in pro-
Visions to the hive upon the wax-work-
ers, as if they had quite enough to do in
looking after the baby-bees. When bees
begin to build their hive, they divide
themselves into various companies—one
brings in materials for the laborer, an-
other band places them in a proper form,
and a third company supplies the labor-
ers with food; for they are not allowed
té leave off work, and go to their din-
her. When a laboring bee is hungry, he
bends his trunk down, which is quite as
well understood as if he rang the bell
and called “ Waiter ;” the attending bee
comes, opens his honey-bag, gives the
laborer a few drops, then hastens to an-
other, and so on, until the whole are sup-
plied.

{ must not omit to tell you, that when
thé bees quit their hives, and begin to
swarm, the old women in the country
rush out with their frying-pans and
warming-pans, and commence beating
‘apon them, and kicking up such a ran-

tan-tan, that the sound is almost loud

endugh to break the drum of a deaf



man’s ear; but whether it causes the
bees to settle down any sooner, or not,
is a subject which I cannot undertake
to decide. When, however, the bees
have once settled down in a heap, like
a great bunch of raisins stuck together,
there is no difficulty in whisking them off,
all of alump, into an empty hive, cover-
ing them over with a cloth, and carrying
them safely home; when, in a few days
after, you will see them issuing out of
their hive, and buzzing about among the
flowers, and returning home again laden
with honey, just as if nothing had hap-
pened.—Boy’s Spring Book.

Liberty and Religion.

n English soldier, who had been
shut up in prison for robbery
and manslaughter, seeing one of
his comrades in the street, going

by, called to him through the grate of
the prison, and asked him what news
there was abroad. ‘ Why,’ answered
the other, “there is a rebellion broke
out in Scotland.” “God preserve us!”
cried the fettered soldier ; “if these ras-
cals get the upper hand, then farewell to
the liberty of old England.” “ Aye,”
replied the other, with an oath, “and
what will become of the Protestant re-

ligion 2”

ren

“Tr is with narrow-souled people as it
is with narrow-necked bottles—the less
they have in them, the more noise they
make in bringing it out.”
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123



Incidents at the West.

FEW years since, my father took
b6\ it into his head that he would
go to the western country ; so
he and my mother, and little
sister, and myself, started, one bright
May morning, from the old Bay State,
for the wilds of Western Michigan. I
shall not tell you of our slow and tedious
voyage on the Western canal, or narrate
the particulars of a boisterous passage
on the lakes. It is enough that we ar-
rived at our place of destination, safe
and sound. We moved directly into the
woods, a mile from any settlement or
habitation of any kind.
My father built a trim log-house upon
a gentle swell of land, and a proud-
looking little thing it was, I assure you.
This was our castle—not “a castle in
the air,” such as we boys often build,
but a real castle in the woods. We
then commenced clearing a piece of
ground for corn, and built a barn. My
father hired an Irishman—not a “ bog-

trotter,” but as clever a fellow as ever
came from the Emerald Isle.

We had not been here a long time, be-
fore a man came into the place, and set-
tled about half a mile from us. He had
a little boy, about my age; and we each
had a hatchet, with which we did great
execution among the small trees, cutting
down everything that happened to come
in our way,

We had a little black Indian pony,
that I used to ride to water every day,
at a lake about half a mile distant.
One day, I rode down as usual. It was
a warm day, and the flies bit pretty
sharply. I rode her out into the lake,
and she began to paw up the sand, and
make the water fly finely. Not content
with this, down she lay, plump in the
water. Of course, I jumped off, and
paddled for the shore; and right glad I
was to reach land, I assure you. After
she had had her frolic out, she came di-
rectly up to me, as if nothing had hap-
124

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



pened, as much as to say, “Here, Mas-
ter George, hop on to me again ; I won’t
serve you another such a trick, I do as-
sure you.”

A little while after this, I was sent
with Madam Dolly after the cattle, that
had strayed away in the woods. Away
we went, as happy as two friends could
be; for we delighted very much in each
other’s company. I loved her, because
she was so gentle; and I believe she
loved me, because I was kind to her ; be-
sides, | presume she would rather have
carried me on her back than a heavy
man, for I was only seven years old, and
not very large at that. I had not been
gone a great while, before I lost my way;
and to make matters worse, Doll ran un-
der a young tree, and knocked my hat
off. This may seem a small matter; but
when my hat was off, and I off after it,
and had no way to get on again, it was
a serious difficulty, after all. I led my
pony, then, some rods; and at last found
a log, from which I soon got mounted
again. Pretty soon, I saw the cattle
coming, and my father driving them;
and right glad I was, for I did not know
the way home, although Dolly did, and
would have taken me home if I had let
her, but I did not know it then. Dolly
was a wonderful mare, though I must
not say any more about her now.

At another time, a fawn jumped out
of the boughs of a fallen tree, and ran
directly under my pony’s head. It was
the first fawn I had ever seen. I had
seen deer before, but this was the most
beautiful thing I ever beheld. Away
he scampered, and jumped over a fence,
and bounded off into the woods, as much
as to say, “I am not afraid of pony or
rider to-day.” GEORGE,



Water-Spouts.

HAVE seen many water-spouts, but

the very biggest of them was off

the coast of the Canaries. We

were sailing easy, at about half-a-
dozen knots, the weather gloomy, whena
man from the mizen sang out, “ A spout
ahead!” And sure enough, there was
a spout. The water of the sea was
gathered up, like a hillock with a sharp
point ; from this point, it seemed to run
upward, as smoke runs up a chimney,
to a heavy, dark cloud that stood over
it; but the cloud was white enough on
the upper side of it. There was a loud
hissing noise, and a commotion in the
sea; and we thought, that if the spout
should burst when we were under the
cloud, we should soon be food for the
fishes.

We laid the sails aback to prevent our
running into danger, and fired a gun or
two at the spout; but we could not hit it.
The water went up with a swift, whirling
motion, making a noise like a mill; and
all at once, when we were only a couple
of cables apart, the spout broke off at
the bottom, and down came a flood
enough to swamp a seventy-four. It
was a narrow escape—one of the narrow-
est, indeed, I ever had in my life. [I
would not like to be caught so again,
though.

We pitched about for some time, but
thought right little of God’s goodness,
in saving us from destruction. Sailors
are a sad, thoughtless set of people.
Often are they singing songs in praise of
themselves, when they ought to be prais-
ing him who has snatched them from the
jaws of sudden death.—Old Sea Cap-

tain.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

125



How Smart we are!

HERE are some little men and little
boys in the world, and possibly
some little women and little girls,
too—though I don’t know that it

is best to include them in this list—who
always make a great hue and cry about
what they accomplish in connection
with people of far greater talent, when-
ever they happen to be thrown in com-
pany with such people, and anything
remarkable happens to be done, with
which these little people, nevertheless,
had nothing at all to do. Such folks
need a looking-glass, I think, in which
they can see their faces, At any rate,
here is one somebody has made for
them, which they are welcome to look in
as often as they please :—

«Put on the steam; I’m. in haste,”
cries a snail, that has crept into a rail-
road car. ‘Crack it again, my good fel-
low!” ejaculates a fly, that has lit on the
folds of a thunder-cloud, “ What a pro-
digious reverberation!’ says a wood-
pecker, tapping a hollow tree on the
roaring verge of Niagara. “I fear my
house will be shaken down,” mutters a
mouse, as the walls of the cathedral rock
with the throes of the earthquake.
«What a deal of observation we excite !”
said a bumble-bee, buzzing along in the
trail of a comet. ‘“ We leave the very
ocean split asunder!” exclaims a perch,
darting along in the wake of a whale.
“Bury me with my face to the foe,”
cries a cockroach, dying in the battle of
the Nile. ‘What a long shadow I
cast!” hoots an owl, gazing at an eclipse
of the sun. “The spoils of victory!”
screams a hardy hawk, pouncing on an
elephant struck by lightning.

Lying.

EVER tell a whole lie, or half a lie,
or a quarter of a lie, or any part
of a lie. Many boys who know
well enough what a sneaking,

mean thing it is to lie, yet will twist the
truth, or deceive a little bit. This is about
as bad as a plump falsehood. If a boy
does something wrong, either through ig-
norance, carelessness, or accident; and
then tells one half truth and one half lie
about it, he might almost as well have
told the whole untruth. Now see how
the spirited, manly, true-hearted, clear-
tongued boy will do, after an error.
He resolutely determines to acknowledge
it, without being afraid of anybody’s
anger—tell it just as it was. I never in
my life knew any one to be injured by
telling the truth in this way ; but I have
seen many a boy, and man too, who
were looked upon with contempt, and
thought poorly of, because they would
tell sneaking lies, or half lies, or quarter
lies. The worst of untruths—those
which are deliberately made up, stories
about people, or little stories magnified
into big ones—prove the teller of them
to be a most worthless, impure, and
mean person. The liar is indeed despi-
cable both to God and good men. On
the other hand, nothing is more beauti-
ful than a strictly truth-telling person—
one who never varies from the truth,
who is open, candid, and above deceit.
To become so, a boy should strive hard,
should determine to become so, and he
will become so. Besides, it is so easy
always to speak the truth, and so very
hard to arrange a very plausible untruth,
which even then will, in all likelihood,
be found out nine times out of ten,
126

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



The Rainy Day.

-* HE parents of Charles

7 and Edward Gleason
resided in New York.
Charles and Edward
had therefore spent
their lives amid bricks
and pavements, and had seen
but little of the country. But
when Charles was ten and Ed-
ward eight, their uncle and
aunt Sanford, who resided in a
pleasant country village, invited them to
spend two or three of the pleasant
summer months with them.

Nothing could have been more pleas-
ing to our city boys than such an invita-
tion. They could hardly speak or think
of anything but their intended visit, for
weeks before the time appointed for it
had arrived. Very glowing were their
anticipations of country life, and of the
rare sport to be enjoyed amid the green
grass, fruits, and flowers. These antici-
pations were destined to be fully realized.
For several wecks, they found unceasing
pleasure and amusement in those rural
occupations which city boys so greatly
enjoy, when permitted to breathe the
pure air of the country, and ramble
amid its ever fresh and delightful scenery.

During some weeks, their out-door
amusements were interrupted only by an
occasional shower. But one morning, as
they awoke, they found the rain was
pouring down, and it was evident they
might expect a regular rainy day. As
neither of them understood how a rainy
day in the country could be of much
value, they indulged, for the first time,
in lying in bed until their aunt called
them to breakfast.




After breakfast, they stood by the
window watching the clouds, and think-
ing this rainy day was an event for which
they were quite unprepared. They had
come into the country to bask amid sun-
shine and flowers; but a rainy day they
had not once taken into the account.
As their aunt came up, and stood by
their side, Edward gave utterance to
their thoughts, by saying,

«“ Well, aunt, what are we to do now?
I can’t see what employment we can
find in the country, in arainy day. We
have left all our toys, puzzles, and games,
our dissected maps, pictures, and build-
ing-blocks, at home; and I am quite at a
loss to contrive how we are to get
through the day.”

« And here we cannot even have our
Yourtu’s Caziyet,” said the book-loving
Charles. ‘“ How unfortunate! I really
believe, aunt, we shall have to be a little
home-sick to-day.”

“Well, my boys, if you wish to be
discontented and home-sick, I can tell
you how you may make sure of being
so,”

“How? What do you mean, aunt?”
said Charles.

«Stand by the window all day watch-
ing the rain, and wishing every minute it
would clear away.”

‘But we do not wish, aunt, to be
either discontented or home-sick,” said
Edward.

“Tf this is the case,” replied his aunt,
“T think I can put you in a way to
avoid both, if you will enter cheerfully
into the plan I propose.”

The boys promised they would.

“But what shall we do first?” said
Charles.

“You have forgotten, have you not,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

127



what a fine parcel of hazel-nuts you
have to shell out? They have been dry
several days, but you have found no time
to attend to them.”

‘We did not think of that,” said the
boys. “ To-day is just the day for such
work ; for when it is pleasant, we cannot
spare the time,”

‘‘I do not suppose,” said their aunt,
“that you will wish to shell out hazel-
nuts all day. When you are tired, come
to me; I think I can help you to find
some other employment.”

The clouds of discontent, which had
been rapidly gathering, quickly passed
away, and the boys went cheerfully to
work. After they had been some time
employed, they began to feel weary ; but
they thought they might not have an-
other rainy day, to shell out their nuts,
before they returned home. One of
them proposed they should think of
something to amuse them, while they
continued their work. Charles, at
length, proposed that they should see
how many words they could think of,
which began with the letter H, the first
letter in hazel-nut. In this way, an-
other hour passed rapidly. They then
concluded to put aside their nuts, and go
to their aunt. She had selected an in-
teresting story, for them to read to her;
and this occupied the time till dinner
was ready.

After dinner, the boys again came to
their aunt, and said, “ What shall we do
now, aunt?”

“Have you not laid aside some small
boards and blocks, to make you some
little wagons ?”

«Yes, aunt; but it rains so hard, we
cannot go out; and we can’t make wag-
ons in the house, you know,”

“Yes, you may, upon certain condi-
tions. I will permit you to convert my
back room into a carpenter’s shop, pro-
vided, when you have done, you will re-
move all the dust and shavings, leaving
no trace of your afternoon’s employ-
ment.”

The boys were delighted with the
plan, and readily accepted the condition.
Their aunt gave them permission to col-
lect together their blocks, nails, hammer,
and gimblet, as soonas they chose. All
went on smoothly for a time; but it was
not long before their aunt heard them
rapidly approaching the room in which
she was sitting. Charles was the first to
speak,

‘Edward will not let me have the
hammer, aunt.”

« And Charles will not let me have
the gimblet,” said Edward.

“J should think,” said their aunt,
“that two New York boys might occupy
one room, and use the same hammer and
gimblet, without quarreling.”

“Why do you say New York boys,
aunt?” said Charles. “ What has that
to do with the matter?”

“What do you do when you are
walking in Broadway or Chatham street ?
Do you go on in one straight line, deter-
mined to turn neither to the right hand
nor the left, for any one you meet ?”

“No, aunt,” said Charles, laughing.
“We should be knocked down before we
had gone two blocks, if we were to man- .
age in that way.”

“ How, then, do you get along ?”

‘Sometimes we take one side of the
walk, and sometimes the other, and slip
along through the crowd just where we
can find a place.”

“ It seems then you have practiced the
128

art of turning out to let others pass.
Now, in the present instance, if you will
each turn out a little, that is, try to ac-
commodate each other, you will find no
difficulty.”

“But how shall we manage it, aunt,”
said Edward, “to both use the same
hammer and gimblet, and not interfere
with each other ?”

“Tt is unnecessary for me to tell you
how you can manage it. ‘Where there
is a will, there is away.’ If youare dis-
posed to get along pleasantly together,
you will easily find a way to do so.”

“YT will tell you, Edward,” said
Charles, “how we can do. You can
take the hammer, to nail together your
wagon, while I use the gimblet, to bore
through the little round blocks we are to
use for wheels ; and when you are ready
for the gimblet, I can take the hammer.”

Having thus settled their business,
they returned to their carpenter’s shop ;
and though the rain was beating against
the windows, there was the clear sun-
shine of good-humor within. The after-
noon passed rapidly away, while they
were making their wagons, loading and
unloading them, and drawing them about
the room. They were quite surprised
when their aunt came and told them,
they would have no more than time to
clear away, before tea would be ready.

“Are you sure,” said their aunt, as
they. entered the dining-room, “that I
shall not find any stray shavings under
the table, or behind the stove 9”

“I do not know as we are quite
sure,” said Charles; “ perhaps we had
better look again.”

They returned, and found some dust
and shavings, which they had previously
overlooked. These they carefully re-

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



moved, and then invited their aunt to
come and see if she could discover any
traces of their late occupation. After
tea, they sat down, as usual, to have
some conversation with their dear aunt.

“ We must own,” said Charles, “ that
arainy day in the country is not so bad
an affair after all. We have spent it
very pleasantly, and it has seemed as
short as any other day.”

“You will find, my dear boys,” re-
plied their aunt, “a great many rainy
days, if you live to be men—that is, a
great many days when you will feel very
sad, and time will hang very heavy, un-
less you furnish yourselves with some
cheerful and useful employment. I hope
you will remember this rainy day in the.
country as long as you live. Let it teach
you the lesson, that if you would be
happy, you must never be idle. You
must learn to be industrious, cheerful,
kind, and forbearing.. Then,’ the sun-
shine of peace and happiness will bless
you all through life, in rainy as well as
pleasant days.” . KATHRENE,

A Funny Mistake.

NE Sunday morning little Fanny
stepped out of her hotse very
nicely dressed. ‘Oh, how pret-
ty ! how lovely!” said a stranger,

who stood near. Fanny made a low
courtesy, and thanked him for the com-
pliment, on which both the gentlemen
burst out laughing ; but the other said,
“This gentleman did not mean you, you
little vain, foolish thing! but the beauti-
ful rose you have there in your sash ; it is
the first he has seen this year.”
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

nL

ie

- \ a
»\ VA —
de ) S \ t D> KEY

ENNY Lixp has been pronounced, |

by the best of critics, to be one of

the most remarkable singers ever

heard. Her songs are sung almost
everywhere, and every incident of her
life is seized upon with the most lively
interest. The public seems never to
lire of the name of this lady. Fred-
erika Bremer, the popular Swedish au-
thor, did a great deal toward bringing
this now celebrated singer into notice.
She wove the name of Jenny Lind into
one of her beautiful tales, in such a way



129

as to direct the attention, not only of

her own countrymen, but of every por-’

tion of the civilized world, to her aston:
ishing powers.

Jenny Lind, a portrait of whom ap-
pears at the head of this sketch, was
horn at Stockholm, on the eighth of
February, 1820. Her parents, it is said,
were poor, and kept a school. At a
very early age, the beauty of Jenny’s
voice was remarked. She was only a
little girl when she became able, after
hearing a difficult musical composition
130

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



once, to sing it correctly, and even to
write it. Soon after her public introdue-
tion to the musical world, she went to
Paris, for the purpose of pursuing her
studies under the direction of Manuel
Garcia. She was thunderstruck, at her
first interview with the professor :—
‘*Mon enfant,” said he, “vous n’avez
plus de voix—my child, you have no
voice.” The fact was, that her musical
organs, on account of their having been
tasked too severely, were greatly weak-
ened. Garcia recommended her not to
sing for three months, and to give her-
self time to recover from her fatigue.
She followed his advice. As soon as
she commenced practicing, however, un-
der the tuition of Garcia, she astonished
everybody ; and ‘from that time to the
present, she has been regarded as one
of the greatest musical wonders of this
or any other age. |

The admirers of music, on this side of
the Atlantic, must be delighted to learn,
that Jenny Lind has consented to make
usa visit. Mr, Barnum, the enterprising
proprietor of the American Museum, in
the city of New York, has made arrange-

Yeas

Foy

fa



ments, at an enormous expense, to bring
her to this country, and to have the di-
rection of her concerts in several of the
principal cities in America, for several
months. A few days ago, we saw the
original letter she wrote to Mr. Barnum,
in which she accepts of his proposition.
What a sensation her presence will
make here, when she comes! How the
places where she sings will be crowded !

In some small villages where she has
sung, so great was the rage for seeing
her, that from nine to ten thousand dol-
lars were realized from one of her con-
certs. In Cologne, a temporary build-
ing was erected for her use, capable of

_holding fifteen thousand persons, and it

was crowded every night. In London,
the price of single tickets ranged from

‘five to fifty dollars; in the provinces of
England, from three to fifteen; on the
| continent of Europe, the same. But they

have very often been sold for enormous
sums. What the price of tickets will ‘ve
in this country, we are ‘not informed ;
but understand that it is the intention
of Mr. Barnum to place it as low as

possible.
THE YOUTHS CABINET.

131



Which was the Wisest?

CELEBRATED tutor in Paris was in

th the habit of relating to his pu-

pils, as they stood in a half cir-

cle before him, anecdotes of illus-

trious men, and obtaining their opinions

respecting them, rewarding those who

answered well with tickets of merit.

On one of these occasions, he mentioned
an anecdote of Marshal Turenne.

“On a fine summer day,” said he,

“while the marshal was leaning out of

his window, his valet entered the room,

and approaching his master with a soft |

stép, gave him a violent blow with his
hand. The pain occasioned by it brought
the marshal instantly around, when he
beheld his valet on his knees imploring
his forgiveness, saying that hé thought
he had been George, his fellow-servant.”

The question was then put to each of
the scholars, “What would you have
done to the servant, had you been in
the marshal’s situation?” A haughty
French boy, who stood first, said,
“Done? T would have run him through
with my sword!” This reply filled the
whole school with surprise; and the
master séntenced the boy to thé forfei-
ture of his tickets, for his cruel dispo-
sition.

After putting the question to the
other children, and receiving different
answers, he came, at length, to a little
English girl, about ¢ight years of age.
“Well, my dear,” inquired the teacher,
“what would you have done on this oc-
casion, supposing yott had been Marshal
Turenne?” She sedately replied, “I
should have said, suppose it had been
George, why strike so hard?” The
simplicity and sweetness of this reply

March

excited smiles of approbation from the

whole school, and the master awarded
the prize to the little girl.— Selected.

Age of the American States.

ue different States which’ compose
our Union, and which
are called the “ United States,”
came into the Union at different
times, as follows :—

Delaware, December 7, 1787; Pénn-
sylvania, December 12, 1787; New Jet-
sey, December 18, 1787; Georgia,
January 2, 1788 ; Connecticut, January’
9, 1788; Massachusetts, February 6,
1788 ; Maryland, April 28, 1788; South
Carolina, May 23, 1788; New Hainp-
shire, June 12, 1788; Virginia, Juné
26, 1788; New-York, July 26, 1788;'
North Carolina, November 20, 1789's
Rhode Island, May 29, 1790; Vermint,’
4, 1791; Kentucky, June 1,
1792; Tennessee, Juné 1, 1796’; - Ohi6):
November 29, 1802; Louisiana, Aprif
8, 1812; Indiana, December 11, 1816 «
Mississippi, December 10, 1817; Illi-
nois, December, 3, 1818; Alabama, Dé-
cember 4, 1819; Maine, March 15,
1820; Missouri, August 10, 1821’; Ar-
kansas, June 15, 1836; Michigan, Juné’
20, 1837; Florida, March 7, 1844;
Texas, December 29, 1845; Wisconsli,
December 29, 1848; Iowa, ‘184?

rr

A ratse friend is like a shadow on a
dial, which appears in fine weather, but:
vanishes at the approach of a’ cloud;
132

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



EUSPORLAL TABLE DAL.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

HE subscriber in Vermont,
who waxes poetical for our
» especial benefit, is informed
YR that we do not consider his
lines worth the five cents we
paid for them in postage.
¢ We ought, long ago, to
have acknowledged a letter
from a little subscriber in
Troy, only eight years old. Thank you,
Caroline. That was a very good letter
indeed, The editor is very glad you are
learning to write, and hopes he will hear
from you again, one of these days.

.“ Paris,” “The Sere Autumn Leaf,”
* Youth,” “The Bird’s Nest,” and sun-
dry other good things, will soon emerge
from the pigeon-holes, where they are at
present entertained, and come before the
world in a tasteful dress, for which we
have already given orders to the printer.

How often the painful intelligence
reaches us, in the midst of our toils, that
some little boy or girl, who was once a
reader of the Cazrner, and who used to
hail its visits with delight, is cut down
by death. It was only the other day,
that a lady, to whom we are greatly in-
debted, came into our office, and told us
of the death of little Isabelle, one of our
readers, who lived in Brooklyn. This
lady presented us, at the same time,
with some lines, written .as if from the
lips of the dying one. We will read
them at our table :—



THE 8PI RIT’S ADIEU.

My mother dems weep not nor grieve for me,
But think, ah think, when thou art all alone,

How my tired spirit struggled to be free,
And hail’d the hour when death bade me be-

gone.

Ah, couldst thou view the joy that waits me
here,
My happy change from sorrow, sin, and pain,
Thou wouldst then rather wish with me to
share
The bliss of heaven; for, ah! to die is gain.

Hark, hark! the angelic host their voices raise ;
“Welcome,” they sing, “to these bright
realms above—
To God be glory, to the Lamb be praise,
Who suffered, bled, and died, to prove his
love.”

Mother beloved, grief finds no entrance here;
Our home is one of joy, a place of rest,
Where those of Christ's redeem’d shall ever
share
The love that waits the coming of the blest.
A. E. F. B.



ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. III.

Tue Doon is a little river, dear to the
lovers of poesy and song. Allegri was
a celebrated painter, who died in obscu-
rity. Menai is a strait in the eastern
hemisphere. The Nautilus is a skillful
little mariner, whose ancestors instructed
ours. The Secant is a mathematical
line. The Lotus is the bark in which
Cupid sails down the Nile. The martyr
Huss perished at the stake. The battle-
field of Crecy has been renowned for ages,
Froissart was an eminent historian. At-
alanta rivaled the stag. Carya is the
botanical name of the hickory tree. The—
whole is “ Macaulay’s History of Eng-
land.”

I can find a little fault with this enig- -
ma, and that.is, the name of the histo-
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

133

Ee ae yeaa yee PSS neat Sennen tenet ii

rian is not rightly spelled : the last sylla-
ble should be day, and not Jey,

AMELIA §, GOULD.
Seneca Fats, N, Y,

This enigma was also answered by
K. W. N. of Concord, N. H.; Kate, of

Dansville, N. Y.; and E. M. B. of New
York.



ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. IV.

The Don is ariver in Europe. The
North Sea is in Europe. Delaware is
one of the United States. Sweden is a
country of Europe. Ireland is an island
west of Europe. Florida is one of the
United States. Sardinia is an island in
the Mediterranean. Orleans is a county
in Vermont. Leon is a town in Spain,
Hartford is the eapital of Connecticut.
Oneida is a county in New York. Dvwi-
na is a river in Russia. India is a coun-
try in Asia, Waldo is a county in
Maine. Dover is the capital of Dela-
ware. ‘Order is Heaven’s first law,” a

very useful motto. K. W. N.
Concorp, N. H.

This enigma was also answered by
H. C. of Andover, Ms.; and I. A. S. Jr.
of Glastenbury, Ct.



ANSWER TO CIIARADE NO. IV.

A word respecting that charade,

A friend at hand wishes Essie to add:
He begs of her to lend her aid,

About that word Moorshedabad.

- The Moor is found on Afric’s shore,
With swarthy cheek, and deep-set eye—
sn childhood’s years, we've ponder’d o’er
‘The Moorish legends with a sigh.

A. shed for cattle men provide,
To shield from the inclement season ;
When storms are fierce, they there abide,
Govern'd by instinct, not by reason.

The letter A, though very small,
Is always found in every place ;

You see it graces every hall,
And helps to fill up every space.

