races of Bombay, are the Parsees, some of whom are even more wealthy
than the most successful of the European merchants. They bear the very
highest character for honesty and industry, and are intelligent and
benevolent. The late Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy was a faultless model of
a merchant prince, in integrity, enterprise, and munificence. He
founded a hospital that bears his name, and made himself conspicuous
for his active benevolence up to the day of his death.
Great numbers of the poorer Parsees are clerks in the government
offices--a species of service for which they are peculiarly fitted, on
account of their attention to business, industry, and general
intelligence. Their inclinations are essentially pacific; and such a
phenomenon as a Parsee soldier is almost unknown.
The Parsees are alive to the advantage of affording a good education
to their children; and among the largest seminaries in the city of
Bombay are those belonging to this community. A Parsee school is an
interesting sight. The children are decidedly pretty; and as they sit
in rows, with glittering, many-colored dresses, and caps and jewels,
they look like a gay parterre of flowers.
On account of their peculiar religious belief, the Parsees are known
also as "Fire Worshippers;" but however great their awe for fire and
light, they consider them only as emblems of a higher power. The
Parsees pay reverence to two kinds of fire--the Adaran, lawful for the
people to behold; and the Behram, which must be seen by none but the
chief Dustoor, or priest, and must be screened from the rays of the
sun. When required for a new temple, a portion of the sacred fire is
procured in a golden censer from Mount Elbourg, near Yezd, where
resides the chief pontiff, and where the holy flame is perpetually
maintained. The Behram fire is said to have had its origin from the
natural bituminous fires on the shores of the Caspian, and to have
never been extinguished. It is supposed to be fed with sandal and
other precious and aromatic woods, and is kept burning on a silver
grating.
The Parsees are the only Eastern nation who abstain from smoking. They
do not eat food cooked by a person of another religion, and object to
beef and pork.
When a Parsee dies, a dog must be present, as it is supposed to drive
away evil spirits, who are on the alert to seize upon the dying man's
soul. This precaution is called the _sagdad_, or dog-gaze. One of the
chief reasons for the great veneration in which dogs are held by
Parsees arises from the tradition that in their emigration from Persia
to India their ancestors were, during a dark night, nearly driven upon
the shores of Guzerat, and that they were aroused and first warned
of their impending danger by the barking of the dogs on board their
ships.
[Illustration: PARSEE CHILDREN, BOMBAY.]
When a Parsee dies, the body is dressed in clean, but old clothes, and
conveyed to its last resting-place on an iron bier; meat and drink are
placed at hand for three days, as during that time the soul is
supposed to hover around in the hope of being reunited to its late
earthly tenement.
[Illustration: A PARSEE.]
The Parsee sepulchres are of so peculiar a character as to merit
particular notice. Should any of my readers ever go to Bombay, he will
find two of these _dakhmas_, or Temples of Silence, in a secluded part
of Malabar Hill, though admittance is denied within the walls
enclosing the melancholy structures to aught but Parsees. The interior
is fitted up with stages or stories of stone pavement, slanting down
to a circular opening, like a well, covered with a grating, into which
the bones are swept, after the fowls of the air, the dew, and the sun