How often, in this world of strife,
The hearts of parents are made sad,
And some embitter’d e’en through life,
By children’s deeds, perverse and bad,

You see, with ease we've pull'd apart
This word in Moorish vesture clad.
Replace again with less of art,
And there you find Moorshedabad.
ESSIE.
This charade was also correctly an-
swered by K. W. N. of Concord, N. H.
Me. Tutrxer,—As I had an opportu-
nity, I thought I would ask you one
question. Where is the dividing line be-
tween the Atlantic and Pacific oceans?
A friend of mine asked me the question,
the other day, but I did not answer it,
as I wanted to consult Mr. Thinker, be-
fore I did so.
Yours very respectfully,
H. B. C.

Theodore Thinker, preferring to set
others a-thinking, rather than to answer
this question at once, invites his readers —
to send him something on the subject,
which he can print for the benefit of this
young questioner.

ENIGMA NO. V.——HISPORICAL.

I am a work of great celebrity, com-
posed of twenty-five letters. M y 4, 25,
23, 1,is the oldest sovereign of whom
mention is made in the Bible. My 1,
14, 12, 19, 9, was a very ancient histori-
an. My 20, 11, 1, 15, 17, 25, was the
founder of a great city. My 3, 5, 12,
10, was his father. My 10, 2, 1, was
his grandfather, My 20, 14, 23, 10,.
was his great-grandfather... My 20, 11,
24, 5, 9, was his son, My«2,:19,1, 11,
134

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



15, 4, 1, 11, 9, was his daughter-in-law,
My 24, 11, 20, 8, 7, 12, was his grand-
son. My 10,19, 22,19, 20, was a queen
celebrated by my 10, 17,1, 19, 15. My
9, 14, 3, 15, 2, 18, 19, 12, was an an-
cient philosopher. My 4, 18, 10, 19, 20,
12, was his birthplace. My 3, 15, 11,
13, 17, was his intimate friend. My 23,
3, 10, 19, 2, 20, 22,19, 4, 21, 5, 19, was
an ancient republic. My 18, 22, 11, 21,
FO, 13, 14, 18, 1, 23, 15, 16, was an act
im the year 1568, followed by disastrous
wonsequences. My 2, 5, 13, 17, 25, 19,
18, 19, was a sacritice formerly known
in Spain, My 3, 23, 13, 2, 6, 11, 24,
19, and 8, 11, 3, 19, 15, 17, and 8, 19, 9,
47, 15, are three extraordinary charac-
ters, that appeared in Rome about the
game time. ESSIE.



CHARADE NO, V.

My first may take three separate forms,
As schvol ma’ams strive to teach,
When once the love of learning warms
The minds they strive to reach.
‘Three letters will that first express,
And one will do the same;
Then put on it a figured dress,
And two will give it name.

My second is a being small—
A pigmy, sure, in size ;

But long ago its fame grew tall,
By Solomon the wise.

‘Leok at the mighty works it rears,
In regions of the sun,

And judge.if not, above all peers,
True glory it hath won.

My whole—one scarce can tell, I wis,
His nature to define;

He holds a thing—yet ’tis not his,
No more than. it-is mine.

Yet let him have the same good traits
Which make my second great,
He'll rarely find that adverse fates

Deprive him .of:his state.
Francace, Micy.

LOUIS.

RIDDLE NO, II

Of egotists I am the chief,
My pride surpasses all belief;
Of science though I form a part,
I’m never found in any art ;
I’m in the balmy breath of spring,
In all the little birds that sing ;
And by my aid, man’s turn’d to main,
And what was only bran is brain.
Without me, there would be no mind,
No life nor wisdom could we find.
M. M. W.



ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS, NO. II.

1. What is the solidity of a segment
of a globe, whose base is 20 feet ; height
9?

2. The four sides of a field, whose
diagonals are equal to each other, are
25, 35, 31, and 19 rods respectively.
What is the area?

3. The area of an equilateral triangle,
whose base falls on the diameter, and the
vertex in the middle of a semicircle,
is equal to 100. What is the diameter
of the semicircle ? N. 0.

The editor finds it necessary to request
the numerous little boys and girls who
send him enigmas and riddles, for publi-
cation in the Caninet, to inform him, at
the time, if any such are not originai,
whether they have been published be-
fore. We mean that the good things
in this department shall be entirely
original. Please bear that in mind, lit-
tle friends. Another thing: do not
make an enigma so easy, that any toler-
ably shrewd boy or gi] will guess it by
reading a couple of lines. Another
thing still: after the enigma is comple-
ted, and even after it has been revised
pretty carefully, give it another exami-
nation, and be sure it is right.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 135

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A SCOTTISH BALLAD, BY ROBERT BURNS,

1,

Joun Anpenrson, my jo, John,
When nature first began
To try her canny hand, John,
Her master work was man;
And you, amang them a’, John,
So trig from top to toe,
You proved to be no journey-work,
John Anderson, my jo.

It,

John Anderson, my jo, John,
Ye were my first conceit ;

I think nae shame to own, John,
I lo’ed ye ear’ and late;

They say ye're turning auld, John,
And what though it be so,

Ye're aye the same kind man to me,
John Anderson, my jo.

Vy. 9

Tit,

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquaint,

Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent;

But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow,

But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

IV,

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi’ ane anither ;
Now we maun totter down, J ohn,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
MAY
136

Paris.



BY MRS. E, A, COMSTOCK,



YouNG niece, who reads the
CaBIneT, asked me
to “tell her about
Paris.” I was very
busy at that time,
but replied, “ that
when I had more
(er leisure, I would write some-
thing about the beautiful city ;
and then she, and many other little girls,
could be amused, and I would have a
larger audience.”

Paris is a very ancient place. It was
a large town before America was dis-
covered. It was the chief city of a
half-civilized people, called the Parisii,
from whom it takes its name. It was at
one time called Lutetia, a name that sig-
nifies “a dwelling in the midst of a
river.” This was during the reign of
Julius Cesar, a half century before the
birth of Christ. This city has been im-
proved and added to, since then. Some
parts of it are newer than portions of
New York, and much more splendid
than any town in America, It is sur-
rounded by walls, with handsome iron
gates. Outside of these, there is a finely-
shaded street, much wider than Broad-
way, called the Boulevard Extérieur.
There are two of the same kind of streets
within the walls. The city lies on both
shores of the river Seine. North of this
river, the boulevards are three miles
long ; south of it, nine miles in length,
having a fine semicircular sweep, ‘These




THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ER TT A SS



northern boulevards are crowded, at all
hours of the day, by grown people and
children, Here are swinging chairs and
boats, suspended from poles, in which
children or grown folks can take an air-
ing for a penny. Under the trees are
little round tables, with white covers,
and with shining cups displayed upon
them, at which any one, for a few pen-
nies, can sit and take a lunch of coffee
and rolls. Here and there, a charcoa!
brazier sends up a savory steam of cof-
fee and minced meats, where a person
can have a good dinner cheaper without
a table.

Chairs, turned down, are grouped in
large numbers around the trees, and
many poor women, standing by them,
earn a sous, or a penny, an hour, by
loaning these seats to the tired prome-
naders. Here and there flit the neatly-
dressed ladies of Paris, whose tall and
elegant forms, gracefully draped, can be
seen, at early morn, gliding through the
flowery alleys of the bouquet markct,
buying. for one sous, as many flowers as
they can conveniently carry. Here, also,
are gilt and gaudy coaches for children,
drawn by goats, dogs, and even well-
scoured porkers.

On the northern side of the river Seine
is a fine palace, called the Louvre. It
has a gallery, connecting it with the
palace of the Tuileries.
used as a museum.

Here are good paintings and statues,
valuable coins, beautiful vases, and rare
china, many hundred years old. Here,

This gallery is

| also, is a bed, in which Napoleon Buona-
| parte slept, when Emperor of France.

streets are shaded by a double row of |'The curtains are of crimson velvet,

gigantic elms, and lined with handsome | sprinkled with gold bees.

buildings, cafés, and gardens.

The ewer

The | and basin were of gold. The wash-
————.



_—_-—-



itand was green porphyry, inlaid with
silver. The walls were lined with mir-
rors, and between the windows stood a
massive silver table, richly embossed.
But far more interesting to me was a
room in which the government surveyor
exhibited his model and painted maps.
The room was three hundred feet long,
and on either side the walls were hung
with large maps, exquisitely printed
with a pen, and colored with a camel’s
hair brush. Through the centre of this
room was a long table, on which the
model maps were displayed.

Children will perceive, by looking on
the atlas, that Paris is inland, or far
from the sea, Many of her citizens,
therefore, have never seen a ship. These
model maps were exact representations
of the sea-parts of France, with ships
lying in their harbors. These ships
were perfect in every respect ; nota rope
was omitted. The frigates were par-
ticularly graceful in contour. This ex-
hibition attracted crowds of people, who
will probably never see any other ships
or sea-ports than these. The exhibition
was public and free,

The surveyor was present, and very
politely explained the different parts to
us. fle was, as all really intellectual
people are, very modest, and willing to
listen as well as to harangue. Persons
who have little acquaintance with polish-
ed society, and have never contrasted
themselves with superior minds, are apt
{0 overrate their talents, and disgust
every one by their opinionated manner.
We have sometimes smiled internally,
when such persons have displayed their
achievements of third-rate excellence,
with conceited glee. We hope that

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

a

‘137



the surveyor, and when tempted to dis-
play his attempts, will remember, that
if they are good, others have done much
better. The printed maps surpassed
anything I have ever seeti performed
with a pen. Ina few hours, we learned
more of the maritime history of France
than we ever hoped to, and brought
away with us very favorable and pleas-
ing impressions of the skill and courtesy
of that beautiful country. }

As we left the Louvre, a plain chariot
entered the court, and we knew by the
livery, that it belonged to Louis Philippe,
now ex-king of France. His third son
stepped from it, bowing politely to us,
as is the custom of that family, when-
ever they meet a stranger in the land.
We were told that he had a fine taste,
and that he was well educated.. When
we perceived how modest and courteous
he was, we did not in the least doubt it.



Bad Memory.

POOR woman in the country went

to hear a sermon, in which,

J\. among other evil practices, the
use of dishonest weights and
measures was exposed. She was much
affected by the discourse. The next
day, when the minister went among his
hearers, and called upon the woman, he
took occasion to ask her what she ‘re-
membered of the sermon. The poor
woman complained much of her. bad
memory, and said she had forgotten al-
most all he had said. ‘* But one thing,’
said she, “I did remember—I rememi

every child who reads this will imitate | bered to burn my bushel measure.”2,, — ,


Easter-Day.

BY J, P. M’CORD,





WONDER whether the readers of
_ the Caniner pay any special re-
_ gard to Easter-day. It was a great
day among the children, in the
es where I was born and bred. We,
that is, my brothers and sisters, were
accustomed, when winter was taking its
leave, to look into the almanac, to see
on what Sunday in April the feast
would fall. We did not call it Easter,
however, but, in accordance with some
Dutch usages which still remained in
my native place, we commonly called it
poss, Iam not sure that 1 have spelled
this word as a learned Dutchman would
spell it, but it is pronounced so as to
rhyme with Joss. When the season ap-
proached, we always engaged right
heartily in preparing for it. You must
know, that eggs were essential to its
proper observance; we were careful,
therefore, to collect a good supply of
them. We narrowly searched every
spot where a hen would be likely to de-
posit such articles. After school-hours,
in particular, away we ran to the nests,
each trying to secure as much spoil as
possible before the arrival of the others.
We would then severally disappear to
some secret place, to hide our eggs. In
this way, we usually treasured up a suffi-
cient store, which we did not fail to
produce: when the proper time arrived.
My books inform me, that Easter is a
feast designed to commemorate the re-
gurrection of Christ. It corresponds, in
season, to the passover of the Jews, and
is considered, in some sense, as a con-
tinuation of it. But why, as in some
parts of our country, at least, Easter-

‘nip, or other coloring matter.

THE YOUTHS CABINET.

day should be celebrated by a free use
of eggs, rather than in any other manner,
I never could find out. I could guess a
reason, but then it might not be the true
one; so I will not trouble my readers
with it. Besides, in our childhood, we
never inquired into the origin and history
of the feast; we were satisfied if we
could observe it according to the estab-
lished custom. This privilege our kind
parents always granted us. And some-
times we had other pleasures besides
those of the table. Some older mem-
bers of the family would color a few
eggs for us, by throwing into the water
where they were cooking some green cat-
If our
names, or any device, had been previous-
ly marked on them with the end of a tal-
low candle, they would not take color in
the parts so marked. We valued these
fancy articles highly, and would keep
them some time.

I thought I would say this much about
Easter-day, that those of my readers
who live in places where it is not ob-
served in a similar manner, might the
better understand the following fable.
I would not teach you, by the fable, to
be penurious or illiberal, but only to
spend money with prudence. One thing
more: when you come to the fourth line,
please stop, and consider how many dol-
lars there are in a million dimes.

THE BOYS AND THEIR EGGS,

Some spend a dime because ’tis small,
Nor deem it, squander’d, waste at all:
The diligent and prudent know

One dime may to a million grow.
When merry Easter roll’d around,
And cooks, by ancient custom bound,
Prepared to load the festive board
With eggs for that occasion stored,
THE YOUTHS CABINET.
cepeeersemeadbaiaiiiinie ee eee



A mother, in a humble cot,

Who had two sons to cheer her lot,
Dealt out to each a noble egy,
Because their tears the gift did beg.
Frank, fond of favors good to eat,
From pie and cake to roasted meat,
His egg beneath the ashes placed,
For brief enjoyment to his taste ;

But Charles. a shrewd, discerning youth
Who could deny a craving tooth,
Resolved to keep his little store,
And be at pains to make it more.
With hope’s high pulses in his breast,
He put his portion in a nest;

When Nature, veil’d within the shell,
Wrought mysteries too deep to tell.

’

FISHERMAN caught a very small
fish. “Very well,” said the
man, “ this will do for a begin-
ning.”

claimed the little fish, as he dangled at
the end of the line. ‘“ You cannot do
anything with me, if you keep me. It
would take twenty such to make one
dish—and such a dish! Why, it would
not suffice to make a single breakfast for
you. I beg yon, sir, to throw me back
into the water. ‘There are multitudes of

“Have mercy!” ex-

|



£39





Warm'd by the hen’s attentive wing,

The egg became a living thing.

The chick broke up the circling cell,

To see the world, with fuwls.to dwell. a
Gay with young life, she roani’d and fed,»
Where’er her mother’s prudence led,
Full-fledged at length, mature, and fair,
She well repaid the owner's care ;

She brought him eggs, and rear’d a brood,
That in her matron steps pursued.

Each after year, with joyful eyes,

He saw his wealgh still faster rise :

Until there stroll'd around the door

A flock too large to wish for more:

Then eggs and chickens he could sell,
While every day he feasted well.



ney 4 ft,
Ca $
A“ 4

The Fisherman and the little Fish—A Fable.

fishes where I came from, which are
much more worthy of your attention
than Tam.” “ My little friend,” replied
the fisherman, “ you might as well stop
praying; I have made up my mind to
fry you this very evening.”

MORAL.

The thing that a man has, may be
worth more than the thing he hopes for,
but is not certain of obtaining —Perrin. —
140 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



great easy chair; she tried to look grave

The Old Slate. and dignified, like an old lady, though
HAVE a great mind to break this | she was now but eighteen. Charlie

i stupid old slate,” said little Cha:les | came rather unwillingly, laid the slate
mAR Fidget, one morning, as be sat over | on her lap, and began to play with the
his first sum in subtraction. trimmings on her apron. “ Why, what

“Why, what has the poor slate | is this ?” said she—* soldiers, and cats,
done?” asked the pleasant voice of his | and dogs, and houses with windows of
sister Helen, behind him. all shapes and sizes !”

‘Nothing; just what I complain of. Charlie looked foolish. ‘Oh, the
It won't do this plaguy sum for me; | sum is on the other side,” said he,
and here it is almost school-time !” turning it over.

“ What a wicked slate, Charles!” ‘Ah, silly boy! said Helen; “here

“So it is. I mean tu fling it out of | you have been sitting half an hour
the window, and break it to pieces on | drawing pictures, instead of trying to do
the stones.” | your sum, And now, which do you

“ Will that do your sum, Charlie?” | think ought to be broken, you or your

“No; but if there were no slates in | slate?” and she held it up high, as if
the world, I should have no good-for- | she meant to knock his head with it.
nothing sums to do.” Charlie looked up, with his hands at

“Oh, ho! that does not follow, by | his ears, making believe he was frighten-
any means. Did slates make the science | ed, but laughing all the while, for he
of Arithmetic? Would people never knew she was only playing with him.
have to count and calculate, if there were Presently, however, she put on a serious
no slates? You forget pens, Jead pen- face, and said, “ Now, my little man, you

cils, and paper; you forget all about _must go to work in good earnest, to





oral arithmetic, Charlie!” make up for lost time.”
“Well, I don’t love to cipher; that’s “Oh, Helen, it wants only twenty
all I know.” minutes of nine; I can’t possibly do this

‘And so, you hasty boy, you get sum, and get to school by nine. I shall
angry with the poor harmless slate, that | be late. What shall I do? Miss
is sO convenient when you make mis- | Fletcher will certainly punish me, if ‘it
takes, and want to rub them out again. js not done. Can’t you, just this once,
Now, this.is the way with a great many | Helen?”



thoughtless, and quick-tempered people. “No,” said Helen.

They try .to find fault with somebody |, “Qh, do! there’s a dear, good sister ;
or something else, and get into a pas- | just this once.” |
sion, and perhaps (lo mischief; when, if | “No, Charlie; there would be no

they wou'd but reflect, it is their own- kindness in that. You would never learn

selves who ought to bear the blame. | arithmetic in that way.”

Now, Charlie, let me see what I can do | “Just once,” still pleaded Charlie.

for you.” | **No,” answered Helen, in a kind but
So Helen sat down in her mother’s resolute tone; “if I doit once, you will
THE YOUTHS CABINET. 141

es



find it harder to be refused to-mor-
row. You will depend upon me, and

sit playing and drawing pictures, instead ais who get the most of their
\
oss

Philosophy Outdone.

of ciphering. I will do a much kinder education by means of books, do
thing ; I will keep you close at it till the | not know everything. It some-
job is over,” times happens, indeed, that a

So she passed her hand gently round | child can instruct them in some matters.
nim; and though Charlie pouted at first, | A very learned: man, noted as one of the
and could hardly see through his tears, | wisest philosophers of his time, was one
she questioned him about his rule, and | day very busy in his study, when a little
then began to show him the proper | girl entered, and asked for some fire.
|
|
|



way to do his sum, yet letting him work | “ But,” said the doctor, “you have
it out himself, in such a pleasant manner, | brought nothing to put it ia.” “Oh
that he was soon ashamed of being sullen. | yes, I have,” replied the little girl; and
First she held the pencil herself, and put | while the man of learning was hunting
down the figures as he told her to do; up some vessel for her use, she stooped
and then she made him copy the whole, | down at the fire-place, and taking some
nicely, on another part of the slate, and | cold ashes in one hand, she put the live
rub out her figures. embers on them with the other. The
After all this was finished, patiently | doctor was astonished. “Well,” said
and diligently, Charlie was surprised to | he, “with all my learning, I should
find he should still be in good season | never have thought of that.” Common
for school. sense is better than philosophy, some-
“‘ Now, to-morrow, Charlie,” said Hel- | times.
en, “don’t waste a moment, but go to
your lesson at once, wherever it is, and

z —_—_——

you will find it a great saving, not only

of time, but of temper. You won’t get

into a passion with this-clever old slate Dr. Johnson.

of mine then. It went to school with

me when I was a little girl, and I should HE celebrated Dr. Johnson, in
have been sorry if you had smashed it “ making proposals of marriage to
for not doing your work. Half the time, Mrs. Porter, informed her that he
Charlie, when you see a person fidgety was of mean descent; that he

and angry, and complaining of things | had no money ; and that he had had an
and people, you may be sure he has | ynele hung. The lady replied, that these
done something he ought not to do, or | cireumstances need not stand in the way
left undone something he ought to do.” | of their union; for that she had no more

Away ran Charles to school, thinking money than himself, and that, though
to himself, “Well, I suppose I was | she did not recollect that any of her re-
wrong both ways, I ought not to have | Jations had ever been hung, she was sure
been drawing soldicrs, and I ought to! gye had a score or two who deserved
have been ciphering.”-——Child’s Present. hanging.
I





HARRY AND HIS DOG,
THE YOUTH'’S CABINET.

143

Harry and his Dog;

OR THE EVILS OF DISOBEDIENCE,



BY KATE SUTHE RLAND.

se ee

he passed out of the house, with
his satchel in his hand; “come,
old fellow !’

Nero sprang instantly to his feet, and,
dishing past the boy, ran a few rods
from the house, and then pausing, turn-
ed, and with a look half human in its
pleasure and intelligence, waiied for
Harry to come up with him.

Now, Henry’s mother had more than
once told him, that he must not take
N ro away when he went to school.
But it was so pleasant to have the dog’s
company along the road to the school-
house, that the lad every now and then
disobeyed this injunction, trusting that
he would escape punishment.

Nero was quite as willing to go with
his young master, as the latter was to
have him in company; and he bounded
away, as has been seen, at the first
word of encouragement, But the two
friends had not proceeded far, before
the mother of Henry saw them from her
windows, and instantly came out, and
called after Nero, She was offended at
the disobedience of ber son, and uftered
some threatening words to both him and
the dog.

Nero did not at. first show much incli-
nation to obey the authoritative voice
of Mrs. Long; and if Harry had only
s-oken a single word, would have gone
with him, in spite of all opposition.
But that word Harry dared not speak ;
and so the dog stood still, looking back
first towards M:s, Long, and then wist-

a iA} ome, Nero!” said Harry Long, as

e+ eee oe eee

fully after his young master. Finally
Nero returned slowly to the house, and
Henry went on as slowly, and equally as
much disappointed, to school.

When Henry returned home, a few
hours afterward, his mother received him
kindly, yet with a serious countenance.
His first thought was of his disobedience
in trying to get Nero to follow him to
school; and, as* he expected, she began
at once to speak on that subject.

“Henry,” said she, “I hardly think
you can have forgotten what I said to
you last week, about taking Nero away
from home.” |

Harry hung his head, and did not at-
tempt to offer an excuse for his conduct.

“I am extremely sorry,” continued
Mrs. Long, “that my son should have
acted so, disobediently—sorry for his
sake; for disobedience brings evil into
the heart, and this creates unhappiness.
And I am also sorry, for another cause :
to disobey, is to do wrong; and wrong-
doing, in almost every case, injures
others,”

Harry looked up into his mother’s
face, with a glance of inguiry.

“Yes, my son,” she added, “ wrong-
doing, in almost every case, injures
others.”

“It couldn’t have hurt anybody, if I
had taken Nero to school with me; how
could it, mother?” said the boy.

Mrs. Long gazed for a few moments
into the face of Harry, and then, reach-
ing her hand towards him, said—

* Come !”
144

There was something so serious, not
to say solemn, in the face of Mrs. Long,
that the lad began to feel a little
strangely.

“ Where, mother 2”’ he asked.

But she did not answer, and he moved
along silently by her side.

From the sitting-room down stairs,

where the mother had met her boy,
they passed along the passage, and up
stairs into a chamber, where, to his sur-
prise, Harry saw his little sister Phoebe,
a sweet child in her second year, lying
asleep, and looking so pule and deadly,
that the sight caused a shudder to pass
through his frame.
Ave Oh, mother!” he exclaimed, turning
quickly, and grasping the garment of his
_parent. “ Dear mother, what is the
matter with Phoebe ?” |

‘Let us sit down here by the win-
dow,” said Mrs. Long, in a calm voice,
“and I will tell you all about what has
happened.”

‘Is she dead, mother?” eagerly asked
the boy, while the tears came into his
eyes,

“No, my child; she is not dead,
tuanks to our heavenly Father. But I
cannot tell how it would now be, if you
had taken Nero off to school with you
this morning.”

‘Why, mother, what did Nero do?”

“Listen, and I will tell you. After I
called the dog back, he came and laid
himself down on the mat before the door,
and placing his head between his fore
paws, shut his eyes, and seemed to be
sleeping. He remained lying thus for
nearly an hour, when, all at once, I saw
him start up, listen, and look about him.
Presently, he ran off, and went all
around the house. He seemed uneasy

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.’



about something. First he looked in
one direction, and then in another; snuff-
ed the air; put his nose to the ground,
and ran a little way fiom the house, and
then came back again.

“«What’s the matter, Nero? said I.

“He came and fixed his eyes upon
my face, with a look that to me seemed
anxious, stood for a few moments, and
then went to his mat again. But he did
not lie there more than an instant, before
he arose and started off up stairs. Ina
little while, he came down, and seemed
more uneasy than ever. I began now to
feel strangely.

“«Where is Phoebe?” I now called
out to Margaret, who was in the kitchen.

“«’m sure I don’t know,’ replied
Margaret; ‘I thought she was with
you.’

‘“ At this moment, with a short bark,
Nero sprang away toward the spring.
I saw this, and fearing that Phoebe
might have wandered off in that direc-
tion, followed quickly. But ere I had
gone half way, I beheld the noble dog
returning with your little sister in his
mouth, and the water dripping from her
hair and clothes. She appeared to be
quite dead, when I took her into my
arms, and did not show any signs of life
for nearly half an hour afterwards.
Then she began slowly to recover. Oh,
my son! think what might have been
the consequence, if our faithful Nero had
not been at home.”

Harry covered his face with his hands,
and burying them in his mother’s lap,
sobbed bitterly.

“ And will Phoebe get well, mother?”
he asked, looking up with tearful eyes,
after he had grown calmer.

' “Yes, my son,’ replied Mrs, Long ;
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 145

nemesis
heart was bent on going. After his

trunk had been carried down to the
boat, he went to bid his mother farewell,
and saw the tears bursting from her
eyes. However, he said nothing to her ;
but he saw that his mother would be dis-
tressed, if he went, and perhaps never
be happy again. He just turned round
to the servant, and said, “Go and tell
them to fetch my trunk back. I will
not go away to break my mother’s
heart.” His mother was struck with
his decision, and she said to him,
“George, God has promised to bless
the children that honor their parents,
and I believe he will bless you.”





Se
“she is out of all danger now. God has
permitted her still to remain with us.”

“Oh, if she had been drowned!” said
Harry, the tears flowing afresh.

“But for Nero, this painful event
might have taken place.”

‘ Suppose he had gone to school with
me?” ‘The boy saddened as he spoke.

“Sad, sad might have been the con-
Sequences of your disobedience, my son.
You now understand what I meant by
our wrong acts affecting others as well as
ourselves. In right doing, Henry, there
is always safety. Never forget this,
May the lesson you have now received,
go with you through the remainder of
your life!’

Just then Phoebe awoke, and rose up
in bed. Harry ran to her, and putting
his arm about her neck, kissed her ten-
derly. Nero came in soon after, and
shared the joy and caresses of his young
friend, with whom, not many hours be-
fore, he had joined in willing disobe-
dience. But Nero was not to blame in
this; for he followed the instinct of his
nature. Henry was alone to blame; for
he had reason and reflection, and knew
that the act he meditated was wrong,
because it was an act of disobedience.—

NV. Y. Organ. |





















Business First, and then Pleasure.

MAN, who is very rich now, was
poor when a boy. When asked
how he got his riches, he replied,
‘‘My father taught me never to

play till all my work for the day was
finished, and never to spend my money
till I had earned it. If I had but half
an hour’s work to do in the day, I must
do that the first thing, and in half an
hour. After this was done, I was allow-
ed to play; and I could then play with
much more pleasure than if I had the
thought of an unfinished task before my
mind. I early formed the habit of doing
everything in its time, and it soon became
perfectly easy to do so. It is to this
habit that I owe my prosperity.” . Let
every boy who reads this, go and do
likewise, and he may meet a similar
reward.— Anecdotes for Boys.

Admirable Example.

EORGE. WAsHIN@ToN, when young,

was about to go to sea as a mid-
shipman ; everything was arran.

ged, the vessel lay opposite his
father’s house, the little boat had come
on shore to take him off, and his whole
She Forfarshire was
a British steamer,
= which sailed be-
= tween Hull and
= Dundee. She
left Hull on the
evening of Wed-
nesday, Septem-
a oa ber 5th, 1838,
having on board a valuable cargo, and
upward of forty passengers. Her crew
consisted of twenty-one persons; the
captain’s wife accompanied him on the
voyage,

The Forfarshire had not proceeded
far, when a leak was discovered in the
boiler, This rendered it necessary to ex-
tinguish two of the fires, which were,
however, relighted when the boiler had
been partially repaired. The vessel con-
tinued her course until the following
evening, by which time she had pro-
ceeded as far as Berwick Bay, when the
leak again appeared. It had now be-
come so great, that the greatest difficul-
ty was experienced in keeping the boilers
filled, the water escaping through the
leak as fast as it was pumped in. The
wind was blowing strong, and the sea
running high; and the leak increased so
much, from the motion of the vessel, that
the fires were extinguished, and the en-
gines, of course, became entirely useless.
Ii was now about ten o'clock at night,
and they were off St. Abbs’ Head, a
bold promontory on the Scottish coast.
There being great danger of drifting
ashore, the sails were hoisted fore and
uft, and the vessel put about, in order
to get her before the wind, and keep her





THE YOUTH’S ‘CABINET.

ageable, and the tide setting strong to
the south, she proceeded in that direc-
tion. It rained heavily during the whole
time, and the fog was so dense that it
became impossible to tell the situation of
the vessel. At Jength breakers were
discovered close to leeward, and the
Ferne Lights, which about the same pe-
riod became visible, put an end to all
doubt as to the imminent peril of the un-
fortunate vessel. An attempt was made
to run her between the Ferne Islands,
but she refused to obey the helm; and
at three o’clock on Friday morning. she
struck with tremendous force against the
outer or Longstone Island.

At the moment the vessel struck,
most of the passengers were below, and
many of them asleep in their berths.
One, alarmed by the shock, started up,
and rushed upondeck. When he reach-
ed it, he found everything in confusion :
and seeing part of the crew hoisting out
a boat, he sprang into it. The raging
of the sea instantly separated it from the
vessel ; and though several of the other
passengers attempted to reach it, they
were unsuccessful, and perished in the
attempt. The boat itself escaped by
something little short of a miracle,
There was but one outlet by which it
could avoid being dashed to pieces on
the breakers by which it was surrounded.
This outlet it providentially took, without
its crew being aware of it; and after
being exposed to the storm all night, it
was picked up by a sloop, and carried
into Shields.

In less than five minutes after the ves-
sel struck, a second shock separated her
into two parts—the stern, quarter-deck,
and cabin, being instantly borne away,

off the land. She soon became unman- | through a passage called the Piper Gut.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

by @ tremendous current, which runs
with considerable violence even in tem-
perate weather, with a rapidity of about
six miles an hour, but which, when the
* weather is tempestuous, flows with a
force truly terrific,

The fore part of the vessel, in the
meantime, remained fast on the rock,
and to it still clung the few passengers
who remained, every instant expecting to
share the fate of thei unfortunate com-
panions, whom they had seen swept
away by the raging’ element. In this
dreadful situation, their cries attracted
the notice of Grace Darling, the daugh-
ter of the keeper of the Outer Ferne
Lighthouse. With a noble heroism, she

immediately determined to attempt their
rescue, in spite of the raging of the

storm, and the all but certain destruc-
tion which threatened to attend it.
Having hastily awakened her father,
he launched his boat at daybreak, and
with a generous sympathy worthy of the
father of Grace Darling, prepared to
proceed to their rescue. The gale, in
‘the meantime, continued unabated, and
the boiling of the waves threatened a
“Speedy destruction to their frail boat.
It was therefore with a heart full of the
most fearful forebodings, that he under-
took the perilous enterprise, After
watching the wreck for some time, they
discovered that living beings were still
clinging to it, and the gallant young
woman seized an oar, and entered the
boat. This was enough. Her father fol-
lowed, and with the assistance of his
daughter, conducted the frail skiff over
the foaming billows, to the spot where
the wreck appeared, By a dangerous
and desperate effort, he was landed on the
rock ; and to preserve the frail boat

147

-~—

from being dashed to pieces, it was
rapidly rowed back among the awful
abyss of waters, and kept afloat by the

skilfulness and dexterity of this noble-
minded young woman. At length, the
whole of the survivors, consisting of five
of the crew and four of the passengers,
were taken from the wreck, and convey-
ed to the light-house, where Grace Dar-
ling ministered to their wants, and anx-
lously, for three days and three nights,
waited on the sufferers, and soothed their
afflictions. This perilous achievement,
unexampled in the feats of female fortj-
tude, was witnessed by the survivors in
silent wonder, The weather continued
so tempestuous, that the main land could
not be reached til] Sunday, when the
nine persons, saved by the gallant hero-
ism of the Darlings, were landed in safe-
ty; thus making the entire number of
persons saved from the wreck eighteen,
All the others perished.

Those who found refuge on the rock
on which the vesse] ‘struck, suffered
severely, during the night, from the cold
and the heavy seas, which at intervals
washed over them. The female passen-
ger who escaped, sat with her two chil-
dren, a boy and a girl, the one eight and
the other eleven years of age, firmly
grasped in each hand, long after the buf-
fetings of the waves had deprived them
of existence. The captain and his wife
were washed from the wreck, clasped
in each other’s arms, and both drowned.

Here was an act of heroism, to which
you will find few parallels; nor has it
been without its reward. Besides the
satisfaction of saving nine fellow-crea-
tures from certain destruction, the fame
of the heroic act has spread far and
wide, and its praise been on every
148

tongue. Painters, of no mean power
have portrayed the scene, and _ its
memory will be thus preserved. Pre-
sents have besides poured in upon her

THE YOUTILS CABINET.







and her father, and everything been done
to mark the public sympathy and ap-
probation of the daring and disinterested
deed.—Bingley’s Tales of Shipwrecks.



The Stag proud of his Horns—A Fable.

Sraa, drinking at a clear spring
saw himself in the water; and
pleased with the prospect, stood
afterward, for some time, con-

templating and surveying himself from
head to foot. “Ah,” said he, “what a
glorious pair of branching horns are
there! how gracefully do those antlers
hang over my forehead, and give an
agreeable turn to my whole face! If
some other parts of my body were but
proportionable to them, I would turn
' my back to nobody; but I have a set of
such legs, as really makes me ashamed
to see them. People may talk what
they please of their conveniences, and
what great need we have of them upon
several occasions, but for my part, I find
them so very slender and unsightly, that
I would as soon have none at all.”

While he was giving himself these airs,
he was alarmed by the noise of some
huntsmen and a pack of dogs, who were
making rapid way toward him. Away
he flies, in much consternation, and
bounding nimbly over the plain, left
dogs and men at a vast distance behind
him. After which, he had the ill-luck
to get entangled by his horns in a thicket,
where he was held fast till the dogs
came in, and pulled him down. Find-
ing how it was likely to go with him, in
the pangs of death, he uttered these
words :—‘ Unhappy creature that I am!
I am convinced, too late, that what I
prided myself in, has been the cause of
my undoing; and what I so much dis-
liked, was the only thing that could
have saved me. I am ruined by my
own folly.”’—Selected.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. .

The Hindoo Mother.

omE of you have very likely heard

that there is a river in the north

of Indja, called the Ganges, and
which the poor, ignorant people

there foolishly worship. They look upon

i's waters as very sacred, and fancy that
if they drink them, they will get a great
blessing from them; or if they wash in

them, they will come out quite cleansed
from their sin; or if they die in them,

will go, all bright and glorious, to Para-

dise.

The great value they thus set upon
the Ganges makes them offer to it very
costly things, and sometimes they will
throw into it all sorts of precious jewels,
in the hope that the goddess who rules
over it will do them good. Even little
children are sometimes thrown thus into

the river.

One day, a young Hindoo mother
was seen going down to the Ganges,
carrying a sweet little babe in her arms,

which she was loading with her kisses,
and bathing with her tears. The person
that saw her thought, “ Ah, poor Hin-
doo woman! she is going to throw that
child to the Ganges ;” so he watched
her. When she got down to the river,
he saw her lay her lovely babe upon
the grass, and then, going to the edge
of the stream, gather some of the long
reeds or flags that grow there: these
she plaited together, so as to make a
sort of little raft. She then gathered a
number of the beautiful flowers of the
lotus—a sort of water lily, and with

these she made a wreath all round the.

raft, Then, lighting a little lamp, and
placing it in one corner, she lifted up her
babe, again loaded it with kisses, placed

149

it in the midst of the flowers, and then
pushed all off upon the surface of the
stream, a beautiful offering to the god- -
dess. She thought that the stream.
would bear away her gift quite out of
sight ; that by and by, her darling babe
might, perhaps, fall off the raft, and’ be
drowned in the sacred river, and then,
as its blest spirit rose to paradise, the
goddess would pardon her sin, and bless
her soul. But it so happened ‘that she
did not push it far enough, and the
eddies of the river brought back the little |
raft underneath the overhanging branches
of some bushes at the side. The little
babe held out its hands to its mother,
and cried for her to take it up; but no,
she had given it up to the Ganges, and
she dare not take it back. At last, as it
passed under a branch, the little thing
caught fast hold of it, and lifted i:self up
a little from the raft. The moment the
mother saw that, she was seized with
fear, that perhaps, after all, it might
escape, and then a curse, and not a bless-
ing, would fal] upon her spirit. So she
rushed down to the spot, and scrambling
out to the end of the branch where her
little child clung, she seized hold of it,
wrung its little neck round and round, °
and then threw it out into the river,
where it sunk to rise no more! |

“O cruel Hindoo mother!” you all of
youcry out; but I would rather say,
“OQ ignorant Hindoo mother!” Poor
woman! she did not know that God had
given his Son to die for her; so she gave
her babe an offering to the Ganges,
Had she known what you know, of God

giving his Son for her sins, sne would

not have acted as she did. Oh, let us

send her word of the glorious Gospel of

God, and tell her she need not throw
io:

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her child to the Ganges; for God has | The mantle of flowers on each vale that she'll

given us his Son, and “his blood
eleanseth from all sin.”--S, S. Advo-

Cute,
a
Spring.
Sex, see, on the trees how the leaf-buds are
swelling—

A harbinger sure of the coming of Spring;
And soon ’mid their boughs will the wild birds
be dwelling,
And blithely their sweet, merry carol will
ring !

The bonds of the ice-king are rivers asunder,
And away he has flown to some far-distant
land ;
Bright flowers are waking from out their long
slumber,
For they’ve felt the warm touch of Spring's
magical wand.

a river has burst his stern majesty’s chain,
' And merrily dances along on its way ;
‘On its bosom, bright jewels it bears to the
\. ‘main;

~ Each drop is a gem in the sun’s brilliant ray.

Oh, sweet are the joys of the winter fireside,
While the voice of the storm whistles shrilly
around ;
And ’tis pleasant with fleet-footed coursers to
ride,
As light o’er the new-fallen snow-wreaths
they bound.

How cheerful the sound of the ringing sleigh-
bells,
As ’tis borne to our ears on the clear, frosty
wind ;
Of frolicsome glee every laughing face tells ;
All traces of care are left far, far behind.

But dearer to me are the foot-prints of Spring,
The low, gushing song of the pure mountain
rill,

fling,
And the melody wild of the birds on the
wing,

Oh, swells not each heart on this beautiful
earth,

From its innermost depths, with extatic de-
light,

As the eye over Nature’s fair landscape roves
forth,

And beholds the rich gifts from the Father of
Light #

AGNES F, BR.

The Honest Farmer.

wo farmers having a dispute as to
some land, an action at law was
commenced to determine it. On
the day fixed for the trial, one of
them called on his opponent to accompa-
ny him to the court, that each might
give his own statement of the case.
Finding his neighbor at work in the field,
he said to him, “Is it possible you have
forgotten our cause is to be decided to-
day?” “No,” said the other, “I have
not forgotten it, but I cannot well spare
time to go. You will be there, and 1
know you are an honest man, and will
state the case fairly ; and justice will be
done.” And soit proved ; for the farm-
er who went, to the judge, stated his
neighbor’s claims so clearly, that the
cause was decided against himself, and
he returned to inform his opponent that
he had gained the property. Such a
character is worth more than the wealth
of the Indies. But how widely different
is the spirit usually exhibited by men in
their dealings with each other !
ee a a ne ee ee _



The Blue-Bird.

HE pleasing manners and social dis-

position of this little bird, entitle
him to particular notice. He is

one of the first messengers of

spring. Oh, how it used to gladden

my heart, as the snows of winter melted

away, to hear the first notes of this
sweet songster! I used to fancy that

the same individuals returned to my
father’s orchard, from year to year, and
that they recognized me when I welcom-
ed them to our dwelling.

The blue-bird is generally regarded as
a bird of passage. Still, I have known
pairs of them appear, in the latitude of
Connecticut, as early as the middle of
February, when the weather was unu-
sually warm for that season of the year.
Poor fellows! when they made so early

a visit, they invariably had to pay pretty
Â¥. 10

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151

ee A ELLIO LE LAINIE

dearly for it. ‘They were sure to encoun-
ter cold weather, and frequently severe
snow-storms. I have almost cried,
many a time, when I have thought of
what the dear little creatures must suffer
at such times.

The favorite spot for the nest of the
blue-bird is a hole in some old tree. An
apple tree suits him very well; and he
is more generally found in an apple orch-
ard, than anywhere else. It is to be
presumed that these birds do not them-
selves bore the holes in the tree where
they build their nest. I am inclined to
think, that those with whom I was ac-
quainted, when I was a little boy, appro-
priated the holes formerly made by the
woodpecker. After the nest is built,
the owners are sometimes obliged to
abandon it to other birds. The little
restless, fidgety, twittering wren, for in-

stance, loves just such a place as the
MY
152

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blue-bird does; and I have known the
sly fellow come along just as the blue-
bird family had got settled, and watch-
ing an opportunity when the blue-birds
were away—perhaps calling on some
neighbors—enter the hole, pull the nest
all to pieces, and carry off the timber to
build his own nest. The provoking fel-
low! I have had a good mind to stone
him, more than once, while this mis-
chief was going on. The wren is no fa-
vorite of mine; he is so unamiable and
ill-tempered.

The blue-bird lays five, and sometimes
six eggs, of a pale blue color. I have
known boys steal the eggs of this charm-
ing bird; but I never had the heart to
do it. Moreover, I always had a very
low opinion of a boy who would do such
a thing; and I think now as I thought
then, that any boy or girl who takes
pleasure in robbing the nests of innocent
birds, exhibits a cruel disposition ; and I
am always afraid that this disposition will
show itself in their conduct toward man-
kind, as well as in their conduct toward
birds.

The principal food of these birds are
insects, particularly large beetles, and
worms, such as usually abound in the
heart of trees partially decayed. Spi-
ders, too, seem to afford them a very ac-
ceptable repast. In the fall of the year,
they often feed on berries.

The usual spring and summer song of
the blue-bird, as most of my readers
know, is a soft, agreeable, and oft-repeat-
ed warble. He is a remarkably good
neivhbor. I never heard of his quarrel-
ing and fighting with other birds.
Everyboyd ought to love him. Shall I
tell you, little boy—I mean you who
live in the country—how you can coax a

pair of them to build their nest under
your window, and wake you up in the
morning with their cheerful warbling ?
Save a few cents of the money that
you get, and then—that is, if your
father or older brother cannot attend to
the business—hire some carpenter to
make you a little house, one or two feet
square, with holes in it. Place this min-
iature house on a high post near your
window, or set it on the corn-house or
barn. Do it early in the spring, and you
may depend the blue-birds will see it,
and build their nest in it. If you have
two or three holes in the house, and as
many different partitions inside, perhaps
you will have two or three families of
blue-birds for you tenants. What do
you think of that plan, little friends ?
Can’t you afford to build such a house,
and give the blue-birds the use of it?
They will pay for the rent in music—my
word for it. Look at my friend in the
picture, sitting on the limb of his favorite
tree, trying to find a good place for his
nest. Look at him! See what a fine
countenance he has. Do you wonder
that I like him so well? “No, no,” you
all say; ‘I like the blue-bird as well as
you do.” Well, build a nice little cot-
tage for him, then.

Never hesitate to obey the orders of
those who are placed in authority over
you, always remembering that we must
stoop to rise.—True humility of mind is
of such great value, that no effort is tdo
great to obtain it.—Never lose your tem-
per by the faults of others, recollecting
how many faults you possess yourself.
THE YOUTH'S CABINET.



A Visit to the Florists.

BY JOHN B, NEWMAN, M. D.

NE fine morning in early spring,
Mr. Sanford accom panied. his two
daughters to a florist’s in Broad-
way, to secure some seeds for
their garden. Passing Union Square,
on their return home, they stopped to
look at a noble mansion which had just
been built for a wealthy merchant, and
the furnishing of which was nearly com-
pleted. The foreman, who was superin-



153

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tending the work, observed them, and
knowing Mr. Sanford, invited the party
to walk in, and inspect the building.
They found the external appearance
far surpassed by the grandeur within.
Every modern improvement was there ;
and for comfort, as well as beauty, the
whole exceeded anything they had ever
heard of, except in fairy tnles. After a
delightful ramble through the halls, par-
lors, chambers, and greenhouses, and
being lost ‘1 wonder at the carpets,

mirrors, statues, and pictures, they left
154

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

cect eaamcceaitatnaiinnaaa tease aL LLL ALL

the house. Surprise had kept them
_ silent while in the presence of so much
splendor; but as soon as they were
again on the side-walk, they began com-
menting on what they had seen.

“Did you notice,” said Caroline to her

sister, “that every suite of chambers
had a bath-room attached, and there
were a set of bell tassels to each, with
written labels underneath; so that by
pulling a particular one, the bell would
tell what was wanted, and it might be
brought at once, without the necessity
of a servant coming to inquire, and then
having to return for it 2”

“ Yes,” said Emily ; “ but what tee
ed me most was the arrangements for
heating, by furnaces in the cellar, and
hot air pipes opening into every room by
regulators, by moving the slides of
which you could make the room as
warm or as cool as you chose, without
any of the dust or annoyance we have
with our stoves and grates.”

“How I wish we had just such a
house!” said Caroline; “I should then
be perfectly happy.”

Their father, who had been listening

for some time in silence, said, “* Would
not your admiration of such a house be
much increased, if you saw it at first com-
pressed into less than a solid inch, and
then gradually expanding until it had
attained its present size; the furniture,
too, expanding with the rooms, in exact
proportion as they increased ?”
“That would be impossible,”
Caroline ;
house.”
“That is very true; no human archi-
tect could accomplish it. But God is
continually performing such wonders in

said
‘no man could form such a

every plant and animal on the earth;

ject:



and his structures are infinitely more per-
fect than man can make. The seeds
you carry have each a living inhabitant,
that builds itself a palace of wonderful
beauty and convenience.”

“T have always loved my flowers,”
said Emily, “ but never viewed them in
that light before.”

«Then you have not derived from
them one half the enjoyment it was pos-
sible for you to receive; but as we are
at home now, and I have other things to
attend to, I will wait until evening to
tell you more about them.”

The sisters did not think of contrasting
their plain, although comfortable home
with the place they had first visited ; on
the contrary, they were considering how
little the latter could vie with a self-ex-_
panding box, or even a seed. With
greater interest than ever before, the
flower-beds were prepared for planting.
When this was finished, they attended
to their usual occupation, and although
pleasantly employed, wished impatiently

for evening.

Directly after tea, Caroline’s curiosity
prompted her at once to open the sub-
“Papa,” she said, “how is it
known that each seed contains a living
inhabitant?”

“One proof among many others may
be afforded, by placing two seeds, one
of which has had an electric spark pass-
ed through it, to destroy its vitality, in a
warm, moist corner of the garden. The
dead seed soon decays, while the other,
exposed to the same influences, is roused
to action, and soon becomes a vigorous
plant, bearing beautiful flowers.”

“ How does it do that?” asked Caro-
line.

“The little seed, as soon as it is stim-
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

_———



155



ulated by the warmth and moisture,
throws off its outer husk. A root runs
below, and a stalk shoots above, to bear
the leaves. At the end of the root is a
bunch of small, leech-like vessels, called
spongioles. ‘These- suck up the watery
matter in the soil, and instantly convert
it into water, mucilage, and sugar. ‘The
sap is then taken by an ascending series
of vessels to the leaves, to become pum-
fied. Arrived at the leaves, it absorbs
poisonous air, or carbonic acid gas, from
the atmosphere, and throws off pure air,
or oxygen gas. ‘The perfected sap is
then called proper juice, and is carried
through the plant to supply its wants.
The refuse is thrown out at the roots,
near the spongioles, by another set of
vessels.”

C. “You say it absorbs poisonous
air, and throws out pure air. I should
have thought it would have done exactly
opposite.”

KF. “1 spoke with regard to ourselves.
Leaves are vegetable lungs. The blood
in the lungs of animals throws out car-
bonie acid, and absorbs oxygen. Plants,
by doing the reverse of this, purify the
air for our respiration, and we, in turn,
purify it for them. What is life to one,
is poison to the other, ‘ Astonishing
creation ! says Flint, ‘from which nothing
can be taken without the destruction of
a'l. What an immense distance separates
a blade of grass from man! yet on the
frail tribes of vegetation, by a double
necessity (food and pure air) our lives
depend.’ The Persian poet, Saadi,
wrote a fable, which proves that he un-
derstood, as a philosopher, the harmony
which he sung as a poet. Here is the
book; will you read it, Emily ?”

E. “*A nightingale is imprisoned in a

ized anew by the rose.



cage of glass, with a rose-bush in full
bloom. Each gives life to the other.
Deprived of fresh air, the bird would
soon cease to swell his little throat with
harmony. The rose greedily absorbs the
air, which has been rejected by its loved
Philomel, and blushes to brighter tints—
respires, transforms, and returns it pul-
fied, to be again inhaled by the bird,

which again decomposes it, to be neutral-
When the bird
at length expires, singing its dirge of
gratitude, the rose-bush withers and
dies.’ ”’

F. “The proper juice of plants not
only supplies their necessities, but also
affords material out of which to manu-
facture the various essential oils, as the
rose, lemon, and cinnamon ;_ the poisons,
as the upas, oxalic acid, and all other
vegetable compounds.”

C. “I cannot conceive how so many
kinds of plants grow in the same kind of
earth. If their food is the same, why
should they not be all alike?”

F. “ Your mother, and sister, and my-
self, eat the same food ; how is it, then,
that we can be distinguished from each
other? ‘The difference is not in the food,
but in the life-power. Plants are mostly
composed of but four elements—oxygen,
hydrogen, nitrogen, and carbon. ‘The
first two make water, and the last two
are to be found in the atmosphere.
The earth serves more as a support for
the plant, than anything else. The air-
flower of the East Indies is twined on
ribbons, suspended from the ceiling, and
yet, year after year, it sends out the
most beautiful flowers, whose sweet
odors perfume the air, living solely on
the moisture and gases of the atmos-
phere. The refuse from the roots, after
156

a few years’ growth, in the same place,
accumulates, so that the plant cannot be
supported ; for it will not take up what
it has rejected. Its location must be
changed, and another kind put in its
place. This practice, applied to grain-

bearing plants, is called ‘ rotation of
" crops.’”

CG. “How is the seed formed? Is it
made from the proper juice ?”

F. “Not exactly. Every part of a
growing plant is filled with germs, which
only require suitable coverings to be-
come seeds, When a plant has attained
its perfection, it begins to provide these
coverings. The flower-buds open, and
disclose, as in the lily, an outer row of
stamens, surrounding a central column,
or pistil.
collection of germs, ready to become
seeds. The anthers of the stamens se-
crete a powder, which, when ripe, is
dropped upon the top of the pistil, or
stigma. The excitement thus produced
stimulates the germs, which rapidly in-
crease in size, and become properly
clothed so as to fit them for all the ex-
igencies of the weather. The blossom,
leaves, and stamens, having fulfilled their
office, decay, and fall off; so that the
seeds, left without incumbrance, gradu-
ally mature.”



My Mother’s Voice.

My mother’s voice! now often creeps
Its cadence on my lonely hours!
Like healing sent on wings of sleep,
Or dew to the unconscious flowers.
I can forget her melting wee
While leaping pulses madly fly ;
But in the still, unbroken air
Her gentle tones come stealing by ;
And years, and sin, and manhood flee,
‘And jeave me at my mother’s knee.

At the base of the pistil is a



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The April-Fool Egg.

nat kind of an egg is that?”
\ y you ask, Well, I am just
going to tell you all I know
about it. When I was a little
child, I found an egg ina hen’s nest, on
the first day of April. It was just the
size and shape of any hen’s egg; but
one thing about it seemed very strange
to me—there was “ April-Fool” on one
side of it, in plain characters. They
were not written with a pencil, or with
ink, neither were they scratched into the
surface. They were made of the same
material as the shell, and close examina-
tion proved that they were not pasted
on. They stood out in bas relief, as
artists say. How strange! Did the
hen know it was the first of April? And
if so, how did she know it? If she had
an almanac, she could not read. It seem-
ed very unaccountable—almost as mys-
terious as the peculiar knockings that
are said to be heard in the city of Roch-
ester. It occupied my mind all day.
Did the hen mean to have me put the
egg back in the nest, and have it hatch-
ed into achicken? ‘Then it would be
an April-fool chicken, I thought. I
never found out to a certainty how it all
happened. But I suspect my sister
Harriet, who knew more of chemistry
than I did, could have told me all about
it, At any rate, she enjoyed the sport
of seeing me so puzzled.

Ever since that time, when I have
heard of some wonderful mystery, that
somebody will show me for a little
money, I have remembered the April-
fool egg; and it has saved me many a
shilling. Perhaps, dear reader, it may
give you a hint. Ww.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 157

The Bird’s Nest.



BY J. P. M’coRD,



One sunny day in early spring,
While gladness ruled the hour,

1 saw two robins quit the wing,
And meet within a bower.

It seem’d a chance by which they met;
Yet in each conscious breast

A feeling shy, and trembling yet,
Arranged them thus at rest.

Their meflow voices rang around,
The while they chatter’d free ;

They knew the sense of every sound,
Though quite unknown to me,



Perhaps they raised a morning hymn,
Or praised the budding groves ;

But doubtless, too, that rocking limb
Was witness to their loves.

For soon, in wish and hope agreed,

To live as man and mate, ,
I saw them o’er the fields proceed,

To found their little state.

They ceased, ere long, their rambling flight,
And chose a tasteful home ;

‘Twas in a maple’s modest height,
Whose branches arch’d the dome.

The tree adorn’d a gentle slope,
With rural buildings crown’d ;

Fair fields, which raised the owner's hope,
Display’d their wealth around,
158

A fragrant orchard flourish’d near,
A garden nearer still ;

While sounds which cheer the waking year
Low murmur’d round the hill.

With equal zeal, the ardent pair
At once their task began ;

Each twig and fibre, sought with care,
Was moulded to their plan.

While, tireless, as they went and came,
The curious fabric grew,

I wonder’d what within their frame
Could guide their aims so true.

Could reason, man’s exalted lot,
In science proudly skilld,

Have taught to choose a sweeter spot,
Or better how to build!

Secure, when rapid winds should play,
Or roaring tempests beat,

Their dwelling felt the rising day,
But not the noon-tide heat.

With circling walls, and neatly dress’d
With lining soft and warm,

The hand of art has marr’d at best
Its just and faultless form.

The birds send out a cheerful song,
To find their work complete ;

The smiles of love, as duties throng,
Illume their calm retreat.

As now the bride, through weary days,
Retains the burden’d nest ;

From some new perch, her partner’s lays
Relieve her anxious breast.

When all a parent’s joys they share,
Recumbent on the brood,

The two, in turn, renew their care,
In turn convey them food.

They urge them soon, with voice and wing,
To range o’er hill and dale ;

The fledgelings from their cradle spring,
But find their efforts fail.

But where the parents lead the way,
As oft they try to rise,

They learn at length their wings to play,
And trace the lofty skies.

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

If pleased, beneath an ash reclined,
To view a sight so fair,

I more would joy, with men to find
The wisdom practiced there.

May peace and love, to heaven allied,
Thus dwell at every door;

Let parents thus their offspring guide,
And teach their souls to soar

The Generous Blacksmith.

rk Wuson, passing, late one

evening, by a blacksmith’s

shop, and hearing the sound

of the hammer much later
than usual, stepped in to inquire the
cause. The man told him that one of
his neighbors had just been burned out,
and had lost everything; and he had
undertaken to work an hour earlier in
the morning, and an hour later at night,
to help him.

«This is kind in you,” said Mr. Wil-
son; “for I suppose your neighbor will
never be able to pay you again.”

“JT do not expect it,” replied the black-
smith; “but if I were in his situation,
and he in mine, I am sure he would do
as much for me.”

The next morning, Mr. Wilson called
and offered to lend the blacksmith fifty
dollars without interest, so that he might
be able to buy his iron cheaper. But
the man refused to take it; yet told Mr.
Wilson, that if he would lend it to the
man whose house was burned down, it
would go far toward helping him re-
build his cottage. To this Mr, Wilson
consented, and had the pleasure of ma-
king two men happy.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

159

a

The Bonfire ;

OR, MY FIRST ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE.



BY FRANCIS C, WOODWORTH.



HEN achild, I had
a great passion
for a large fire.
I was brought

= up in the coun-

~ try;and nothing
pleased me so
well as to go in-
to the pasture
with my father’s hired men, at a particu-
lar season of the year, and see them set
fire to the heaps of brush which they
had collected. One winter, when I was
quite young, our school-house burned

down. It caught fire in the night, and a
pretty dark night, too, according to my

present recollection, I enjoyed the
fire from our parlor windows—for the
school-house was only a few rods from
my father’s—and although I was sorry
to have the building destroyed, and, pos-
sibly a stray tear or two found their way
down my cheeks, as I heard the crack-
ling of the flames, saw the leaves of the
children’s spelling-beoks all burned to
ashes, rising above that mass of ruin,
until they were lost in the darkness ;
and as I heard the lamentations of the

almost frantic schoolmaster, who, as I
recollect, had been drawn to the scene,
apparently, without having very care-
fully attended to the duties of the toilet-—
though I was sorry to have the old
school-house burned down, yet I thought
I never had beheld a more splendid spec-
tacle than the flame presented. The
event figured in my recollection, with a
good deal of distinctness, for a long



time; and while I hoped that no more
school-houses would take fire, I devoutly
wished, that in case any one should get
into such an unfortunate predicament,
and should, withal, make so respectable
a blaze as ours did, I might, by some
means, be within sight of it at the time.

I suppose there was nothing wrong
in this passion of mine. It was right
enough in itself, perhaps, But there
was something wrong in the mode I took
to indulge the passion ; and that is what
Iam coming at. One windy day, in the
fall of the year, I asked my mother to
let me go into the lot back of the barn,
and make a little bonfire. She was not
willing. I plead with her, however, just
as children should not do, when their
parents deny them anything. I only
wanted to make a little bonfire, a very
little one—so I told her. It would not
do the least harm in the world, I should

be so careful. Still my mother refused.

She was not willing to trust me with fire
in such a windy day and so near the
barn. So she utterly refused her con-
sent to my darling scheme of making a
little bonfire.

Now, reader, what do you think I did,
in this case? “You gave up the
scheme,” I think I hear you say—“ you
gave it up, and amused yourself in some
other way.” That is just exactly what I
ought to have done, but—I grieve to be
obliged to say it—it is exactly what I did
not do.

There was a sort of dialogue going on
in my mind, for the space of several
160

minutes. Two spirits—so it seemed—

were whispering to me, in turn; one
telling me to obey my mother, and the

other urging me to gratify my foolish

whim in the matter of the bonfire. One
made me feel that it was wrong to diso-
_ bey my mother ; that God would see me

kindle the fire, if no one else did, and

that I should offend him; that, on the
whole, my mother understood the mat-
ter better than I could possibly under-
stand it, and that she denied my request,
not for want of love to me, but because
she was afraid that I might, though un-
intentionally, do some mischief.

The other spirit used a very different
set of arguments. They were such as
these: that it was unjust for my mother
to deny me so small a favor; that the
fire would not do the least harm in the
world; that it would afford me a great
deal of amusement; that nobody would
see the fire, as my father and all the
hired men were out in the field at work ;
that as to its being a sin, the notion was
ridiculous; it was such a small affair,
that it was not worth thinking about ; so
that I had better go and kindle the fire
at once.

Alas! I closed my ears to the voice
that urged me to do right, and yielded
to the suggestions of the tempter. Like
a thief, I stole into the kitchen, when no
one saw me, took a coal from the hearth,
and ran with it to the place where I had
determined to make my bonfire. How
foolish, as well as wicked, was the course
I pursued! The ground, for a consider-
able distance in the rear of the barn, was
covered, to a greater or less depth, with
dry buckwheat straw.
T chose for my fire—a little fire it was to
be, you know, a very litle fire—was on



The spot which |

individuals blew

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



the extreme edge of this straw, several
rods, I think it might have been, from the
barn. I gave myself credit for a great
deal of smartness, in selecting a spot so
far from the barn as not to endanger it in
the least ; though, but for this caution, I
might have had a much larger fire. I
collected a small heap of the straw, and
set fire to it.

It burned very readily. There was
no difficulty on that score. The bonfire
did not need any coaxing; the straw
was dry as tinder, and the wind was
very accommodating. I put on a little
more straw, a very little—it was only a
little bonfire that I wished for. It burn-
ed finely. My brightest hopes were re-
alized. By and by, it began to spread
over more ground. Aha! I thought, I
must puta stop to that. I was a cun-
ning boy—I had not: the least doubt of
that. I went to work, trying to stop
the progress of the fire; but the harder
I labored, the faster the flames spread.
The wind was blowing toward the barn,
too. ‘There was danger! When that
truth flashed upon my mind, I burst into
a flood of tears. What couldI do? It
took but a moment to make up my mind ;
and [ran with all my might to the house,
and told my mother the whole story.
She was greatly frightened, but she
went coolly enough to work.

We had two horns in the house, each
of which was used, at different times,
in calling my father and his men to din-
ner, when they were at work in the field.
One of these was a tin horn, made on
purpose for such a use, and the other
was a large sea-shell. My mother took
one of these horns, and gave the other
to Mary, the hired girl; when these two
a blast, which, accord-
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



ing to the best of my recollection, must
have been a great deal more noisy than
musical.

These horns, blown both at once, and
at an hour when it was not possible that
dinner could be ready, sounded odd
enough to my father and hismen. They
listened a moment, and made up their
minds that there was something the
matter at home. Assoon as they looked
toward the house, they saw plainly
enough what the matter was; and you
may be sure they did not lose much
time in running to the scene of danger.
One of them, I recollect, was in such
_ haste, that he swam across a large pond,
' situated between the field where they
were at work and the homestead.
Other men, too, besides those at work
for my father, alarmed by the sound of
the horns, and the sight of the flames,
rushed to the spot, and all together
made a most vigorous effort to prevent
the destruction of the barn, which, by
the way, was at the time full of hay and
grain, and would inevitably have been
consumed, if it had taken fire.

Well, the barn was saved. The men
had to work very hard to save it, how-
ever. Some of them got badly burned,
too; for they were obliged to rush into
the flames, in order to place wet blan-
kets on the side of the building which
was most exposed. The barn was saved ;
but, oh! what pain I suffered while the
result was doubtful! I cried nearly all
the time. I would have given every-
thing I had in the world, if I could have
gone back a few paces in the stream of
time, or could have undone what I had
so foolishly done.

After the fire was put out, the men all
came into the house, to take some re-

161

freshments; and as they occasionally
looked toward me, I felt as if it would
have been a very pleasant thing indeed,
could I but have sunk into some potato-
hole or other, where I could have cover-
ed myself up, and where no mortal eye
could see me. Oh, what. mortification,
and shame, and remorse, had my disobe-
dience occasioned me! Neither my father
nor my mother punished me. for my
fault. They did not, indeed, speak one
word of reprimand. They thought,
I had had sufficient punishment. They
were right. So I thought then, and so
I think now. Nothing they could have
said or done to me would at all have
deepened the conviction in my mind of
the folly and sin of disobedience to pa-
rents, or have tended to strenghten my
resolution to obey in future. I inwardly
felt the truth of that sentiment of Scrip-
ture, that “the way of transgressors is
hard.”

Dear reader, I have here given you a
sort of looking-glass, in which you can
see your face. You can see exactly
where your danger lies, when you are
tempted to disobey your parents. It is
in allowing the tempter, as it were, not
only to come into your mind, but to stay
there, and to repeat his wicked sugges-
tions a hundred times over. How easy
I could at first have resisted the tempta-
tion to make my bonfire, contrary to the
command of my mother! But I did not
resist it. I cherished it. I turned it
over and over in my thoughts, until my
soul was full of it. After that, I could
no more control my wicked inclinations _
than I could control the fire, after I had

lighted it, and fed it bountifully with
fuel. I was no longer my own master.—

Mother’s Magazine.
162

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



ROSTOREAL DABLETALE.

MINERAL OR DIVINING RODS,
IGHT is
‘ wanted
by one
of our
friends,
writing over the
signature of “ In-
quirer,” respecting
the mineral rods,
by means of which,
in the section of
the country where he lives, it is pretended
that gold or silver mines can be discover-
ed. He desires Theodore Thinker to
state what there is worth knowing about
these rods—how they ever came into
use—whether there is any such virtue in
them as is claimed for them, and if so,
wherein that virtue consists.




In accordance with the wish of my
correspondent, as well as for the benefit
of others who may take an interest in the
matter—and I suppose that there are a
good many of that class among my
readers, now that the gold mines in Cali-
fornia are attracting so much attention—
I will cheerfully give such information on
the subject as I have at command.

I do not know precisely what kind of
rods are used for the purpose of dis-
covering valuable metals, in that part
of the country where my correspondent
lives. I presume that there are differ-
ent ones in different places. But what-
ever they are, I give it as my opinion,
that so far as their supposed virtue is
concerned, they are not worth a rye
straw. Thousands of people, however,
in different ages of the world, from a very

early period to the present day, have be-
lieved, and do believe, that gold and sil-
ver, and, indeed, other valuable treasures,
can be discovered by such means. ‘To
go no further back, an Italian, by
the name of Campetti, who was born in
the latter part of the last century, made
a good deal of noise in the world, by
pretending that he had the power,
through the medium of pendulums, made
after a peculiar fashion, of ascertaining
where metals and water existed un-
der the ground. The pendulums he
used were made of sulphurous pyr-
ites, I believe. Some of his experi-
ments were exceedingly curious, accord-
ing to the statements of scientific men
who witnessed them. Indeed, his pre-
tensions were so generally respected,
that the King of Bavaria sent for him, and
he went to Munich, and had an interview
with his majesty. I have read a lengthy
account of Campetti’s experiments; but
I hardly think they would pay the read-
er for his time and trouble in wading
through with the details, if I were to
publish them.

The divining-rod most common in this
country—or, at least, the one of which I
have heard most said—is a rod, either
single and curved, or with two branches,
like a fork, made sometimes of wood,
and sometimes of brass, or other metals.
This rod is held in a particular way ; and
if it bends toward one side, those who
use it believe it to be an indication that
there is a treasure of some kind at or
near the spot. When I was a little boy,
I used often to hear of persons searching
for precious minerals with one of these
rods, made from a forest shrub called the
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

163



witch hazel; and the other day, a gentle-
man with whom I was conversing in re-
lation to matters of this kind, informed
me that the same shrub was used fifty or
sixty years ago, in his native place, for
the purpose of discovering water below
the surface of the ground, in order to
find a good place for digging a well. I
suspect that the witch hazel is just about
as valuable for such purposes as the sas-
safras is in the process of making soap—
just about as valuable, and no more. It
used to be the opinion of many a good
housewife—and I am by no means sure
that I could not find some with the same
notion now-a-days, were I to hunt for
them—that in order to form that chemi-
cal compound called soft soap, the mix-
ture should always be stirred with a sas-
safras stick. It is astonishing how easily
mankind and womankind fall into the
notion that, after all, there is something
real in charms and spells. We laugh at
the good-natured tar, because he whis-
tles, or scratches the mast, to get up a
breeze, when his vessel is becalmed ; but
the landsman, hunting for gold with his
witch hazel twig, or the landswoman,
sending a boy two miles for a stick of
sassafras, with which to charm her soap,
is not much behind the superstitious
sailor, methinks.
THEODORE THINKER.



AN ARMY OF WOLVES.

In some parts of France, during the
latter part of the ninth century, wolves
were very numerous and bold. They
used to march through the country, in
packs of two and three hundred, and, as
may be supposed, they spread terror
and death wherever the~ went.

ANSWER TO CHUARADE

1. Ten
. to f TENANT.

The answer was forwarded by Louise,
who chooses not to tell the reader where
she lives, except so far as this, that she
is a residevké of the state of Connecti-
cut; K. W. N.of Concord, N. H.; and
Clara, of Schenectady, N. Y.

NO. V.



ANSWER TO RIDDLE NO, II.
Say, is not this rue Lerrer I?
If not, *twill all my wit defy.
M. A. LEE,
Croton Fats, N, Y.

The riddle was also answered by
K. W. N. of Concord, N. H.; John
Woods, Jr. of Hamilton, O.; and Clara,
of Schenectady, N. Y.



ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. V.——HISTORICAL.

Of Adam and Moses all have been told,

And of Nimrod, the mighty hunter of old ;

Of Cush, Ham, and Noah, his ancestors three,

And Ninus his son, and successor to be ;

Of Semiramis the queen, who reigned in great glory,

And Ninyas her son, the next one in my story ;

Of the beauteous Helen, who caused Troy to take arms,

And of Homer the poet, who sung of her charms ;

Of Socrates the wise, who with his last breath

Blessed Athens, the place of his birth and his death

And of Crito, his dear‘and intimate friend,

Who labored in vain his firmness to bend ;

Of the Achean League, once little known,

And Mary the queen, who fled from her throne ;

Of the Auto-da- Fe, that sacrifice dire,

Where priests in white surplices vented their ire 5

And of Cataline, too, of world-wide fame—

“Infamous villain” is his true name 5

Of Cicero’s eloquence, the pride of the state,

And the bravery and triumph of Cesar the great

And now, descending to more modern times—

We seek to bring to an ending our rhymes—

Macaulay's England here must appear—

The fame of this work is spread far and near.
\ ESsIE

The answer was also sent by 8. J.8 ©
of Brooklyn, N. Y.; K. W. N. of Con-
cord, N. H. and Clara, of Schenectady,
MX |
164 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



ANSWER TO MATHEMATICAL QUESTION.

Mr. Eprror,—Among the mathemati-
cal problems on the 36th page of the
Cazrinet, I notice one that I have not
seen answered. It is this:—‘ What is
the diameter of a circular field, to be
fenced eleven rails high—two lengths to
a rod, and every rail to fence an acre ?”

Now, by the nature of the question,
every space a rod wide at the circum-
ference, and terminating at a point in the
centre of the field, must contain 22 acres,
the length of which is 7,040 rods—equal
to half the diameter ; the whole diameter
being 14,080 rods, or 44 miles, which is
the answer. Again, for every rod of cir-
cumference there is 3,520 square rods
of area, or 3,520X3°14159 of area to
one rod of diameter. If x = the diame-
ter, then 7? = 2X11058°3968 x 449,00.
g == 110588268 rods, or 44 miles, as be-
fore, being a little loss in decimals.

Very respectfully yours,
Unica, N. Y. T. H. W.



CHARADE NO. VI.

My first is very pleasing to children,
and not particularly disagreeable to any
of us.

My second is exceedingly valuable, if
rightly employed; but otherwise, it is
the source of much evil.

My third is a little word, in itself con-

sidered, but sometimes becomes of great |.

importance from its connection with
others.
My whole is an island in the Pacific.
A CHOCTAW GIRL.



CHARADE NO, VII,
My first is a welcome sight to a
thirsty traveler.

My second has something to do with
xyself. |

My third is a delicious fruit.
My whole is a city in Asia.
ESTELLE.



ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS NO. III.

1. A boy went into an orchard to
gather apples. On his return home, he
went through three different toll-gates.
At the first of the gates, he left half of his
apples and half an apple more; at the
second, half of the remainder and half an
apple more; at the third, half of the re-
mainder and half an apple more. This he
did without dividing an apple. He had
one left. How many apples had he when
he started, and how did he manage at
the different gates ?

2. There are three packages of cloth,
containing 10, 30, and 50 yards, respec-
tively. It is required to sell all the
cloth in each package at the same price
per yard, so as to receive the same
amount for each package. |

8. A stock-buyer wished to purchase
100 head of stock, consisting of cattle,
sheep, and hogs, for 100 dollars, at the
following prices :—cattle, 10 dollars per
head; hogs, 3 dollars per head; and
sheep, 50 cents per head. How many
of each kind must he buy ?

BIBLICAL QUESTIONS NO. I.

1. What book in the Bible, which,
though it shows most clearly the agency
of God, contains not one of the names
usually applied to him?

2. The word eternity is mentioned but
once in the Bible. Where do you find
it?

8. In what verse of the Bible do you
find the whole alphabet, J only except-
ed? ELIZABETH R. B.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 165



The Child’s First Prayer.



MUSIO BY HENRY R. BISHOP.—COPIED, BY PERMISSION, FROM BRADBURY’s “ MUSICAL
GEMS FOR SCHOOL AND HomsE.”

Slow and Expressive.







Le |
1, Where shall the child’s first prayer be taught ? Who shall direct the infant thought? 0,



pe | a igo
ee ee eT he

> :
kneel-ing by that mother’s side, The mother’s lip shall be the guide; The
\



2. Where is the mother’s bed of death ?
Who shall receive her parting breath?
O. on that child’s devoted breast
The mother’s weary form shall rest!
The child shall bathe the burning cheek,
And soothing words the child shalt speak,—-
Smiling, unwearied to the last,
And whispering hope, when hope is past.
166 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



MAY SONG.

ALTERED BY W. B. BRADBURY, FROM J. A. P, SCHULTZ.








: Ss

2 love - ly month of May,
- er wel-come, ev - er r gay!

ee Eee Seria

wiih by vale and moun - tain,







er ee Tt
> oe

t % eo f Flow’r - ets aot and in - sects play,
When by brook and foun - tain, In the love-ly month of May.

O, the love-ly mouith of in
Ev -er wel-come, ev-er gay,





Ev - er wel - come, Ev-er welcome and
mm



Ev -er come, eV - er















9 + Ey- er
« anid a *
7 ; fs > ‘tei x > moncegge™. —— + t
a — +—— —
— Zz Tiel Lorient ail . }
gay, ever welcome and gay.
2. O how fresh the morning air! 8. Hark! the universal shout !
O how lovely all things are ! Nature’s fairest forms are out! |
Birds so gayly singing ; Lambs are bleating, skipping ;
Woods and meadows ringing ; Bees are buzzing, sipping ;
Buds and blossoms fresh and bright ; Walk, or ride, or row the boat,
Leaves so green, enchanting sight. Stand, or fall, or sink, or float.

O, the lovely, dc. O, the lovely, &c.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 167

ANY,
wae ntti au

Call ili Res ut hi vay Ay oe, ANNU I 1
ot alll My, SS







Ag iD) (7G SS ES
i AA hae a i Ns Sd ee
\ y Cae ah et ATEN yay ee j
vi) etl =¢ , -II»™ YAN )) ij cs taf , J
Mi ee a N iH a ut e. nh \
Flowers.
BY MARGARET JUNKIN,
How beautiful the flowers are ! If they are even perfect here,
How bright they make our way, Where storms and tempests rise,
Strewing the earth so variedly What would they be if blossoming
With all their rich array ! Beneath celestial skies
They speak to us with eloquence
Of his majestic power, There they would never droop their leaves,
Who even stoops to show his skill Or cease their scented breath ;
In fashioning a flower. Their tender veins would not be ‘chill’d
Beneath the frosts of death:
we , An immortality of bloom
I fain would think that they shall be, Would thus to them be given;

With their sweet looks of love, The faintest rose tint could not fade—

Among the many pleasant things
There is no death in heaven.
That we shall meet above. Laxmmeros, Vi.

V | ll Ix
168 THE YOUTHS CABINET.

The Widow’s Cottage.



TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF BOUILLY, BY THE EDITOR.



x the charming banks of the
river Cher, is the village
of St. Avertin, noted for
the richness of its vine-
yards, the beauty of its

situation, and the tasteful and ele-

gant mansions of many of its inhab-
itants. Among these mansions, the
most beautiful is the castle of Can-
6, built at the summit of the hill, on
the south side of the river. It would
seem almost as if nature had here de-
signed to bring together everything
which is calculated to please the eye,
and gladden the heart. On the right
can be seen the city of Amboise, and the
castle of Blois; on the left, the city of
Tours; farther on, those of Luynes and
Langeais ; and some eight leagues far-
ther, the towers of the fortress of Sau-
mur. Before appear the rich intervales
of the Loire. This river flows but a
short distance from the Cher, and the
two rivers together water an immense
valley, many leagues in length, covered
with scores of villages, all of which can
be distinctly seen with the aid of a good
glass. No wonder the Abbé Barthéle-
my, whom I met there one day, exclaim-
ed, as he did, while gazing on this scene,
~ «Qh! this is a second Eden!”

During my last visit to the castle, I
had the happiness of meeting the vener-
able pastor of the place. His name is
Nivet. He was once my professor in the
royal college of Tours. He related to
me a story, which must, unless I am
much deceived, greatly interest my little
friends.































THE PASTORS STORY.

At the foot of the hill of St. Michel,
near the village of St. Avertin, is an
humble cottage, occupied by a poor and
‘nfirm widow, whose husband and two
sons perished in the battle of Moscow.
Alone, without relatives, with no protec-
tor, this poor woman, whose name is
Durand, subsisted by the labor of her
hands. All her time was occupied in
reeling silk, for the manufacturers of
Tours. Working from five o'clock in —
the morning to nine o'clock at night, she
could earn, on an average, from ten to
twelve sous a day. Naturally cheerful,
and resigned to the will of God, Mother
Durand found the means of cultivating a
garden herself ; and from the avails of
her work, she was able to employ @ man
to take care of a little vineyard which
she owned, on the bill-side of St. Mi-
chel, and which yielded the best wine in
the canton. |

But her hard work, coupled with the
gloomy solitude in which she lived, grad-
ually reduced her strength, and made
sad inroads upon her health. At length,
she was seized with paralysis, and her
left arm became useless, so that she was
no longer able to provide for herself ; and
the inhabitants of the village began to
talk about placing her ina poor-house.
Poor woman! the bare idea of quitting
the cottage where she was born—where
she became a bride and a mother—
where, for more than fifty years, she
had enjoyed a sweet independence—that
‘dea overwhelmed her with grief: and
ne ne

THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 169

ee enrernnnnEynEnEnnEy Sananasenaessnn ea aise

she frequently said to her neighbors,
that the day when she was forced to
leave her hutnble dwelling, would be the
last of her life.

The castle of Cangé, at this time, was
inhabited by a wealthy family, who, after
having shared the most favorable chances
of commerce, in the four quarters of the
globe, had come to enjoy themselves in
this garden of France. One of the heads
of this honorable family gvas a sea-cap-
tain, and the happy father of two young
daughters, named Celine and Louisa.
The elder of these girls was twelve years
old, and the younger counted but about
one spring less than her sister. Chance
brought the sisters to the cottage of the
poor widow. She told them her misfor-
tunes, and the cruel necessity which
seemed to compel her to go to a poor-
house to die.

“ What!” said Celine, ‘the widow
and the mother of three men who died
on the field of battle! and obliged to
leave your peaceful hearth! We shall
allow no such thing.”

“No, no,” said Louisa, in her turn,
“we must see that this good woman is
made comfortable in the cottage which is
so dear to her. We promise you that
we will come over and see you again to-
morrow morning ; and our kind govern-
ess will second our plans, I am sure.
Cheer up, Mother Durand! we shall not
abandon you; and you may consider us
as having to-day begun our service in
your behalf.”

« Your service! my good misses. Ah!
I should be most happy to serve you, if

want always to feel, that, as our good
pastor tells us, the ills which he sends
upon us are intended to correct us for
our sins, and, if we rightly improve
them, that they serve to prepare us for
a better lot in the world to come.”

The two girls were touched with the
pious resignation of the widow, and, af-
ter having assisted her a little in her
household affairs, they left, with hearts
full of pity for the venerable invalid,
who followed them with her eyes, as if
they had been two angels sent to her aid
from heaven, until they were out of
sight.

The next morning, while the family
were still asleep in the castle, Celine and
Louisa, attended by their faithful gover-
ness, wended their way to the cottage
of the widow, who had risen when they
entered, and was engaged in her morn-
ing devotions. While the governess
made the bed for Mother Durand, the
two misses helped the invalid in dressing,
and prepared for her a frugal, but ex-
cellent breakfast, with some wine, some
sugar, and a small loaf of bread, which
they had brought from home. One
bathed with liniment the arm of the
poor widow, who fancied that her blood
circulated anew while she felt the soft
hand of the kind girl on that helpless
arm; the other made a fire of two or
three sticks of wood which she found on
the hearth, and warmed a piece df flan-
nel, with which she chafed the arm of the
sufferer, until, by degrees, some heat
was produced in that cold, palsied arm,
and she was able to move her fingers a
I had strength enough left for the task. | little, which was more than she had done
But I desire to submit to the will of God, | for a long time. After all these acts of
and to receive with thankfulness even | charity had been performed, they set
the woes which he calls us to suffer. I | themselves about the task of reeling some

























170 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

cocoons of silk, which a manufacturer

had entrusted to the poor widow. Ce-

line, Louisa, and their governess, each a
reeler in her turn, labored, under the
direction of Mother Durand, who laughed

a good deal at the zeal of her three ap-

prentices, until they had filled a bobbin

with silk.
Before they left, that morning, the

girls made the widow promise that she

would not tell any one about their visits.

The next day, the three came again ; and

every day, during all the month of June,
and half of July, before sunrise in the

morning, this pilgrimage to the poor

widow’s cottage was repeated. At the

moment when the old clock of the castle

struck the hour for breakfast, they
returned ; and the family, supposing that

they had been merely taking a pleasant

morning ramble, thought but little of
their absence.

The neighbors of Mother Durand
could not conceive how it happened
that, with the help of one hand only,
she was able to perform her tasks, and
maintain herself as she did. They ex-
pressed their surprise to her. “ Why,”
she said, “don’t you know that God
never abandons those who trust in him?
I am getting better of my palsy every
day. For several weeks past, I have
been taking a certain remedy, which has
enabled me to use my arm a little, and

_ which. has saved me from the poor-

house.”

By and by, the father of Celine and
Louisa, from what he saw in the conduct
of his daughters, began to think there
was something mysterious aboyt their

“morning walks, and determined to clear
ait up. In vain, however, he asked seve-

ral questions of the discreet governess.





She knew how to keep the secret, and
she did keep it.

The captain was not a man to be foiled
‘n those matters which he had set his
heart upon ; so one morning, before sun-
rise, he walked to the hamlet of St.
Michel, followed the children in their ac-
customed pilgrimage, and saw them en-
ter a cottage situated on the banks of
the Cher. Celine was carrying a little
basket, apparently containing provisions.
Louisa held fn her hand a parcel of
linen, and the governess, who accompa-
nied them, had under her arm a score
of bobbins, which were tied together by
a cord. The brave mariner had confi-
dence in the good intentions of his chil-
dren. Still there was a mystery about
this matter; and he placed himself
where he could see all that took place
in the cottage. He had not been in this
position long, before he saw one of the
most touching spectacles he. ever be-

held.

Celine held the left arm of the widow,
and bathed it with some kind of lotion,
while Louisa rubbed it with a piece of
flannel, which the governess from time
to time renewed by a similar piece that
she had warmed at the fire. Mother
Durand, her eyes raised toward heaven,
seemed to be asking God to bless the
three spirits who were so earnestly en-
gaged in her behalf. From the conver-
sation that took place, the captain soon
learned, that what he saw had been a
common thing for more than six weeks ;
and not only so, but that these girls,
with the assistance of their governess,
had been in the habit of occupying the
time they could spare from their studies,
and other duties, in reeling the cocoons
of silk which had been entrusted to
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Mother Durand—a difficult task, but one
which was now the only means by which
the poor widow could obtain the little
comforts she stood in need of. |
. The officer was deeply affected by this
act of generous devotion on the part of
these members of his family, and he con-
fided the whole story to the worthy vil-
lage pastor, from whose lips I learned it.
This pastor resolved to turn the charity
of Celine and Louisa to account, in pro-
viding still farther for the wants of the
poor widow ; and it was not long before
an opportunity oceurred to carry his
resolution into effect. o
A festival, which took place in the vil-
lage, brought together a multitude of
people, old and young, to the castle of
Cangé. Mother Durand, already more
than half cured of her paralysis, was
there, by the invitation of her two young
benefactors, who supposed that their
charity was still a profound secret, as
the good old woman had promised never
to reveal it. She was accosted, in the
crowd, by some silk manufacturers, who
expressed to her their wonder that, with
one arm ina sling, she was able to do
the work they confided to her. Poor
woman! she turned red and stammered,
at the same time that she looked toward
Celine, and seemed by her countenance
to say, “Never fear; I shall not betray
you.” But the venerable pastor, who
seized every opportunity of exciting
Christian charity in his flock, pointed out
the two charming sisters, as the minis-
tering spirits of Mother Durand. This
revelation produced the effect which the
old man desired. The young girls of the
village applauded the good deeds of
Celine and her sister, blamed themselves
for not having done their duty to the

171

poor widow, and promised to profit by
the example which had been set them.
They engaged that two of their number
should go daily to the cottage of the
widow, and help her in her household
affairs, for a week; that two more should
then perform the task for another week ;
and that they would take turns in this
way as long as their services were need-
ed. They did as they engaged to do.
Nor was this all. The boys wished to
do something for the good woman whose
husband and sons had perished on the
battle-field; and they engaged, on their

part, to take turns in cultivating the gar-

den and vineyard of Mother Durand.
The result of this engagement was, that
the widow was bountifully supplied with
all the comforts and luxuries of life that
she desired.

Mother Durand is still living, honored,
beloved, and cared for, by all the inhab-
itants of the village. She has not quitted
the humble, but cherished cottage where
she was born. All the strangers who
visit this beautiful place, and who have
heard this story, so worthy the cultiva-
tors of the garden of France, seek with
interest for “the widow’s cottage.”

Ancient Lightning Rods.

tT appears from Herodotus, that the
ancients possessed a knowledge of

the power of attracting lightning
with pointed iron instruments. He
informs us that the Thracians disarmed
heaven of its thunderbolts, by discharg-
ing arrows into the air; and the Hyper-
boreans by darting into the clouds pikes
headed with pieces of sharp-pointed iron.
172 THE YOUTHS CABINET.



————————

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the Mit NIH " H 7 7
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Puss and Dash.

A FABLE FOR LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

——




Sim Dasn had long held sole possession Whose tiger-stripe along the back,
Of parlor place by day and night, With shining rings of gray and black,
And seem’d to think it great oppression Made her a very pretty creature,
For any to dispute his right. Perfect in cat-like shape and feature;
He slept upon the sofa seat, And home she came in wicker basket,
He mounted on the stools and chairs ; Snug as a jewel in a casket.
He lived upon the daintiest meat, Sir Dash no sooner saw her form,
And gave himself conceited airs. Than he began to bark and storm ;
Tn truth, he was 4 handsome fellow, And Puss no sooner saw Sir Dash,
With silky coat of white and yellow ; Than eyes and teeth began to flash.
With ears that almost touch’d his toes, He raved with passions, snarl’d and snapp’d;
And jet-black eyes that match’d his nose ; She show’d her talons, scream’d and slapp’d:
And admiration oft and loud His back stood up with warlike bristle,
Made Dash impertinent and proud. Her tail as tough as any thistle;
At length his master’s heart was smitten In short, the parlor, once so quiet,

With love towards a tabby kitten, Became a scene of vulgar riot,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The master thought a day or two
Would soften down this fierce “to-do”
He fancied, when the breeze was past,
They would be right good friends at last;
He hoped that they would live in peace,
And all their feud and fury cease.
Alas! they both behaved so badly,

That those around could not endure it;
Bad temper reign’d so very sadly,

The master knew not how to cure it.
A dish of milk was on the floor ;

Puss wanted some, and so did Dash ;
Twas big enough for many more

To lap out of without a splash ;
But she was rude, and he was ruder,

Neither would let the other taste it ;
Each thought the other an intruder,

And did their best to spill and waste it.

If Dash one moment ventured nigh,
Puss would that moment spit and fly ;
If Puss the dish next minute sought,
Dash the next minute raged and fought:
At length, with sorrow be it spoken,
Between them both the dish was broken.
The garden was in lovely order,
Neatness in every walk and border;
And pinks and lilies flourish’d there,
Tended with diligence and care:
But scarce a single week had fled,
When Mr. Dash and Puss were found
Both fighting in the tulip bed,
Trampling and spoiling all around ;
Uprooted flowers and damaged laurels
Were scatter’d by their foolish quarrels,
And, meet on any spot they might,
The scene was one continual fight.
Their master, long as he was able,
Bore the confusion round the table,
And even gave his generous pardon
For all the mischief in the garden,
Hoping their battles soon would end,
And each to each become a friend:
But no; they still kept up the strife,
And led a most ungracious life—
And 80, one very noisy day,
Their master sent them both away.
They soon discover’d, to their cost,
What a good home they thus had lost.
Dash was obliged to wear a chain,
Which gall’d his neck, and gave him pain ;
A dirty kennel was his bed,

And often he was poorly fed ;

And miserably discontented,

Most fervently poor Dash repented.
Puss lost her cushion fine and soft,

And lived within a dreary loft,

Where no sweet milk and meat were set,
But mice were all that she could get;
And there she pined in melancholy,
Regretting all her upstart folly.

Had they been somewhat more inclined
To friendship social, pure, and kind—
Had they put jealousy aside,

And both laid down their selfish pride,
Both had escaped such dire disgrace,

And both had kept their favor’d place.

Thus, far too often do we see
Brothers and sisters disagree—
Too often do we hear loud blaming,

And sometimes, when we stand amazed,
We even see fierce hands upraised ;

Yet very little mutual bending

Would save a world of harsh contending.
If Puss and Dash had thought of this,
They would have lived in perfect bliss,
And long have shared the parlor rug;

In every comfort, warm and snug.

Brothers and sisters all, take warning—
The lesson must not meet your scorning ;
Never let selfish trifles lead

To loud dispute and spiteful deed ;
Yield to each other, and be sure
Your happiness is then secure.

—_—_—_@j——.

Fish fascinated by Music.

173

With ill-bred speech, and rude exclaiming ;

Selected.

n Germany, the shad is taken by
means of nets to which bows of
wood are affixed, hung with a num-
ber of small bells, which are attach-

ed in such a manner as to chime in har-
mony when the nets are moved. The
shad, when once attracted by the sound,
will not attempt to escape while the

bells continue to ring.
174

The Quarrelsome Children.

HERE was a cottage not a
great way from Mary’s and
... Alfred’s home, and in that
RA cottage lived two boys and
two girls, with their father
} and mother.

It was not a happy fam-
ily; for the children often
quarreled, and called each
other very bad names ; and too often
they also fought with one another.

Sometimes when Mary and Alfred
were at play in their garden, they could
hear the loud cries of these children ;
and they, more than once, had seen
them in the road, beating and throwing
each other in the dirt. It made them
sad to see and hear these things. They
thought, and indeed they said to their
father, one day, “If our dear little
brother John had lived, we would not
have hurt him, and been cross to him.”

Once these quarrelsome children were
‘at play; and one of the girls struck her
elder brother with her hand, and then
ran away. The boy then picked up a
stone which was in the road, and ran
after his sister. He was in a very great
passion ; and, as he ran, he cried out that
he would kill her. This frightened the
little girl very much; for she knew that
her brother was stronger than she, and
- she knew that he would not care what
harm he did, while his passion lasted.
So she ran away from him as fast as she
could. But her brother ran still faster ;
and would have caught her too, if she
had not run into the garden where Mary
was with her father. She ran to them,
and said, “O, do not let my wicked



brother come near me; he will kill me.”



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The boy had run after his sister auite
to the garden, before he saw M
father ; and then he stopped, and w
have gone back, if Mary’s father ha
said, “ Put down that stone, Henry
come here.”

Henry did as he was bid. He
afraid to run away ; but he walked
slowly. At length he reached the }
and Mary’s father took him by one
and his little sister by the other
went with them into a garden arbo
there he talked with them. Mar,
Alfred went too, and heard what their
father said.

Mary’s and Alfred’s father had always
been very kind to the children in the
cottage. He had often given them little
books to read. Sometimes he gave
them money for going on errands, or for
weeding his garden; and when he met

them, he used to speak pleasantly to
them. ‘This is why they were willing to
go with him now.

He sat down in the arbor, and placed
the little girl beside him, while her
brother stood on the other side of his

knee.

«What were you going to do with
that large stone you had in your hand,
Henry 2” he said to the boy.

«Lucy hit me,” he said ; “she is al-
ways hitting me.”

«Yes, but what were you going to do
with the stone?”

“He said he would kill me,”
Lucy.

«T see how it is.
quarreling again.”

Then Henry and Lucy both of them
began to lay the blame upon each other.
Mary’s father heard what they had to
say, and then he talked to them.

said

You have been
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

175

Sep eaeemmsnusasaelfoasmsponsgmnamananienoanntooaecoounins aceon n aati ial

He told them what a sad thing it is
for brothers and sisters to disgrace each
other. He put them in mind of Cain,

who was so wicked as to kill his brother



Abel; and ‘he also told them of a litth

boy he once knew, who struck a younger

brother in anger and killed him.

Then he said thus to Henry: “Now
suppose you had caught your sister
while you were so angry with her, do
you think you would really have struck
her with that stone ?”

Henry did not answer.

“T am afraid you would have done
so,” said Mary’s father; “and one blow
of your angry arm, with such a heavy
thing in your hand, might at once in-
deed have killed her. Now, instead of
being here safe, your sister might have

been lying on the road, with blood
streaming from her head, not able to

speak or to move. Is this a sight you
would like to see, Henry ?”

The boy burst into tears. He did not
like to think of what he might have
done ; and he said he was very sorry.

Then he spoke to Lucy. He told her
how very wrong it is to do anything to
provoke another; and that he was very
sorry she should lift her little hand to
strike a brother, even though she did
not mean to hurt him much. ;

She also said she was very sorry ; and
she began to cry.

Then he told them that they ought to
confess their sin to God, and ask pardon
of him; and to ask his help to keep
them from being so naughty in future.
He told them that if they were to live in
peace with each other, they would be
much more happy than they ever had
been ; and that the great God, who sees
all things, takes notice of children who

live in love, and is pleased with them.
But he is angry every day with the
quarrelsome, and says that where he is
they cannot come. .

“Let us hear,” said . “what the
Bible says to you. These are the words
of God: ‘ Little children, love one an-
other.’ ‘He that loveth not his brother,
abideth in death.’ “Whosoever hateth
his brother is a murderer.’ My little
children, let us not love in word, neither
in tongue, but in deed and in truth.’ ”.

He then led Henry and Lucy out of
the garden, and they went home together
in peace.—Great Truths for Children.

The Autumn-Leaf.

. Loox at this leaf
I hold up to view;
How red it looks

Where the sun shines through !

Purple and black,
Pale yellow and rea—
Colors as bright
As painter e’er spread.

Where the bird hid
Its nest in the tree,

Screen-like it hung
As green as could be.

But the dew fell,
All softly and still ;
And the cold air
Made the dew-drops chill.

Cold on the leaf
The chill dew-drops lay ;
All the green died,
Before it was day.

When the sun shone,
It brought no relief;
The beautiful green

Was life to the leaf. xr. G
176



Mice fond

r. Woopworru,—While listen-
ing, last night, to several pages
of your “Stories about Ani-
mals,” which my nephew read

aloud with great apparent enjoyment,
I called to mind an individual, belonging,
it is true, to one of the most diminutive
families mentioned in your amusing and
instructive volume, but whose singular
history and tragic fate interested and
affected me exceedingly.

When about thirteen years old, I
made a visit of several weeks’ length to
a young lady who resided in the coun-
try. My friend was rather older than
I, and, being a farmer’s daughter, had,
of course, some household cares: she
one morning invited me to accompany
her to the dairy, promising to regale me
with “an exhibition such as money it-
self,” she said, “could not purchase a
sight of, in the city.” I complied, and
followed her.

When we were both in the room

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

of Music.

where the milk was kept, she tied on
her large apron, bared her arms, and
commenced her customary morning’s
task of skimming milk and shaping rolls
of butter; singing, meanwhile, as coun-
try girls often do, a pretty, lively air, in
a voice so sweet and musical, that I am
almost certain any of your readers would
have been delighted to hear it. I soon
discovered that I was not the only lis-
tener to my friend’s sweet tones and
pretty song. A little mouse appeared
on one of the shelves, and, looking
around cautiously, at first, as if to assure
himself there were none but friends pre-
sent, moved softly along the smooth
board, until very near the spot in which
Annie stood at her work. Here he be-

gan turning round and round, throwing

himself backward and forward, frisking,
leaping, assuming a greater variety of
attitudes, and executing a more wonder-
ful and grotesque series of evolutions,
involutions and revolutions, (analyze
-THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

177

7077 te siniaientninieglisnetiasiioantmenshtisiiidiahesmeeinimamniin se cite

those words, little boys and girls,) than,
as I verily believe, were ever imagined
by any French dancing-master. He
continued this performance with infinite
zeal during several minutes ; after which
his exertions gradually became less vio-
lent. He seemed greatly wearied, yet
unable to compose himself to perfect
rest, as long as Annie continued sing-
ing ; but when she paused, he also be-
came entirely quiet. He had evidently
taxed his strength to its utmost limits,

and was now suffering fatigue on ac-
count of it. Annie placed some crumbs
of bread and sugar near him, of which, in
a few moments, he roused himself to
partake; and, after eating and resting as
long as he chose, he withdrew slowly—
not at allas if frightened away—and dis-
appeared in the same corner from which

he had entered.
“Was not that worth seeing ?” asked

Annie, breaking the silence, which, her
Song excepted, had prevailed during

Mousey’s visit.

“Indeed it was” I answered. “How

have you contrived to tame the little fel-
low, and teach him so many antics ?”
“T have neither contrived nor taught
him,” she replied ; « though, as to taming
him, I believe I may as well allow my-
self the merit of that, as far, at least, as
it has been done. I was at work here,
one morning, some weeks ago, as I am
now, and singing. A slight noise caused
me to look around, and I saw a mouse
near me on the shelf, frisking about so
stfangely, that I stopped singing to
laugh. Mousey immediately scampered
off, as fast as his feet could carry him. I
commenced my song again, and he soon
came back, but advanced slowly, and as
if not quite certain that he was prudent



in doing so. I kept on singing, taking
no notice of my visitor. When about
as near me as he had been at first, he
began showing off in the same ludicrous
performance ; continuing it until he had
completely worn out his strength, and
seemed ready to die of fatigue. I of-
fered him some crumbs, but he had not
courage to eat, though he had no power
to oppose my taking him in my hand,
which I did, and could plainly feel his
little heart beating, probably with fear,
against my fingers. When-I saw that
he was reviving, I placed him on the
shelf again; in a few minutes more he
began moving about; then he pleased ,
me greatly by tasting some milk which I
had sprinkled on purpose to tempt him,
and at last, gathered sufficient strength
to creep back to his corner. Since that
time, whenever I am here and singing,
he comes out. If I have company, he
does not seem to mind it, unless we
speak to each other, when he beats a re-
treat at once; though I believe he knows
my voice, for I often talk to him when
we are alone together, and he never ob-
jects to hearing me. I have become
much attached to him, and should be
very sorry were any accident to befall
him. Othello, my favorite cat, used
often to come here with me, ‘but now I
am careful never to bring him ; he is by
no means pleased with being excluded,
and often follows me to the door, I
have dreaded my new pet’s being caught
by some of the traps or poisons which
doom so many of his race to destruction
about the premises, but, so far, he has
escaped them all.”

You may be sure, sir, that I did not
fail to accompany Annie to the dairy for
several mornings after that. « But this
178

pleasure, like every other, was short-
lived. Alas, poor Mousey! One morn-
ing, I carelessly allowed the door to
stay open so long after me, that Othello
slyly slipped in, and, unobserved by
either Annie or myself, lay quietly down
at my feet. Our favorite appeared on
the shelf, and commenced playing his
antics as usual. But he had_ hardly
commenced, when I was startled by
finding something move at my feet; the
next moment, a huge body bounded
through the air, and, in an instant,
(shocking to relate !) poor Mousey’s fate
was sealed—he was a prisoner within the
jaws of Othello. Annie and I both
rushed to the spot. Othello, whose
taste for mice was quite as decided as
ours, though it showed itself in another
way, was true to his nature; neither
threats nor coaxing prevailed to obtain
the release of his captive. Poor Mousey
was killed before our eyes. M.

Strange Instinct of the Deer.

ue large American panther has
one inveterate and deadly foe, the
black bear. Some of these im-
mense bears will weigh eight hun-
dred pounds, and their skin is so tough
that a musket-ball will not penetrate
it. As the panther invariably destroys
all the cubs which come in her path, so
does the bear take great pains to de-
stroy the panther, and fortunate in-
deed is that animal who escapes the
embrace of this black monster. The
following exciting and interesting scene





"mE YOUTH’S CABINET.

is related by a gentleman who was an
eye-witness :

A large deer was running at full
speed, closely pursued by a panther.
The chase had been a long one; for as
they came nearer, I could perceive both
of their long, parched tongues hanging
out of their mouths, and their bounding,
though powerful, was no longer elastic
as usual. The deer having discovered
in the distance a large black bear, play-
ing with her cubs, stopped a moment
to sniff the air, then coming still nearer,

he made a bound, with head extended,

to ascertain if Bruin kept his position.
As the panther was closing with him,
the deer wheeled sharp around, and turn-
ing back almost upon his own trail,
passed within thirty yards of his pursuer,
who not being able at once to stay his
career, gave an angry growl and followed
the deer again, but at a distance of some
hundred yards, . Hearing the growl, the
bear drew his body half out of the
bushes, remaining quietly on the lookout.
Soon the deer again appeared, but his
speed was much reduced; and as he
approached toward the bear lay concealed, it was evident that
the animal was calculating his distance
with admiral precision. ‘The panther,
now expecting easily to seize his prey,
followed about thirty yards behind, his
eyes so intently fixed on the deer that
he did not see Bruin at all. Not so the
bear, She was aware of the close vi-
cinity of her wicked enemy, and spe
cleared the briers and squared herself
for action, when the deer, with a beauti-
ful and powerful spring, dashed clean
over the bear’s head, and disappeared.
At the moment he took the leap, the
panther was close upon him, and was

*
-

THE YOUTHS CABINET.

just balancing himself for a spring,
when he perceived, to his astonishment,
that now he was faced by a formidable
adversary, not the least disposed to fly.
He crouched, lashing his flanks with his
long tail, while the bear, about five yards
from him, remained like a statue, look-
ing at the panther with her fierce glaring
eyes. |

One minute they remained thus; the
panther, his sides heaving with exertion,
agitated, and apparently undecided ; the
bear perfectly calmy and motionless.
Gradually the panther crawled back-
ward, till at a right distance for a spring,
when, throwing all his weight upon his
hind parts, to increase’its power, he darted
upon the bear like lightning, and fixed
his claws into her back. The bear, with

irresistible force, seized the panther with |

her two fore-paws, pressing it with the
weight of her body, and rolled over it.
I heard a heavy grunt, a plaintive howl,
a crashing of bones, and the panther was
dead. The cub of the bear came to as-
certain what was going on, and after a
few minutes’ examination of the victim,
it strutted down the slope of the hill,
followed by the mother, who was ap-
parently unhurt.—Pitisburgh National
Reformer.



The Cat a Fisherman.

*
§ my readers very well know, I

| am of the opinion that cats have

()\ been greatly slandered, and that

~ there is in the race to which they
belong, a greater amount of intelligence,
to say nothing about the kind, confiding,



179

amiable, loving disposition we so often
find in them, than they generally have
credit for. A little boy has just sent me
a story of a cat in his father’s family,
which affords additional evidence that I
am right in my estimate of the cat
tribe. |

“At the end of the garden where I
live,” says this boy, in his letter, “there
was a stream of water. One day my
brother-in-law went to the stream to
clean some vegetables, and this cat fol-
lowed along. In the water stood a
wash-tub with a board across the top
of it. The cat got upon this tub, and
sat there, as he was éngaged with the
vegetables. He cut off some pieces,
and threw into the water beside the tub.
The fish would come up to catch the
pieces. When the fish rose to the top
of the water, the cat would strike her
paw at them, till she caught one. In
order to see her work, my brother-in-
law threw in more pieces, till the cat
could catch them very well. He thought
no more about the matter till some time
afterward. One evening he was writ-
ing, when he heard something bouncing
on the floor. He looked to see what it
was, and behold, there the cat lay watch-
ing a trout that she had just brought
in. The fish was about eight inches
long. Afterward, he said that he had
seen from two to four fish called suckers,
lying on the kitchen floor in the morn-
ing, that had been caught by this cat.”

It is pretty clear to my mind, that
a cat must have a good deal of skill
in the art of fishing, to be able to catch,
trout. That species of fish is generally
wide awake, and I have found that it is
generally necessary to be wide awake
myself, in catching them. ’
180



y

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Pepe in the Fourteenth Century.

HE power of the popes was very
great in the beginnin s of the
fourteenth century. Strange as
it may seem, kings and emperors,

at that time, humbled themselves before
the Roman pontiff, as if they were his
slaves. ‘They used to hold his stirrup
for him, while he was getting upon his
horse, and lead his horse after he had
mounted. Sometimes they used to lie
down, and let the pope put his foot on
their neck, to show how completely they
were under his power. Once in a while
aking, who had rather more spirit than
the rest, would “set up for himself,”
and try to shake off the yoke. But in

the end the pope showed himself the
victor. How disgraceful! In the year
1305, the residence of the popes was
removed from Rome to Avignon, in
France. At this time Clement V. was
pope. At his coronation, when the pro-
cession was returning from church, Phil.
ip IV. appeared on foot, leading the
horse of the pope. The picture at the
head of this article represents this dis- *
graceful scene.

I need scarcely tell my readers that
the pope has now lost almost all his
power as a temporal prince. In these
days, he would not find many kings to
hold his stirrup for him.


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The Mischievous Monkey.

EORGE. John, do you like to saw
wood ?

Joun. O yes, pretty well. I
do not love to be idle. I like to
do my work. Your father gives me
money for doing it, too. I buy my
clothes with it, and give some to my

good mother, besides.

G. Here are two pears for you, John.
Mamma did not send them to you. They
are all my own. Grandpa’ gave me
some,

J. I will take one, little George. You
must keep the other. Thank you, very
much.

G. No. You must eat those. I have
more. See! My pocket is full. It is
all stuffed out, like Jacko’s cheeks.

J. Who is Jacko ?

G. Jacko is a monkey.

J. O, the little monkey, which was
dressed like a man, and belonged to the
man with a hand-organ? I asked the
man to come, so that you might see
him.

G. Yes. Why did not you leave off
sawing when he came ?

J. O, I cannot leave my work to see

monkeys. I have seen a great many
monkeys, too. And once I had one of
my own.

G. A real, live monkey ?

J. Yes. My brother brought him
home from sea for me. It was very
small. I do not think it was larger than
your little baby brother.

G. What was his name? Did he
wear a coat? Could he speak? Tell
me about him; do, John.

J. O, he was the funniest little rogue !
His name was Mischief. He wore no

« bie

’ *
..

7 %

181

clothes but his own brown fur, and he
had a very long tail. He could not
talk; no, indeed. But he knew his own
name, just as Growler does; and if I
said, “ Here comes the baker,” he would
leap up on the fence in an instant. He
was very fond of cake, and when I had
a cent, I used to give it to Mischief, to
buy cookies with.

G How could he buy it, when he
could not speak ?

J. O, the baker would hold out his
hand for the cent. Mischief looked hard
at his other hand. The baker kept it
behind him, sometimes, or shut it up.
Mischief would chatter and scold till he
opened it, and showed him the cake.
Then he would take the cent out of his
pouch—

G. Pouch ?.

J. His cheek, you know.

G. Yes, Jacko’s pocket.

J. Then the baker would take it, and
give him the cake. One time Mischief
caught the baker’s whip away from un-
der his arm. The baker tried to reach
it. Away ran the monkey the. whole
length of the fence. There he sat chat-
tering.

G. Did not the baker run after him ?

J. Yes. “Stop thief—stop thief!”
cried the baker, and we all ran, calling,
“ Mischief—Mischief.” Just as we
came to him, up he went into a higa
tree. There he sat, chattering.

G. What did the baker say then?

J. Then the baker took up stones, and
began to pelt him. But when Mischief
saw that, he threw the whip down on
his head. So the baker got it, and went
away laughing.

G. Did you tell Mischief he must not
do so again?
182 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



J. No. Monkeys are not like little
boys, who know what is said to them.

G. I wish I had a little saw. I should
like to saw off little sticks. Let me take
hold with you.

J. No. You would be in the way,
_ and perhaps get a knock,

G. Yes, I want to saw.

J. Little boys are like monkeys. They
always want to do everything they see
done.

G. Did Mischief want to saw ?

J. Ido not know. But one day when
he was in the house—

G. Did you let him come in?

J. We used to tie him in the kitchen,
in cold weather. Every night, my
mother used to sit by the fire, and un-
dress the baby. She used to take off
its little gown and tier, and put on its
night-gown. Then she would put it in
the cradle, and rock it to sleep.

G. And sing ?

J. Yes. One day the baby crawled
to Mischief, when mother was not look-
ing. He pulled off her tier, and untied
her gown, and pulled all the pins out of
her little petticoat. Then he tried to
lift her up, to put her into the cradle.
Baby did not like to be squeezed. So
she cried, and mother ran and took her

J. One day, he took it into his head
togotochurch. It was in summer time.
All the people were sitting in their pews,
and the minister was preaching. Mis-
chief came in at a window, and ran over
the tops of the pews. Nobody could
catch him. He pulled off a lady’s bon-
net. He boxed a good old man’s ears,
and gave his queue a twitch. Then he
climbed up into the singing seats. At
last they caught him. I came out of
my pew, as red as fire, and carried him
home. Ishut him up in the meal room.
Well. By and bye meeting was done.
All the people were going home. When
they came along by our house, they
wondered what was coming down like
snow, all over them. They looked up
to see.

G. Why, what was it?

J. They saw a little black hand, put
through a broken pane of glass in the
window. It was shaking down meal by
handfuls.

G. And was it Mischief?

J. Yes. It was Mischief, whom I
had shut up in the meal room. O, he
was a sad rogue! I remember one day
my mother baked some custards. Well,
she put them away to cool; she set them
on a table, in a waiter. When she
wanted them, she went for them. Every
one had the print of Mischief’s little
black thumb in the middle of it. O, he
was a little plague.

G. What did he do after that ?

J. He would get my mother’s thimble,
and balls, and put them into his cheek.
He put needles and pins in, too.

G. I wonder if they pricked.

J. And her wax, and all her things,
he ran away with. At last, I had or-
ders to sell poor Mischief.

































G. Was not the baby afraid?

J. No. Sometimes Mischief would get
the kitten, and hold her. If she moved,
he would squeeze her very tight, and
rock to and fro with her.

G. Poorkitten! Did he hurt her?

J. Not much, I guess, for she liked
him very well. She would sleep close
by him at night when it was cold.

G. Tell me more stories about Mis-
chief, Will you, John?

e
&
.

£
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 183

G. What for?

J. My father had a little shop. He
had a. book, called an account book,
which he wrote in every day. He kept
it very carefully. Mischief could hardly
lift it, but he dragged it away to the
top of the house, one day. There he
sat on the roof, tearing out the leaves.
The wind carried them down before the
windows. ‘What is that?” said my
father. “Only some paper,” said my
mother. “But where does it come
from?” Down came another leaf, and
then another. I ran out, and got one.
My father saw it in my hand. “T de-
clare, it is my day-book,” said he, “s
will shoot that monkey. I cannot bear
with him any longer.” He guessed it
was Mischief, who was tearing it to
pieces. But when he saw him, grinning,
and chattering, he laughed. He could
not shoot him. So I took a piece of
cake, and went and called him. Down
went the book into the yard in a minute,
and he came to get the cake. I caught
the rogue, and brought him down stairs.
“You must sell Mischief directly,” said
my father. SoIdid. I have not seen
him since.

G. O, I am sorry. But do let me
saw, John. I want to saw. It looks
very easy. I think I could saw very
well indeed. I will not hurt myself.

J. Wait till L have sawed half through
this log, and I will let you try.

G. No. I want to begin. I would
not ask for the axe. O,no! I might
cut my foot off. Mamma——9O, mamma
said I must not trouble you. Do |
trouble you? Do I, John? But do
lend me the saw, will you, John? Please
jend it to me.

J. O, you little monkey !
V. 12

G. No,I am not a monkey. Amla
monkey, John ?

J. Ha, ha! No, no! Though you
are a very little boy, you know a great
many things poor Mischief could never
learn. You know how to be good, and
pleasant, and to make people happy.
Mischief would never have given me two
of his pears, if he had had any. He
would have run away to hide them
somewhere, till he was hungry.

G. Would he? If you do not wish
me to have the saw, John, then I will
not ask any more. No matter about it.
Am I in your way any? Now I do not
trouble you; do 1?

J. No, and I will let you just try to
move the saw. Push hard. You see
you cannot. It looks easy when I do it.
I am strong.

G. I could saw with a little saw.

J. You can play saw. I will make
you a little wooden saw, some time, one
which will not saw your fingers, nor
your clothes.

G. Thank you, John. I am going in
now, to tell mamma about it. Good bye,
John.

J. Good bye, little Georgie. —Child’s
Friend.


























A Little Reasoner.

LITTLE boy asked his mother how

many gods there were. A

younger brother answered ,—

«Why, one to be sure.” ‘“ But

how do you know that?” inquired the

other. “ Because,” answered the younger,

“ God fills every place, so that there is
no room for any other.”
JE.
184



The Bird’s Complaint.

I wonpER what my wings were made for,
Fluttering, active, restless things !

If this cage is all of bird-land,
Tell me why a bird has wings.

Nay, it can’t be—He who made me
Planted, thrilling, in my breast,
Something longing, aye, for freedom,

And these wires destroy my rest.

Shaking, hopping; waiting, restive,
How I long for once to fly—

How my aching pinions tremble—
Give me life, or let me die.

Yonder in a deep-green cedar,
Fair as light, and light as air,

|
Hi

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

AN
nn
‘l] th

)
u

ed



Shouts aloud a joyous robin—
If you love me send me there.

Else what can my wings be good for?
I as well might be a mouse

As a lonesome prisoner,
Barred forever in the house.

Better anything, with freedom,
Than to know that one has wings,

And must ever keep them fettered—
Thraldom hath a thousand stings.

O, this cage! it does not fit me;
I’m not made for it, I know;

Mine is yonder azure heaven—
If you love me let me go.

Lowe 1, Mass. LILIAN.


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

185

The little Miners.



TRANSLATED FOR THE CHILDREN’S FRIEND, FROM THE HIVE.



» Frenca gentleman
! visiting some coal-
mines in England,
noticed a young
! foreman named Wil-
> liam, whose intel-
ligence and correct
language struck him. He made inqui-
ries of the proprietor of the mine con-
cerning him, and he coolly answered :
« He is a lad who has always done his
duty.” On returning for the purpose of
visiting the foundry situated near the
‘ron and coal mines, Monsieur R—
descried William seated at the door of
a cottage of cheerful appearance, which
seemed to be his home. The young man
arose as the stranger drew near, and sa-
luted him with dignified politeness. M.
R—— stopped, and entered into con-
versation with him.

After putting a number of questions
to him concerning the mining operations,
the quality of the coal, its quantity, and
the means of extracting it, he asked him
if he belonged to that part of the coun-
try?

“No, sir,” replied William, “I come
from Wales.”

“A poor, but noble land,” observed

“Noble indeed,” answered William,
“for the schoolmaster often related to
us the deeds of courage and devotion
performed by our ancestors in defence
of their liberty ; and, as for its poverty,
I know that by experience.”

“You are acquainted, then, with ad-
versity ?””—





« And though a harsh, I may say, Sit,

that it is a good instructor: had I not
been acquainted with it, I never should
have been foreman now in Mr. Watson's
mine.”

«How did that follow ?”

« Oh! it is quite a history, sir.”

“Will you tell it to me?” asked M
R-—— with a smile.

William excused himself, pleading

that there was nothing in the narrative
which would be interesting to any one
but himself. However, as M. R
entreated, he replied :
«Tt was but a little affair, sir ; it all
happened quite naturally and according
to the will of God. We were four or-
phan children, with nothing to depend —
on but the wages of our eldest brother,
John, who served in the king’s navy.
He regularly sent them to us, and they
were sufficient to pay the board of my
two sisters and of little Richard. As for
me, I was then eleven or twelve years
old, and I tended sheep on the hill, All
prospered with us, and the old woman
with whom my brother and sisters lived,
went into the town every month to re-
ceive the money sent by John. But one
day—oh I remember it, sir, as if it were
yesterday—lI was coming down the hill,
whittling a whistle out of elderwood for
little Richard, and I saw her coming
back from the town with a disturbed
air.

“Why! what is the matter with you,
mother Kitty ?” I cried.

«Qh! is it you 2” said she, perceiving
me, “here I am finely caught with you


186

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ee cesses esaeatesiaseaseaseas seas

children. I shall lose my sixteen shil-
lings and sixpence.”

‘How 2” cried I, “ have you no money
from John?”

“John!” repeated the old woman,
“he has fallen, poor fellow, from the
mizen-top.”

“ And is hurt ?”

“He is dead !”

I am not quite certain that I compre-
hended at the first moment, all the mean.
ing of the words, “he ts dead ;” but it
seemed to me as if I had received an in-
ternal blow. I mechanically sat down
on the fence by the side of the road,
without uttering a word.



WILLIAM IN DISTRESS,

“Yes, dead!” repeated the old wo-
man, “and I lose my sixteen shillings
and sixpence. Ah! you may weep,
boy, you may weep.”

But I did not weep; softly I repeated
to myself, “John is dead !” without the
power of bringing it home to my mind.
I scarcely remembered having seen our
eldest brother ; I knew him only through
the good which he bestowed on us.
Therefore to me he was not so much a
“man, as a good genius. In all emer-
gencies, in reference to every distant
hope, I was in the habit of saying, “If
John pleases,” just as we say, “If God
wills.” For me, John was a beneficent,
protecting power, whom I had invested
with no corporeal form, and therefore I

could not associate the remembrance of
him with the idea of death. However,
after having remained sitting by the side
of the road for some time, I slowly arose
and proceeded toward old Kitty’s cot-
tage. As I approached the door, I
heard little Richard erying, and the
harsh voice of the old woman saying,
“You have eaten more bread already
than I shall be paid for.”

At this moment I crossed the thresh-
old, and saw my sisters standing in the
darkest corner, with Richard seated at
their feet. Instead of the bacon-broth
which formed their usual repast, each
of them was holding a piece of dry black
bread, which had been baked for dame
Kitty’s poultry.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

187



Why it was, I cannot tell, sir, but at
this sight I felt my heart smitten, and
I burst into tears. Now it was that I
comprehended the meaning of the words,
« John is dead.”

I became more enlightened during the
following days; at every meal, old Kitty
lessened for my brother and sisters the
allowance of the bread, which seemed
to them blacker and dryer in proportion
as it was more begrudged. At last she
came one day to the farmer with whom
I lived, and said to him in my pres-
ence.

_ “Neighbor, I am resolved to keep
the brood of children no longer.” |
started.

“And what do you wish to do with
them, Kitty ?” I demanded.

, What they will soon do with me,”
she replied, “the beggar brats !’’

“Oh!” eried I, ‘‘ you would not have
the heart to turn into the street those
poor children, whom you have brought
up, and who till now have looked upon
you as a mother.”

“Then find me the means of feeding
four mouths with the allowance of one,”
returned the old woman; ‘‘ rather would
I abandon these orphans to the charity
of the public, than see them suffer with
me ; poverty makes me harsh, and I feel
as if I should hate them, were I to keep
them any longer. None can do more
than they can, and those who are richer
than I will help them.”

I made no answer; for, after all, I
could find no argument capable of
touching dame Kitty. But my heart
was broken. Oh! if I were only as
strong as my brother John! If I could
but be a father to these orphans! Un-
fortunately, I was a full head shorter

than my eldest sister, and farmer Dick-
son hitherto had given me no wages, ex-
cept the old clothes about the farm and
two pairs of wooden shoes a year. While
I was thus reflecting, the conversation
between Dickson and his old neighbor
went on.

“If we were only near the coal-
mines,” said she, “the eldest of the little
ones could be sent there.”

“Tt is a sad life,” said the farmer,
shaking his head.

“T do not say that it is not ; but they
pay well, and her earnings would be
nearly sufficient to maintain the other
one and little Richard.”

‘‘ But there are coal-mines eight miles
from here,” I eried.

“What then?” demanded the old
woman.

“What then? Why, I ean go and
work in them, and give up to you the
greater part of my wages, if you will
keep the three children.”

. Dame Kitty raised her head and
looked at me.

“ And would you do this?” said. she.

“He knows not what it is to work
under ground,” inter;osed Dickson.

“I do not,” I replied, “but since
others submit to it for the sake of a liv-
ing, I can well submit to it from love to
my sisters and Richard.”

The old woman became pensive, and
after a moment added, “that would still
be the maintaining of three little ones
with the labor of one.”

But Dickson rejoined, that if I went
to the coal-mines, my eldest sister could
supply my place with him, so that dame
Kitty would be encumbered with two
boarders only. The whole was thus
concluded, and on the very next day, I
188

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

i ceeeninlenienananamtiniteaaiaaaait NLL

departed for the mines, after having em-
braced my brother and sisters.

Dickson was right, sir, in saying that
I did not know what under-ground labor
was. At the first moment, when I felt
the tub at the bottom of which I was
seated descend into the shaft, and saw
the sun disappear, it seemed to me as if
I was entering my tomb. But it was
quite otherwise when I reached the gal-
lery where the digging was going on.
There I perceived a swarm of men naked
down to the middle, and coal-black ;
some were kneeling, some were stoop-
ing ; many were stretched on their backs,
and all were occupied in silence by lamp
light. I fancied that I beheld the reali-
zation of an old engraving which I had
formerly noticed at one of our neighbor's,
representing the punishments of hell.

There were also amid this dismal
crowd of laborers some children, who
were employed in rolling cars on rails,
or in opening and shutting the doors of
the galleries every time that a wheel-
barrow went out. To this last employ-
ment I was destined.

I was placed in the inside of a niche,
hollowed out in one of the doors of the
gallery, and a cord was put into my hand,
by means of which the door was to be
opened and shut.

This occupation was by no means
fatiguing ; but my isolation, the forced
silence occasioned by it, and above all,
the darkness, threw me into a profound
melancholy. In fact, imagine to your-
self, sir, a young boy accustomed to live
among the broom and flowery heather,
to see the sunrise and set over the fields,
and to run wherever his feet could carry
him, suddenly condemned to the still-
ness, the darkness and the scorching at-





mosphere of those frightful subterranean
regions, For the first two days I tried
to pay no heed to myself, but to oppose
my will to my sensations ; at the end of
that time, however, my resolution gave
way, and I yielded to despondency.
Sometimes I wept for whole hours,
ceasing only when I had no more tears
to shed, and beginning again as soon as
I recovered them.

Still, in spite of everything, I was de-
termined to persist. I said to myself,
“Thy brother John died in laboring for
the little ones; labor like him, even
though thou in like manner shouldst die.
It is thy duty.”

By dint of repeating these words to
myself, I resumed courage. Then fear-
ing lest the despondent fit might return,
I did like cowardly children, when they
pull the coverlet over their eyes lest they
should see something; I ceased from
looking around me, I hindered myself
from thinking, and at last I succeeded
in pulling my cord mechanically, without
knowing what I was about. |

This lasted some months; but at the
end of that time I became aware that
my mind was actually asleep, and that I
had no longer the power of awakening
it—not even when I needed it. One
day I heard a foreman, as he was passing
near me, say, “That boy is becoming an
idiot !””

That word, sir, appalled me ; if I be-
came an idiot, how was I to protect my
sisters and my young brother? What
would I be good for, and of what use
should I be to the master? I resolved
to shake off my stupor and compel my
mind to walk, after having kept it for
many months, if I may so say, with its
legs crossed. The difficulty was, to find
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

189



an occupation which might exercise it,
without bringing back my sadness. I
began to amuse myself with counting the
wheel-barrows laden with coal which
passed me. After having seen how
many passed in an hour, I attempted to
calculate how many would pass in a day,
a month, a year. I then recollected that
there were days of rest, and these I de-
ducted. I multiplied the number found,
by that of the galleries from which simi-
lar quantities of coal were dug. I divi-
ded the total into three parts, and thus I
ascertained the portion of each of the
partners in the mine. This calculating,
diversified in innumerable ways, finished
and begun again every day, familiarized
me with the rapid performance by my
head, of all common arithmetical com-
putations.

Having proceeded thus far, I grew
tired of numbers, and began to think
upon something else. I had a Bible, in
which I had been taught while very
small to read. I undertook to learn it
by heart during my hours of rest ; I re-
peated in a low voice the passages which
I knew. I tried to explain to myself all
the words, and to recollect how they
were written. I amused myself with
tracing letters in the air with my fingers,
which made the barrow-men laugh, as
they passed by. It was in this way, sir,
that I learned to express myself with
greater correctness, and acquired some
knowledge of spelling and of the elements
of grammar, which at a later period I
endeavored to perfect.

About this time some of the places of
the young miners became vacant, and I
was promoted to the galleries.

There, the work was more laborious,
but better paid, and at least, we were

not condemned to inaction. I went on
observing and reflecting, questioning the
older miners concerning what I saw, and
endeavoring to remember the informa-
tion which they had derived from expe-
rience.

These lessons were generally given to
me at our meal-times, or in the morning, -
as we were going to work, for we always
quitted the mine at dark to return to our
families or boarding places, and were
obliged the next morning before light to
come back to the shaft. Thus three
years passed, without my beholding the
sun except occasionally when it rose,
and without my seeing the field which I
traversed every day; only sometimes in
the morning, when passing the corn-
fields, I gathered blue-bottles and wild
mint, which I carried with me under
ground, in order to remind myself that
light, air, and flowers still existed above.

I am almost ashamed, sir, of descri-
bing to you these childish nothings, but
you will soon see the reason.

We used to have a meal in the middle
of the day, which suspended all labors,
and at which the children were accus-
tomed to resort to the bottom of a pit,
into which a little daylight entered, and
from which a bit of sky, scarcely as wide
as a hand, yet blue and transparent,
could be seen.

One day, when I was there with the
others, I proposed to a little girl named
Jenny, that we should go and see a pas-
sage which had been opened in the
morning, conducting, it was said, into a
new vein. She followed me, and we
crawled into the opening, which was al-
ready ten metres deep.

Reaching the bottom, I raised the
lamp which I had brought with me, in
190

order to see the cut into the earth; and
I was beginning to repeat to Jenny the
explanations which the foreman had
given me, when suddenly a dull crack-
ing sound was heard a few steps from
us. Jenny turned round with an ex-
clamation of terror; almost at the same
instant the opening behind us was
crushed in, and we found ourselves buried
beneath the falling earth.

I cannot tell you, sir, how long I re-
mained stunned ; when I returned to my
senses I had undoubtedly extricated my-
self by instinct, as I found myself sitting
in the extremity of the passage, in utter
darkness, but free from injury.

I stretched out my hands in search of
Jenny ; she was extended at my feet,
motionless. I called her, for I dared
not stir. The poor girl hardly recovered
her senses ; at length as she appeared to
hear me; I felt that she was getting up,
and she asked me where we were ?

“Buried,” I answered, “in the exca-
vation.” .

She started, as if she recollected all,
and uttered acry. I advised her to be
silent, as by the sound of her voice she
might occasion some new concussion.
She was instantly hushed, and I heard
her weeping.

I too felt that my courage had almost
forsaken me; but I said to myself, that
it would be a shame to show my weak-
ness to Jenny, who had nobody but me
to support her. I therefore began to
comfort her as well as I could, by assu-
ring her that it would not be long before
we should be helped.

The hours, however, passed away
without bringing any change to our sit-
uation. ‘Twenty times I fancied that I
heard the strokes of the pick-axe, indi-



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

cating that they were opening a passage
to us, and twenty times I perceived that
I was mistaken. At length I calculated
that night had arrived, and that the mi-
ners had ascended. It was impossible
that they should not have ascertained
the falling in of the passage, but no one

had seen us enter it; undoubtedly they

were ignorant that we were shut up
there, and many days might elapse be-

fore they would resume the task of re-

opening it. This apprehension took

away all my remaining strength. I

thought of my brave John, who had died
as I was about to die. I thought of my
sisters and little Richard, and my tears
flowed; only I wept softly, for fear of
afflicting Jenny.

The night passed, day came, but
nothing was seen. I began to feel very
hungry; I hunted for a morsel of bread
which I did not find the preceding eve-
ning, and I was about to put it into my
mouth when Jenny, who had been silent

for some time, said in a low tone,

“Tam very hungry.”

I thought that she was younger and
weaker than I, and I gave her the re-
mainder of my bread. But the hours
passed on, and the air was beginning to
fail us. Jenny soon began to talk, faster,
and faster, as if she was very feverish.
Sometimes she wept and cried for help ;
at other times she laughed and sung.
Her singing and laughing made me feel
worse than her tears, In the mean-
while I endeavored to keep up her pleas-
ant thoughts. She fancied herself in the
field, picking grains of corn from the ear
and holding straws, as she did formerly.
I had given her a nosegay of dried mint,
which I had found in my pocket, and
she said every minute, “Do you smell
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

191



that good smell which comes up from
below? Itis from thyme border, which
dame Potter has planted close to her
hives.”

But I ask your pardon, sir, for dwell-
ing so long on these details. After hav-
ing experienced a great danger, every
recollection pertaining to it is precious
to ourselves, and we end with fancying
that it is of course equally interesting to
others.

It was as I had feared, and our acci-
dent was not suspected before the third
day. They then began cautiously to re-
move the earth, and drew us out of our
tomb, half dead.

The fresh air and the care taken of us
soon restored us to life. Mr. Watson
happened to be then on a visit among
the mines in Wales. He wished to see
me as well as Jenny, and she related to
him the whole scene. He seemed
pleased with my behavior, and pro-
posed that I should follow him hither.
Thanks to him, I have since been en-
abled, in the lapse of time, to bring up
my sisters and little Richard, to become
an overseer, and to marry Jenny, who
always remembered with kindness the
piece of bread and nosegay of withered
mint.”

The French gentleman, who had lis-
tened with lively interest to William’s
story, pressed his hand when he had
ended,

“I thank you,” said he, “for your
narrative; it gives a lesson both for in-
struction and imitation. You have
proved by your conduct that no situa-
tion is so desperate, that one may not,
with courage, patience, and God’s help,
hope to emerge from that situation, ear-
lier or later.” L. O

Siberian Sledge Dogs.

HESE dogs are said to resemble the
wolf, to have long, pointed, pro-
jecting noses, sharp and upright
ears, and long bushy tails ; color

various—black, brown, reddish brown,
white and spotted. They vary also in
size, but a good sledge dog should not
be less than two feet seven inches high.
Their howling is that of a wolf. In the

summer they dig holes in the ground

for coolness, or lie in the water to esvape
the mosquitoes, which in those regions
are not less troublesome than one of
Pharaoh’s plagues. In winter they bur-
row in the snow, and lie curled up with
their noses covered by their bushy tails.
The preparation of these animals for a
journey is carefully to be attended to,
For a fortnight, at least, they should be
put on a small allowance of hard food,
to convert their superfluous fat into firm
flesh. They are also to be driven from
ten to twenty miles daily; after which,
Von Wrangle says they have been known
to travel a hundred miles a day without
being injured by it.

“‘We drove ours,” he says, “some-
times at the rate of one hundred wrists
(sixty-six miles) a day. Their usual
food is fresh fish, thawed and cut in
pieces; and ten frozen herrings are-said
to be a proper daily allowance for each
dog. A team consists commonly of
twelve dogs; and it is of importance
that they should be accustomed to draw
together. The foremost sledge has
usually an additional dog, which has
been trained as a leader. On the saga-
city and docility of this leader depend the
quick and steady going of the team, as
well as the safety of the traveler.
192

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THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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The little Grave.

T was one morning in May, that little
Julia went forth, happy in her dear
mother’s permission to enjoy its
hours in the grove. All was new

and charming to her; for they had but
recently exchanged a city residence for
this sweet and quiet home. She had
always loved trees, and birds, and flow-
ers, but had never before seen them,
just where God himself had planted and
reared them, without the aid of man,
and now her little heart was full of
wonder. Who could have scattered
seeds in such variety and profusion, and
placed those stately trees, not in rows or
avenues, but here and there, just where

and who could have trained the luxuriant
vines from bough to bough, in such a
tasteful manner? Julia had been taught
from infancy about the wonderful works
of God. She had “heard of them by
the hearing of the ear,” but now, when
her eye rested upon their loveliness, she
was almost wild with delight. She had
no brother or sisters, to enjoy and ad-
mire these things with her; but she did
not feel alone, for forms of freshness and
beauty were spread all around her, and |
the sweet air was ringing with strains of
melody. “Is not this as fair as that
‘better land’ they:tell me of 2 But why
do those bounding footsteps pause sud-

they looked most graceful and pleasant; | denly? Why first comes a shadow over


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

193



the bright brow, and then tears gushing
over the now pale cheek? Is it that
little grave amid the flowers?” Ah,
child! this is not that “ better land,” for
“there is no death there !”

_ And dost thou weep to find a grave,
Whose length is near thy own ?
Nay, all thy precious tear-drops save ;
Resume thy cheerful tone.

That little heart is spared the pain
Thine may be doomed to know:
Grief cannot shade that brow again ;

Rise, little weeper! go!

And grieve not for the little one
Whose years were brief and few;
Thine spared, ere many more be done,

May call for weeping too,

But place thy trust in Jesus’ arm,
For earth is dark and dim;

Friends cannot shield thy life from harm:
Go! rest thy heart on Him.

Rooxrorp, Int. H. L. W.

ren

Trust in Providence.

HERE were two neighbors, who had
each a wife and several little
children, and their wages as com-
mon laborers were their only sup-

port. One of these men was fretful and
disquieted, saying, “Uf I die, or even if
[ fall sick, what will become of my fam-
ily?” This thought never left him, but
gnawed his heart, as a worm the fruit
in which it is hidden. Now, although
the same thought was presented to the
mind of the other father, yet he was not
fretted by it, for he said, “God, who
knows all his creatures, and watches

over them, shall also watch over me and
mine.” Thus he lived tranquil, while
the other neither tasted repose nor
joy. One day, as the latter was labor-
ing in the ficld, sad and cast down be-
cause of his fear, he saw some birds go
in and out of a plantation. Having ap-
proached, he found two nests side by
side, and in each several young ones,
newly hatched and still unfledged. When
he returned to his work, he frequently
looked at these birds, as they went out
and returned, carrying nourishment to
their young ones. But behold! at the
moment when one of the mothers is re-
turning with her bill full, a vulture
seizes her, carries her off, and the poor
mother, vainly struggling beneath his
grasp, utters a piercing cry. At this
sight the man who was working felt his
soul more troubled than before; for,
thought he, the death of the mother is
the death of her young ones. Mine
have only me—no other! What will
become of them if I fail them? All the
day he was gloomy and sad, and at
night he slept not. On the morrow, as
he returned to the field, he said, “I
should like to see the little ones of that
poor mother—several, without doubt,
have already perished.” He set off to-
ward the plantation, and looking into the
nests, he saw the young ones alive and
well; not one seemed to have suffered.
Astonished at this he hid himself in or-
der to see the cause. After a little while
he heard a light cry, and perceived the
other mother bringing back, in haste, the
food she had gathered, which she dis-
tributed to all the young ones without
distinction. There was some for each,
and the orphans were not abandoned in
their misery. In the evening, the father
194

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

eee eniiidiiidiiiiiiiiiieieiMat i

who had distrusted Providence, related
to the other father what he had seen,
who observed, ‘“‘ Why fret yourself?
God never abandons his children ; his
love has some secrets which we do not
know. Let us believe, hope, love, labor,
and pursue our course in peace; if I die
before you, you shall be a father to my
children, and if you die before me, I will
be a father to yours; and if we both die
before they are of age to provide for
their own necessities, they will then
have for their father, ‘Our Father who
is in Heaven,’ ”

A Word to Little Girls.

OW TO BE LOVED.—Who is lovely ?
It is that little girl who drops
sweet words, kind remarks, and
pleasant smiles, as she passes
along—who has a kind word of sympathy
for every girl or boy she meets in trouble,
and a kind hand to help her companions
out of difficulty—who never scowls,
never contends, never teases her mates,
nor seeks in any other way to diminish,
but always to increase their happiness.
Would it not please you to pick up a
string of pearls, drops of gold, diamonds,
and precious stones, as you pass along the
streets? But these are the true pearls
and precious stones which can never be
lost. Take the hand of the friendless.
Smile on the sad and dejected. Sympa-
thize with those in trouble. Strive
everywhere to diffuse around you sun-
shine and joy.
If you do this, you will be sure to be
loved. Dr. Doddridge one day asked his

little girl why it was that everybody
loved her ?

“I know not,” she replied, “ unless
it be that I love everybody.”

This the true secret of being beloved.
“He that hath friends,” says Solomon,
“must show himself friendly.” Love
begets love. If you love others, they
cannot help loving you. So then, do
not put on a scowl, and fretfully com-
plain that nobody loves you, or that such .
or such a one does not like you. If no-
body loves you, it is your own fault.
Either you do not make yourself lovely
by a sweet winning temper, and kind
winning ways, or you do not love those
of whom you complain.— Anecdotes of
Girls.

Boys and Fruit.

ATHER Mills astonished the boys of
4 Torringford one Sabbath, as he
, Was giving an account of his
journey to his congregation. Said

he, “I went up into Vermont, and found
many excellent farms, and was surprised
to see so much fine fruit. So I said to
the good people, ‘ How do you manage
to keep your fruit? Don’t the boys stout
it? I lose nearly all mine in that way.’
‘What!’ they exclaimed, ‘boys steal
fruit! We never heard of such a thing,
Pray, where do you live?’ And I was
obliged to tell them,’’ said the old man,
hanging his head, “ that I lived in Tor-
ringford, in the good old state of Con-
necticut.”

It is to be peapemndiictigieah I never
heard how that was—that the boys im-
proved by this hint,
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



A Curious Beetle.

HE common Beetle, which we see
running about the house, in the
country, is a very interesting in-
sect. A great many little boys

and girls are afraid of it, but there is no
reason why they should be afraid. The
beetle will not hurt anybody. It is sin-
gular how long these insects will live,
when they have no kind of nourishment
but air.

A man by the name of Baber, who
lived in England, and who belonged to
the Royal Society, found a beetle once,
which he could not starve to death, and
could not drown in spirits of wine.
When he caught this beetle, he put it
into a bottle of strong alcohol, that be-
ing the way he usually killed other in-
sects like the beetle. He wanted to
preserve the insect, and that is the

‘ason he tried to kill it. After the

had been in the spirits awhile,

‘ber took it out. It appeared to
d; and he put it ina pill-box, and

laid the box away in a drawer. About
two months after that, he went to the
drawer for something, and he thought
he would look into the box where the
beetle was, when he found it was alive
and well. Again he threw the beetle
into spirits of wine, and let it lie much

ning about under the tumbler.

longer than he did before. When he
took it out, it seemed dead, and he put
it away again, as before. But a month
afterward, he found it as lively as ever.
Well, he did not want to give it up so;
and he threw the beetle into the liquor
again, This time he let it lie there an
hour. He took it out, and put a tum-
bler over it. In six hours, it was run-
Then
he let it remain all night in spirits, and
again placed it under the tumbler. But
he soon showed that he was no nearer
dead than ever.

Mr. Baber kept this beetle two years
and a half after that. He did not know
what it lived on; for he could not see
that he ever ate anything. He thought
it lived on air, and I rather think so too.
Plants, you know, live principally on
what they get from the air; and I do
not see why some insects may not get
nourishment from the same _ source.
The animal, vegetable, and mineral king-
doms are not separated from each other
by very wide boundaries; and some-
times they differ from each other near
these boundaries so little, that it is ex-
ceedingly difficult to tell where one
kingdom ends, and where the other, |
kingdom begins, a
196

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



EOPPOREAL TABLE DALE.

THE CENTURY QUESTION.




our readers to give |
us their views re-
specting the com-
mencement of the
nineteenth century, ©

the present century. A great |

many letters ‘were received, in answer to

| by his enemies.” Mary Frances, the

Lona time ago, we asked | - Ohio correspondent, thinks that the pic-

"ture in the primers may have been sug-

to tell us whether the year |

|

this question, in which different opinions ©

were given.
whom we very much esteem, has just —

told what we thought of the matter, and |

- expresses the wish that we would “de- |

fine our position,” as they say in Con-
gress. Certainly, Miss Mary.
firm conviction, that every minute of the
year 1800 belonged to the last century.



ABSALOM’S HAIR AGAIN.

We took occasion, not long ago, to
correct what we suppose to be a very
common notion respecting the mode in
which Absalom was caught in the
boughs of a tree. A little Ohio girl
sends us a quotation from Josephus, from
which it appears that that generally ac-
curate and reliable historian believed and
taught that Absalom was caught by his
hair. “He entangled his hair greatly,”
says he, “in the large boughs of a
knotty tree that spread a great way, and
there he hung, after a surprising man-
ner; and as for the beast, he went on
farther, and that swiftly, as if his master
had still been on his back; but, hanging
by the hair upon the boughs, was taken

One of oar. little friends | lusion to the Salic law of France.

you tell me what this law is, and all

: 9
written to remind us that we have never | about it ?

_ gested by this statement of Josephus.
| Perhaps so; but there is no proof in the
Bible that Absalom was caught by his
_ hair, for all that.

THE SALIC LAW.

Groree. Mr. Thinker, in the course
of my reading yesterday, I found an al-

Will

Turnxer. I can tell you what it is,
and how and when it was made; but it
would take a good while to “tell all

ee vabout it.”

G. It does not allow the crown to be
worn by females, I believe.

T. True; but the Salic law reaches
a great deal farther than this. The
Franks, previous to their conquests
in Gaul, (or France, as the country is

_now called) had a law by which prop-

erty could be held only by male heirs.
One clause in this code reads thus:
“The Salic lands shall never be the in-
heritance of a woman, but always of a
man.” Asa king among the Franks, in
the early period of French history, was
nothing more than a military chief, this
provision extended to the throne; and in
all the changes which have taken place
in France during a period of more than
twelve hundred years, this regulation has
been strictly observed. France, on ac-
count of this ancient law, has never been
governed by a queen during the whole
of this time.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

197

aqeemeee ernest ac OS GEE CEI AA nn

Dear Mr. Tarnxer,—A little while
ago a question was asked by one of the
readers of the Casinert, where the divi-
ding line is between the Atlantic and
Pacific oceans. I am not sure where it
is; but I think I will venture to guess,
for the benefit of the one who inquired,
that it is the line which runs straight
from one pole to the other.

KNOXVILLE, ILL. 8s. G. DUNCAN.



ANSWER TO ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS
no, Iii.

1. The boy must have had 15 apples.
Then, according to the statement, at the
first gate he left 8; at the second 4; at
the third 2; and so had one left.

2. The first package of ten yards was
sold for 45 cents per yard, amounting to
$4 50. The second package of 30
yards, was sold for 15 cents per yard,
amounting to $4 50. The third pack-
age of 50 yards, was sold for 9 cents per
yard, amounting to $4 50.

8. The stock-buyer must have bought
5 head of cattle, at $10 per head,
amounting to $50; 1 hog, at $3; 94
sheep, at 50 cents per head, amounting
to $47; in all 100 head, at $100.

The three questions were answered by
S. L. N. of Durham, N. Y. The first
and third were answered by J. D. C. of
Mud Creek, N. Y. ‘The first only, by
C. B. 8. of Orange, N. H.



ANSWER TO CHARADE NO, VI.

Children delight in something new,
Scarce caring if soon flown ;

In less degree, the same is true
Of men and women grown.

Tell me, oh dark-eyed Indian maid,
Is ’t so among your race ¢

Or is this weakness but displayed
With us of paler face ?

If rightly used, a noble thing
Is found your second,—zeal :

Making the user richly bring
Himself and others, weal.

If worse employed, ’twere better far
That it had never been;

So does the fearful agent mar,
Swelling the scroll of sin.

You rightly name the last and third,
The copulative and,

In size and note, “a little word,”
If singly it doth stand.

Yet placed between some two, you say,
Joining each separate whole,

Oft find we, that its influence may
Vast interests control.

And now connecting all the three,
Uniting them in one,

They form an island in the sea,
Where fiercely shines the sun.

New Zealand is this island’s name,
With men of stature great,

Where Cook, of such illustrious fame,
Untimely met his fate. LOUIS.



ANSWER TO CHARADE NO, VII,

1. POND
2, 1

PONDICHERRY.
3. CHERRY



ANSWER TO BIBLICAL QUESTIONS NO. I.

1. The book of Esther contains not
one of the names usually applied to God.

2. The word eternity is mentioned in
the Bible but once, and that is in
Isaiah, lvii. 15.

8. The whole alphabet, with the ex-
ception of the letter J, is found in Ezra
vii, 21.

Answers were sent by E. P. Weyer,
of Madison, Ind. and also by a Miss

whose name we either did not get, or
| else have mislaid, and who writes us a
| letter in this style: “ My much esteemed

_fr iend, if you will attend to what I now
write, it will be my delight to scribble
"away as long as you say.’
198 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



CHARADE NO, VIII.

My first a noun of letters three,
An equal state implies,

My next a vowel lone you'll see,
Contracted in its size.

My first and second may appear
Quite mean in form and name;

Yet stay, my third is even here,
To bring them into fame.

My third may count three different things:
A coin of monied France,

Just loose that Frenchman’s boursette strings,
You'll find it at a glance.—

Again my third will e’en denote
One of the gammut eight:

Now will the novice clear his throat,
Ere pitching this high quate.

My third and last once more will spell
An object vast in size,

So vast no mortal mind could well
Its vastness realize ;

So bright no mortal eye could meet
Its lustre, and not quail,

Even an eagle's glance so fleet,
Would in an instant fail.

My whole is not so great in fame,
Nor yet so great in size,

Yet doth it serve a double aim
For many a young girl’s eyes.

Crusoe mayhap at once might speak,
For fashioned he the same,

And many a dame methinks might eke
Contrive to give me name. LOUIS,



PUZZLE NO, I,

A word of one syllable call to your mind,

The letters of which will, if rightly combined,

Provide you with two kinds of fuel—aye, more :

A warm piece of clothing, and fasten your door.
8. N.



ENIGMA NO. VI,

I am composed of twenty letters.
My 7, 10, 6, 1, 8, 7, is the name of a
savage chieftain, once terrible on account
of his power and rapacity. My 3,9, 17,

16, 5, 11, is the consequence of neglect
of the laws of God and man. My 2, 1,



17, 17, 7, 20, is an object of religious
reverence to the greater part of Christen-
dom, but of denunciation and abhorrence
tothe remainder. My 6, 16, 2, 16, 5, 1,
10, 11, is often, when gilded by success,
mistaken for a virtue.
7, 5, isa bond of union, better calculated
to unite the masses, than are all the asso-
ciation doctrines of the day. My 2, 4, 5,
7, 8, 1, 6, 11, isconsidered by some phi-
losophers to be the basis of all present
as well as future happiness. My 11, 7,
5, 8, 18, 19, 14, 15, is a maritime place,
of some importance. My 5, 4, 3, 7, is
the classic name of a place once mighty,
but now politically debased and power-
less. My 17, 18, 20, 9, 6, 7, 5, 11, is an
adjective, expressing the condition of a
man when alone with the one he loves
best. My 7, 20, 27, 2, 4, is famous in mar-
tial story, as the spot where many brave
men fell fighting in a questionable cause.
My 13, 9, 8, 16, is a bad thing to dite.
My whole is of momentous importance to
all, but considered only by the few, who
have made it a theme of endless specu-
lation and discussion. H. R. W.






























ENIGMA NO, VII.

I am composed of twenty-one letters.
My 3, 9, 1, 12, 11, is the name of an
ancient city. My 18, 20, 7, 21, is any-
thing and everything. My 8, 15, 19,
16, 13, is what Cupid is often called.
My 4, 5, 2, 6, is real estate, My 10,
17, 14, is what people always are, when
it rains hard, and there is nothing be-
twen them and the sky but a thin um-
brella. My whole is of great importance
to many, and is made a theme of endless
speculation and discussion by a few—if

not more, 8. N.
BROOKLYN.

My 2, 12, 5, 14,



|
4
THE YOUTITS CABINET.

ee



3S

os popy, almost, hus heard one
J} of our national songs, called “ The

Star-Spangled Banner,” which is

sung all over the country on the
fourth of July, if at no other time. It
is a song which finds its way, without
much ceremony, to every American
heart. The other day, I was reading an
account of the manner in which it came
to be written. It was composed by

Francis Key. A gentleman had left
V 13

199

——— nee



l = —¥, nl Ti = = -
a Nt =
= i
' ‘ie

TN }
' TTI

\\ \ bal



= =

| Baltimore, during the war, with a flag

of truce, for the purpose of getting re-
leased from the British fleet a friend of
his, who had been captured at Marl-
borough. He went as far as the mouth
of the Patuxent, and was not permitted
to return, for fear he would disclose the
intended attack on Baltimore. So he
was brought up the bay to the mouth of
the Patapsco, where the flag-vessel was

kept under the guns of the frigate ; and
JLY
200

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ar cS eee

he was forced to witness the bombard-
ment of fort McHenry. - He watched the
flag at the fort through the whole day,
with intense anxiety, until night pre-
vented him from seeing it. In the morn-
ing, his eye was greeted by the flag of
his country, waving as proudly as ever.
This circumstance suggested the song,

which I think I must copy for my young
readers. They will catch the spirit of
it, I presume, without any comment on
my part. If they should fail to do so,
however, they may just turn to the
230th page, where they will find the
music that belongs to it; so that they
can say it or sing it, as they choose.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming ?—
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming ‘—
And the rockets’ red glare,
The bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there }—
() say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the lagd of the free, and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foes’ haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that, which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ?
Now it catches the gleam
Of the morning’s first beam,—
In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream.
"Tis the star-spangled banner! long may it wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

Til.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war’s desolation!
Blessed with victory and peace, may our own cherished land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must
If our cause is but just,
And this is our motto: “In God is our trust!”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave !
ean ae



ra, 2,
itis
ee

eg SE





THE YOUTIPS CABINET. 201

Perils of Whale Catching.

xz of the most entertaining books
we have read for many a day,
was placed on our table not long
since, written by our friend, the
Rev. Henry T. Cheever. The title of
this volume is “The Whale and his
Captors,” and the object of it is to sketch
in detail the adventures of whalemen.
Some time since, Mr. Cheever made a
cruise himself in a whale-ship, and is a

witness of a great portion of what he re-.

lates. Our little readers would have a
treat, if they should get }.sld of this book.
We hope they will have a chance to read
it, but fearing some of them may not be so
highly favored, we think we will take a
chapter out of the book, and put it into
the Cainer:

One captain says he has seen instances
of the most wonderful strength and ac-
tivity in the north-west whales, greater
than he ever saw before in either right
or sperm. He was once fast to a large
cow whale, which was in company with
a small one, a full-grown calf. They
kept together, and after a time the cap-
tain hauled his boat up between them.
When they were both within reach, he
shoved his lance “into the life” of the
cow, at which she threw her flukes and
the small part of her body completely
over the head of the boat without touch-
ing it (although they were half drowned
with the water she scooped up,) and the
full weight of the blow, intended for the
boat, fell upon the back of the other
whale. He sunk immediately, going
down bent nearly double, and, the cap-
tain thinks, must have been killed by the

blow. The same person has seen a stout
hickory pole, three inches in diameter



and six feet long, broken into four pieces
by a blow from a whale’s tail, and the
pieces sent flying twenty feet in the air
and that, too, when no other resistance
was offered than that of the water upon
which it floated.

The first whale this man struck there

turned him over in two different boats,
and afterward “knocked them into kind-
ling wood,” while spouting blood into
thick clots, and yet this whale lived four
hours after, showing its great tenacity
of life. He came up alongside the boat,
and turned it over with his nose, as a .
hog would his eating-trough, and then

with his flukes deliberately broke it up.
Of course the crew had to take to Na-
ture’s oars, and they all marvelously es-
caped unhurt, although one of them was
carried sitting upon the whale’s flukes

several rods, till he slid off unharmed

from his strange sea- chariot.

One of the most thrilling stories con-
nected with the adventures of whalemen
was detailed some time’ ago, in the
“Sheet Anchor.” I give the substance
of it:

We were cruising somewhere between
the latitude of thirty-six and thirty-seven
degrees south, and the longitude of sixty-
eight degrees east, in search of right
whales. It was in the afternoon, and the
ship was moving along under her top-
gallant sails at the rate of about five
knots the hour, ‘The most hardened
grumbler could not find fault with: the
day. At the fore and main top-gallant
cross-trees were two men on the look-
out for whales. It was now nearly four
o’clock, when the man at the main sung
out, “There she blows!” He repeated
the cry regularly five or six times. All
was now excitement among the officers
i}
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THE WHALE CAPSIZING THE BOAT,




THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

203



and men. Every one was anxious to
know if it was the kind of whale we
wanted. The mate hailed the man at
the mast-head, “ Where away is that
whale? What do you call her?”

“Right whale, sir, on the lee beam,
two miles off; look out sharp for her !”

“Sing out when the ship heads for
her !”

“ Ay, ay, sir.”

“Keep her away!” said the captain
to the man at the helm. “Boy, hand
me the spy-glass.” “Steady!” sung
out the man at the mast-head. ‘Steady
it is!’ answered the wheel. The cap-
tain then started to go aloft. “Mr. A.
(to the mate,) you may square in the
after yards, and then call all hands.”

« Forward, there!’ shouted the mate.
“Haul the main-sail up and square the
yards! Bill!’ (to anold sailor.) |“ Sir?”
“Call hands!” “Ay, ay, sir. All
hands, ahoy!” shouted old Bill, in a
voice like a tempest. “Stand by the
boats!’ In Jess than no time the deck
was alive with men.

‘« Boat-steerers, get your boats ready !”
In a moment, as it were, the boats were
in readiness, the tubs put in, the lines
bent on to the harpoons, and the crews
standing by, ready to follow the boats
down to the water, when the word came
from the captain to lower away.

“There she blows!” sung out the
man at the fore; “not half a mile off.”

“ Down helm!” shouted the captain.
“Mr. A., brace up the mizzen top-sail.
Hoist and swing the boats! Lower
away!” Down went the boats, and
down followed the crews. As the boats
struck the water, every man was on his
thwart, with his hand on the loom of
his oar, and all at once the three boats

were cutting their way through the
water in the direction of the whale.

It was my duty to steer the mate’s
boat, and she happened to be the fast-
est puller, so that, although we all left
the ship together, and for a few rods
kept nearly head and head with each
other, still we knew well enough that,
as soon as the word came from the
mate to “give way,” we should drop
the others ina moment. So we did not
fret ourselves, but kept cool for a tight
pull, when the whale should show him-
self on the surface of the water again,
which he did the moment after.

“‘ Here she is!” cried the mate; “and
not over ten rods from the boat. Now,
my dear fellows, lay back hard! Spring
hard, I tell you! There she blows!
Only give way, my boys, and she is
ours!” The boat. bounded forward like
a thing of life. “Spring like tigers!”
said the mate, his voice sinking almost
toa whisper. I looked over my shoul-
der to see what kind of a chance I was
about to have, at the same time pulling
at my own oar with all my might. We
were going on her starboard quarter ;
just the chance I liked to fasten to a
whale. |

“Stand up!” shouted the mate; and
in a moment I was on my feet, and in
the next moment I had two harpoons
to the hitches into her. “Stern! stern
all!” sung out the mate, as he saw the
irons in the whale. ‘Come here, my
boy!” said he to me. We shifted ends ;
he to the head, and I to the stern of the
boat. The whale started off like light-
ning.

‘“‘ Hold on, line!’’ said the mate; and
away we shot after her, like an arrow
from the bow. The mate by this time
204



had his lance ready. ‘Haul me on to
that whale!” he shouted; and all hands

turned to hauling line, while I coiled it
away in the stern-sheets. We had got

nearly up to the whale when she took to
sounding, taking the line right up and
down from the head of the boat. I had
two turns of the line round the logger-
head, and was holding on as much as
the boat would bear, when, all at once,
another large whale, that we knew no-
thing about, shot up out of the water
nearly her whole length, in a slanting
position, hanging directly over the boat.
I threw off the turns from the logger-
head, and shouted to the men to “ stern.”
But it was of no use; she fell the whole
length of her body on the boat.

I heard a crash ! and, as I went down,
I felt a pressure of water directly over
my head, caused, as I thought, by the
whale’s flukes as she struck. How long
I was under water I know not; but I
remember that all looked dark above
me, and that I tried very hard to shove
my head through in order to breathe.
At last I succeeded; but what a sight
was that on which I gazed when I found
myself on the surface of the water !
About a rod off was the whale that we
were fast to, thrashing the water into a
foam with his flukes, the ocean red with
blood, and the crimson streams pouring
from the wounds in the whale’s sides
made by the harpoons. In another di-
rection I could see pieces of the boat
floating around. At the distance of two
or three miles, I could occasionally get
a glimpse of the ship as I rode on the
top of a swell, and not a human being
in sight.

Not losing heart or hope, I struck out
for a piece of the stern of our once

beautiful boat a few rods distant.



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

The.
crew came up one after another, catch-
ing at anything they could see to help
keep them afloat. One poor fellow came
paddling along with two or three oars
under him, crying out that his back was
broken. Another of the crew and my-
self got him on a piece of the boat
that we had hold of. His thigh was
broken, and he could not move his legs
at all.

The second mate soon after picked us
up in his boat, and so much had we
been engaged in looking out for our-
selves, that we did not perceive one of
our number was missing. But alas! it
was too soon found out. He was a
young man, about seventeen years old,
and did not belong to the boat, but went
in the place of the midship oarsman,
who was sick at the time. The whale
fell directly over him, and probably
killed him in a moment.

With what feelings we pulled around
and around the spot where the boat
was stoven, unwilling to believe, even
after we knew there was no hope, that
our shipmate was gone, never more to
return! How silently we glided along-
side of the ship, and hoisted in our other
poor shipmate, now lamed for life !

Ah, that some of those people who
look upon sailors as little better than
brutes, and who know little or nothing
of the kind feelings and strong affections
that are hid under their rough outside,
could have seen what I saw on board
that ship. Even their hearts would
melt; and they would find it is not al-
ways the polished and educated, the
smooth-faced and handsome man, that
has the warmest heart or most generous
feelings.




THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

205

erent ow erereieeeaennemetincniacaiilaigitisaslaiaaeaiiiiiiiii LLL

Spiders fond of Music.

pipers have been known to exhibit

a great deal of pleasure in hear-

ing music. A captain of a regi-

ment in Navarre was once con-

fined in prison six months, for having
spoken too freely to a nobleman. Du-
ring his imprisonment, he requested the
governor to allow him permission to send
for his lute, so that he might play on it
once in a while, for his amusement. The
favor was granted, and the captain used
frequently to play on the instrument.
After afew days, according to his story,
as soon as he commenced playing, the
spiders would come down from their
webs, and form a circle around him, so
as to hear the music more distinctly.
When he stopped playing, the spiders
went back to their webs. This was re-
peated every time he played. For some
reason or another, he did not take up
his lute for nearly a week, during which
time the spiders were not seen to leave
their webs; but as soon as he began to
play again, they all came out as before.
This anecdote may seem rather too
strange for belief; but there is another
one from a different source, of the same
character; and, on the whole, I am in-

clined to think the facts actually took

place. The other anecdote to which I
allude is told by a Frenchman who was
in the habit of watching the movements
of insects very closely, whose character
for truth is said to have been above sus-
picion. This man went into his chamber
one day, and took up a violin to amuse
himself until supper-time. He had not
played fifteen minutes, before he saw
several spiders descend from the ceiling.
As he continued playing, they came and

berries there.

ranged themselves on the table before
him, where they stayed until the bell
rang for supper, when he stopped play-
ing, and they all went back again to
their several webs. After this, he fre-
quently amused himself and his friends,
by bringing out these spiders, whenever he
chose to do so, by a tune on his violin.

4

Jemmy Thompson and the Blackberries.

party of girls and boys went

one afternoon to pick blackber-

ries. Each of the party had a

basket or a tin cup, and were

soon among the brambles. Jemmy
Thompson had the smallest vessel of
them all, and expected soon to fill it, and
help his playmates. He went right in
among the thickest of the bushes, pick-
ing one or two of the sweet berries here
and there, and striding along to find
some that were larger and finer. He
trampled many branches down, and
seemed less ready to stop at a proper
place and set properly to work to fill his
cup. In this way he wandered all over
the ground, till he was quite tired, and
began to think there were no good black-
When he returned to his
party, he found nearly all of them had
filled their cups, and were now filling
themselves, while the bottom of his cup,
which was smaller than all, was scarcely
covered. The children gladly put their
hands together, and soon gave him a full
cup to carry home with the rest of them.

Here are good lessons to be learned :

1. To get knowledge, or anything else
worth the getting, you must set about it
206 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.



at once, and gather where you are, and ; oozing out of it, and we will puta pail on
as you go. Some boys and girls read | the ground, for the sap to drop into,
books as Jemmy Thompson gathered | When there is a kettle full of it, I will
blackberries. They go among the thick- | boil it over the fire, just to show you how
est and the best, but bear nothing away, | sugar ismade. The sap looks like water,
because they do not gather where they are, | and is pleasant drink. When it has
and as they go, of all that comes to hand. | boiled awhile, it looks like molasses, and
2. To save the soul, you must set | finally it becomes sugar. Cutting down
about it at once, and where you are, and | the tree, in order to get the sugar that
as you go; pluck whatever will help you | is in it, would be something like killing
in it. How many go on‘from week to | a cow to gether milk. But after all, this
week, and year to year, amid all that | is full as rational as the plan some peo-
can be desired to save and bless their | ple adopt to get pleasure. They go to
spirits, yet come off at the end, like | the fountain, and dry up the springs, in
Jemmy Thompson, without gaining life’s | order to obtain the greatest possible
great work. quantity of the water !”” E. T.
O, reader, set about your work of get- |
ting knowledge, and seeking salvation
for yourself, lest the evening of life should
come, and you should find that you had
wasted your time, and, while others were Chide mildly the Erring.
saved, you were lost !—S. S. Advocate.

'
i

!

Curve mildly the erring !
Kind language endears ;

sniiheciasiitiliaa Grief follows the sinful—
Add not to their tears.

Avoid with reproaches

A Queer Notion. Fresh pain to bestow ;
The heart which is stricken
* OTHER,” said a little girl, the. Needs never a blow.
other day, “I do wish you'd Chide mildly the erring !
persuade grandpa’ to cut Jeer not at their fall!
down one of thesé maple If strength were but human,
trees in door-yard, and make it into su- How weakly were all!

What marvel that footsteps
Should wander astray,
When tempests so shadow

gar.” “ What will you do with it then?”
asked her mother,—‘ pound it up, and

squeeze it, or burn it, or what?” “I don’t Life's wearisome way !
know,” said Martha, looking a little red, Chide mildly the erring!
“they say they make maple sugar out of Entreat them with care!
maple trees. Emily just gave me a nice Their natures are mortal—
cake of it, and it is so delightful.” They need not despair.
“Well,” said her mother, “I will get ee eee
John to bore a hole in one of the trees,.

; And the grace which redeems us,
and fit a tube to it, and then, when the Wait diliie een ths Olen

weather is favorable, the sap will come 0. W. PATTEN.
THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 207



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AON AUN
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The Bird of Paradise.

HERE are few birds that have more
deceived and puzzled the learned
than this, Some have described
it as an inhabitant of the air, liv-

ing only upon the dew of heaven, and
never coming down to earth. Others
have acquiesced in the latter part of its
history, but have represented it as feed-
ing-on flying insects. Some have asserted
that it was without feet, and others have
ranked it among the birds of prey.

The great beauty of this bird’s plu- ,

mage, and the deformity of its legs, seem
to have given rise to most of these erro-
neous reports. The savages of the Mo-
lucca Islands, of which it is an inhabi-
tant, perceiving the inclination the Eu-
ropeans had for this beautiful bird,
carefully cut off its legs before they
brought it to market. Thus concealing
its greatest deformity, they considered
themselves entitled to rise in their de-
mands, when they offered it for sale.
One deceit led to another.- The buyer,
208

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

nnn ren

finding the bird without legs, naturally
inquired after them; and the seller as
naturally began to assert that. it had
none. Thus far the European was im-
posed upon by others ;. in all the rest he
imposed upon himself. Seeing so beau-
tiful a bird without legs, he concluded
that it could live only in the air, where
legs were unnecessary. The extraordi-
nary splendor of its plumage assisted
this deception; and as it had heavenly
beauty, ‘so it was asserted to have a
heavenly residence. Hence its name, and
all the false reports that have been made
concerning it.

Error, however, is short-lived, and

time has discovered, that this bird not -

only has legs, but very large, strong
ones, for its size. Soon after the dis-
covery was made, this harmless bird was
branded with the character of being ra-
pacious, of destroying all birds of smaller
size, and, from the amazing rapidity of
its flight, as well qualified for a vast deal
of mischief. The real history of this
pretty animal is at present tolerably well
known ; and it is found to be as harm-
less as it is beautiful.

There are several species of the bird
of Paradise. The one which is repre-
sented in the engraving is called the
Great Bird of Paradise. It is extremely
beautiful, as any of my readers may
judge from the picture.

This species appears to the eye as
large as a pigeon, though in reality the
body is not much greater than that of a
thrush. The tail, which is about six
inches in length, is as long as the body.
The wings are large, compared with the
bird’s other dimensions. The head, the
throat, and the neck are of a pale gold
color. The base of the bill and the side

of the head and throat are surrounded
by black feathers, which are as soft as
velvet, and changeable like those on the
neck of a blackbird. The hinder part
of the head is of a shining green, mixed
with gold. The body and wings are
chiefly covered with beautiful brown,
purple, and gold feathers, The upper-
most part of the tail feathers are of a
pale yellow, and those under them white
and longer than the former ; for which
reason the hinder part of the tail appears
to be all white. But what chiefly ex-
cites curiosity are the two long naked
feathers which, as you will see, spring
from the upper part of the rump above
the tail, and which are usually about
three feet long. These are bearded only
at the beginning and the end ; the whole
shaft, for above two feet nine inches,
being of a deep black, while the feath-
ered extremity is of a beautiful change-
able color.

This bird, which for beauty exceeds
all other species of this genus, is a native
of the Molucca Islands. ‘There, in the
delightful and spicy woods of the coun-
try, these beautiful creatures fly in large
flocks, so that the groves which produce
the richest spices produce the finest
birds also. The inhabitants themselves
are perfectly aware of the great beauty
of these birds, and give them the name
of God’s birds, as being superior to all
others in existence. They live in large
flocks, and at night generally perch upon
the same tree. They fly very rapidly,
and are almost continually on the wing,
in pursuit of insects, which form their
usual prey.

Some years ago the ladies in this
country used to ornament their bonnets
with the plumage of this beautiful bird.


THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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Cape Ann.

apg Any, situated on the coast of

Massachusetts, is a place very

much resorted to during the sum-

mer months. It was settled very

early, and there are a great many things

in that vicinity which are interesting on

account of old associations connected

with them. The National Library gives

some interesting sketches of the Cape,

from which I will make some selections
for my readers.

Until very recently there was an old
church on the Cape, situated in the west
parish of Gloucester. It was erected in
1713, and when pulled down, was found
to be perfectly sound, having been con-
structed of the best timber in the strong-
est manner. It would have stood for a
century longer, and ought to have been
preserved as a memorial of the olden
time, instead of being sold for fire-wood
for a trifling sum. Its distance from any
settlement had long ago caused its aban-

donment as a house of worship. In form
it was nearly square. The pulpit was
quite an imposing mass of wood-work,
containing timber enough to build a
good-sized house after the modern man-
ner of erecting dwellings. The pews
were square, with high sides, surmounted
by wooden railings. In the galleries,
the sexes were separated, the males sit-
ting on one side, the females opposite,
each party being arranged with refer-
ence to age. Beneath the pulpit stood
the chair of the deacon, whence that
worthy personage was wont to “deacon”
forth the psalms and hymns, two lines at
a time, which were first sung, and then
followed by two more, at intervals, until
the whole was accomplished.

Another object of curiosity is a build-
ing called the “Old Garrison House.”
This is the one which you see repre-
sented in the engraving. It was built a
long time before the revolutionary war.
210
The Old Man and the Princess.
HERE were once assembled, in Doc-
t tory, a great many distinguished
persons, some to consult him,
were many French ladies and gentlemen,
and a Russian prince, with his daughter,
attention. A young French Marquis at-
tempted, for the amusement of the la-
doctor; but the latter, though not ac-
quainted with the French language, an-
bad not the laugh on his side. During
the conversation, there entered an old
white beard, a neighbor of Schuppach’s.
The doctor directly turned away from
and hearing that his wife was ill, set
about preparing the medicine for her,
more exalted guests, whose business he
did not think so pressing. The Marquis
wit, and therefore chose to turn his jokes
against the old man, who was waiting
ring something for his old Mary. After
many silly observations upon his long
louis d’or, that none of the ladies would
kiss the old fellow. The Russian Prin-
to her attendant, who brought her a
salver. The Princess put twelve louis
quis, who, of course, could not decline
to add twelve others. Then the fair Rus-

tor Michael Schuppach’s labora-
and some out of curiosity ; among them
whose singular beauty attracted general
dies, to display his wit on the miraculous
swered so cleverly, that the Marquis
peasant, meanly dressed, with a snow-
his great company, to his old neighbor,
without paying much attention to his
was now deprived of one subject of his
while his neighbor, Michael, was prepa-
white beard, he offered a wager of twelve
cess hearing these words, made a sign
d’or on it, and had it carried to the Mar-
sian went up to the old peasant, and said,





THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

‘Permit me, venerable father, to salute
you after the fashion of my country.”
Saying this, she embraced him, and gave
him akiss. She then presented him with
the gold which was on the salver, with
these words: “Take this as a remem-
brance of me, and as a proof that the
Russian girls think it their duty to honor
old age.” —Slater’s Little Princes.

The Scent of the Rose.



BY MARGARET JUNKIN,



I went to the garden to-night, mamma,
To the spot where the rose tree grows,
And I bent down a branch of your favorite
bush,
And gathered a beautiful rose.

It bore such a sweet perfume, mamma,

I thought it must be its breath,

And I hushed my own while I listened to
hear,

But the rose was as still as death.

Then I looked at the pale pink color, mamma,
And fancied the scent was there ;

But then I remembered the delicate bloom

On your cheek was just as fair.

I had often heard of the fairies, mamma,

Who danced all the moonlit night,

And who sometimes slept in the heart of the
rose,

When the sun was warm and bright.

So I tore the flower apart, mamma,
And scattered its leaves around ;
But no little fairy with scented wings,
Was anywhere there to be found.

And now I have gathered another, mamma,
As fragrant as any that grows ;

And I’ve brought it to you to ask you where
Is hidden the scent of the rose.

LexineTon, Va.


THE YOUTHS CABINET.

il



The Talisman;
OR, GRANDMAMA HOARYHEAD’S STORY.

ov have sometimes
wondered, my dear
children, that I
should prize a sim-
Y ple hair necklace,
\** more than all the
BN) ent FeO, treasures of my cab-
: inet. I remember

with what admira-
tion you always look up-
on the silver goblet, with
its antique carving; the
jeweled watch, with its
CG: massive chain; the casket of
gems, and miniatures; but
with all their beauties, none

" of these are as precious to
me, as the little band of hair, which so
long ago encircled my throat. My own
dear mother, many years ago, clasped it
as_a, talisman, upon the neck of her err-
ing daughter. You have heatd of
charms, and spells, worn by the super-
stitious in times of danger and pestilence.
The aborigines of America, and many
other savage nations, put great faith in
them, but the talisman which I so much
prize, is unlike any of their potent
charms. In my early childhood, I was
liable ;.to attacks of a most dangerous
kind. These attacks caused my dear
parents great anxiety, particularly my
beloved mother, in whose presence the
disease more often exhibited itself, and
gave her hours of discomfort and suffer-
ing. I shudder when I think what
might have been the consequence to my-
self and others, had not this disease
been eradicated. You will cease to
wonder at the value the necklace pos-

> ay €

sesses in my eyes, when I tell you the
influence it had in dissipating this mal-
ady, which, like an eastern sirocco, was
blighting and withering the greenness
and beauty of my chilthood. When I
tell you also, that this disease baffled all
medica! skill, and became each day more
violent, and after every attack more
fixed, you will understand why I think
the necklace as precious as Aladdin’s
lamp, or Fortunatus’ w ishing-cap. Yes,
more precious, for what could they pro-
cure as valuable as the reminiscences of
my life, when freed from this direful
complaint ; or what would I give, in ex-
change for the memories of the golden
spring of my youth, the glorious sum-
mer of my womanhood, or even the calm,
serene autumn of my peaceful old age?
Life now would indeed be “dark and
unlovely,” and the future devoid of the
hopes which cheer me, had not my gen-
tle mother and her talisman, effected a
permanent cure. I regret to see, that
notwithstanding the various improve-
ments of this wise generation, and the
wonderful inventions of “this glorious
and progressive age,” this malady sti!l
rages, and like the baneful Upas, with
its poisonous influences, destroys the
happiness of many homes. With the
hope that I may do something toward
exterminating this disease, and to aid
those who are endeavoring to drive it
from their hearts and homes, I am will-
ing to give the history . of my unhappy
days, when I was under its sad influence,

This disease has various symptoms and
features, and develops differently. Gen-
erally, the attacks at first are slight,
212
sciatica
put increasing each time in length and
strength, and if neglected, a permanent
care is hopeless. Then the unhappy
victim goes through life, cheering none
with the sunshine of her smiles, nor
gladdening them with the music of kind
and gentle words. Need I say that this
disease is Ill Nature !

It is with pain that I recall the days

of my earliest childhood—those days |

rendered dark and sad by my unhappy
temper—and yet it is sorrow mingled
with thankfulness. It is like the memory
which the traveler has of dangers pass-
ed. He shudders at the recollection
of the wild screeching winds, the dark
heavens, the tossing ocean, the almost
sinking ship; but he loves to remember
that the winds were hushed, the ocean
lulled, that the stars shone out from be-
yond the clouds, and that the dismasted
ship, with its weary crew, found at last
a safe haven.

It is like the memory of sick and fee-
ble days, which were followed by those
of health and strength, the gloomy night
which preceded a bright morning, or the
frightful dream from which there was a
glad awaking. ,

You have all of you, my children,
heard of the river Lethe, which the an-
cients believed really existed, and whose
waters they thought could cause forget-
fulness ; and had I only the memory of
those unhappy days, I should indeed
wish it were not all a fable, and that I
might drink from that very river. How
little a child thinks that every wrong act
may become a life memory, and that by
her thoughtlessness, she is furnishing
bitter food for after years. 1 cannot tell
you how many wretched hours I have
had, surrounded by everything beautiful,



THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

but outward circumstances do little to-
ward promoting the happiness of one
who does not cultivate a sweet temper.

You must not think I was always
under the influence of these feelings.
When everything was just as I wished,
I could appear as amiable as any one,
but in this world, where our favorite
plans are often frustrated, and our fond-
est hopes blighted, we must learn to
smile amid disappointment and vexation.
Ihave told you that every indulgence
strengthened these feelings, and that I
was conscious that my sad infirmity was
increasing. You have read in your his-
tory, that one of the customs of the
Egyptians was to introduce at their gay-
est festivals, a skeleton, the sight of
which ofter changed their mirth to
gloom; and thus the knowledge that at
any moment I might do and say what
could not be recalled, destroyed my
peace. I resolved to attempt a reform-
ation, but made many ineffectual efforts.
Sometimes days would pass without my
exhibiting any symptoms of this disease,
for disease I must still call it, and then in
an unguarded moment the angry word
was spoken. At last, after many fail-
ures, I began to hope I was completely
cured—I had been severely tested, I had
seen a beautiful china cup, the gift of a
friend, fall from the hand of a careless
servant, and gathered up the fragments
without uttering a word. I found my
little brother, one cold morning, warm-
ing my beautiful wax doll by the fire,
and though the tears came as | gazed
at its disfigured face, I suppressed the
angry word which rose to my lips. I
patiently repeated, again and again, @
difficult passage.in my music, though it
was tedious, and I was anxious to play 4




‘ THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

213

a

pretty little dance I had learned, (Polkas
were not known in your Grandmama’s
day,)and I began to think I had con-
quered the monster, but alas! I found,
that like the fabled Hydra that only
Hercules could kill, it had a hundred
heads, and when one was cut off another
would appear.

One morning I awoke, knowing that
my lessons were only half learned. I
had left them unfinished the evening be-
fore, for a walk with my cousin, and
that one wrong step was the cause of
much misery, I was mortified at the
idea of going to school with my lessons
unprepared, and I resolved to learn
them, if possible, that morning; but I
found by bitter experience that when we
once do wrong, it is hard to undo it.
The morning was gloomy, and like Ros-
amond, in the “Day of Misfortunes,”
(a story of Miss Edgeworth’s, which I
hope you have all read,) I was a long
time summoning resolution to rise, and
when I did rise I was so hurried and
worried that the breakfast bell rang be-
fore I was ready. The old proverb
says, “Haste makes waste,” and so I
found that morning. I was the last at
the table ; my brother came in, all glow-
ing with animation, with a bouquet from
the garden for Mama, while I felt
sleepy and cross. I upset my cup upon
the table cloth, and upon the dress of a
stranger guest, and interrupted papa in
the midst of a very interesting story,
which I knew he particularly disliked.
After breakfast my books were not in
their place. Finally, after a long search,
my geography was discovered in the
piazza, ruined by the rain which had
fallen during the night; Carlo had my
spelling book for a pillow, and my arith-

metic was found in the hands of my
baby brother, who had been quietly do-
ing a practical sum in subtraction, until
so many leaves were torn out that there
was a very small remainder. By the
time my poor dilapidated library had
been found, and I had cried over my
geography, slapped Carlo, and fright-
ened the innocent baby by my harsh
tones, the clock struck, and I was late
at school. When the time for recita-
tion came, I ought to have gone to my
teacher and told her that I had not
learned my lessons, for though that
would have distressed her, she could
more easily have forgiven any other
fault than my attempts at deception. I
am almost ashamed to tell you the ways
to which I resorted. I copied my sums
from my companion’s slate, and the first
question of my teacher revealed the truth.
I answered in geography, after having
been told wrong by Ellen D. I kept
my finger in at my spelling, and caught
my teacher’s eye just as I had looked in;
I despised myself for this acted false-
hood, and knew I had lost the confidence
of my teacher, and cried from mortifica-
tion and vexation through the whole of
the history recitation, which was the
only lesson I really did know. I hope
you may never know how I felt. I was
sorry, but it was not the right kind of
sorrow. I was less sorry for my faults
than for the consequences of my faults.
Though I knew I had done wrong, I was ~
unwilling to confess it, even to myself.
I tried to think everyone else more at
fault than myself. I wished my cousin
had not come for me to walk, not re-
membering that I should have had self-
denial enough to have refused to go
while my lessons were unfinished. I
214 THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

wished mama had not given me per-
mission to go, forgetting the promise I
made her, of learning my lessons after
my return, I said it was very strange
that no one had picked up my books,
arid I thought Ellen ought to have been
ashamed to tell me wrong. I made no
effort to do better, reasoning most false-
ly, and saying, ‘“‘Itis no use to try to do
better to-day,” as if one fault made an-
other more pardonable. At recess I
told Mary G. that Ellen D. had said
something about her, and made them
both ery, and if I could have found any
relief in knowing that I was not alone in
‘my misery, I should have been com-
forted. After recess I blotted my own
writing-book and that of a companion
who was always very careful, and though
I was really very sorry, I felt too ill-
natured to say so, and tried to think it
‘was all because one of the other girls
had shaken the desk.

I can assure you I went home a’ most
unhappy being. One glance of my
mother’s earnest eye revealed to her my
feelings, and I saw a shade of sadness

-gteal over her calm face; but company
prevented her from coming to me imme-
diately. I went to my room and cried
whtil I was unable to go with papa on
an excursion which I had been anticipa-
ting for months.

I cannot tell you all the conflicting
thoughts which occupied my lonely
hours, nor of all that passed after 'ma-
ma came tome. She talked gently, but

‘geriously with me ; she mourned over
‘my’ unhappy temper, but showed me
that I could subdue it; she urged me
“to resolve anew, but warned me not to
‘expect an immediate victory ; and above

‘all, she told me where to look for aid.

‘She openéd the holy Bible, and ‘read
the words of Solomon, “ He that ruleth
his own ‘spirit is greater than he’ that
taketh a city;” and ‘her silver-toned
voice fell upon my troubled soul, like the
holy “Peace, be still,” uttered so long
ago on the sea of Galilee.

“The darkness vanished, the storm
slept.” “My mother then took the pre-
cious necklace of her own dark: hair,
with the words, “My Mother,” en-
graved upon the clasp, and put it upon
my neck.

“My daughter,” said she, “let this be
your talisman. Let it ever remind you
of this hour, of the resolves you have
made, and may God grant that your fu-
ture may no more be clouded as your
past has been.”

Her prayer was answered. My trials
were many, My temptations strong, but
the memory of that solemn hour, my
mother’s word, and the talisman, were
ever with me, and I triumphed.

Could this’ be as a talisman to one of
you, my dear children, and help you to
tear away this serpent, which if it is
not strangled in infancy, will surely eat
out the heart’s happiness, Grandmama
Hoaryhead will not have written in vain,






























Hints to Young Men.

tways have a book within your

reach, which you may catch up

P\{. at your odd minutes. Resolve

to edge in a little reading every

day, if it is but a single sentence. If

you can give fifteen minutes a day, it

will be felt at the end of the year.

Regulate your thoughts when not at
study.— Selected.


THE YOUTHS: CABINET, 215





Li yh
= w . 2 |
Tatiren
> NES |
fe Pays
aa

. - Wee . &

, | P Sh = — ~ ws

NG lg ~ y \ S ~ ee 4h
(i i y) “al \ n :

a? Le

The Beggar Girl.

A, BALLAD, WRITTEN FIFTY YEARS, AGO.





Over the mountain and over the moor,

Hungry and barefoot, I wander forlorn ;
My father is dead, and my mother is poor,

And she grieves for the days that will never return.
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,

Cold blows the wind; and. the night's. coming on:
Give me, some food; for my mother, for charity,

Give me some food, and then I will begone.

Say not I’m a low lazy beggar, and bold enough;
Fain would [ learn. both to knit and to sew;
I’ve two little brothers at home—when, they’re old enough,
They will work hard for the gifts you bestow.
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on:
Give me some food for my mother, for charity,
Give me some food, and then I will begone.

Think, while you revel, so careless and so free,
Secure from the wind, and well-clothed and fed,
Should fortune so change it, how hard it would be,

To sit, ata door for a morsel of bread.
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,

Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on:
Give me some food for my mother, for charity,

Give me some food, and then I will begone.

Vv. 14 LY.


216 THE YOUTH'S CABINET.

mer was confined had a periodical disor-
der of this sort; every year he had some
different whim. One time he conceived
himself changed into a pitcher of oil;
another time he thought himself a frog,
and began to leap as such ; another time,
again, he imagined he was dead, and it
was found necessary to humor his conceit
by making a show of burying him. At
length he thought himself a bat, and
when he went to take a walk, he some-
times made just such a noise as bats
do; he likewise used gestures with his
hands and body, as if he were going to
fly.”

Noses have been known to be partic-
ularly troublesome to hypochondriacs.
One man fancied that his nose was of
a ludicrous length, and consequently
kept backing off as his friends approached
to hold a parley with him, fearing that
he should put their eyes out. It is said
that frequently this same deluded pos-
sessor of a long nose might have been
seen going along the street guiding his
nose with his hand, to keep it from
breaking the shop windows.

A young man had a strong imagina-
tion that he was dead, and earnestly
begged his friends to bury him. They
consented, by the advice of the physi-
cian. He was laid upon 4 bier, and
carried upon the shoulders of men to
church, when some pleasant fellows, up
to the business, met the procession, and
inquired who it was; they answered.
« And a very good job it is,” said one
of them, “for the world is well rid of a
very bad character, which the gallows
must have had in due course.” The
young man, now lying dead, hearing
this, popped his head up, and said they
ought to be ashamed of themselves in







































Freaks of Imagination.

viprus mentions & painter, who

verily believed that all the bones

of his body were so soft and flex-

ible, that they might easily be

crushed together, or folded one within
another, like pieces of pliable wax.

A Lusitanian physician had a patient
who insisted that he was perpetually
frozen, and would sit before a great fire
even in dog-days. ‘The Portuguese doc-
tor made him a dress of rough sheep-
skins, saturated with aqua vite, and set
him on fire. He then said he was quite
warm, rather too much so, and so was
cured.

Galen and Avicen make mention of
people who have fancied themselves
earthen pots, and therefore have care-
fully avoided being touched for fear they
should be broken.

Then there is the case of the insane
watch-maker, mentioned by Pinel, who
insisted that he had been guillotined, and
that another head had afterward, by
mistake, been put on his shoulders, in-
stead of his own. “ Look at these
teeth,” he would say; “ mine were eX-
tremely handsome—these are decayed.
My mouth was sound and healthy ; this
‘s foul. How different is the hair from
that of my own head !”

Mr. Haslam, in his work on insanity,
mentions a case of one, who insisted that
he had no mouth, and when compelled
by force to swallow, declared that a
wound had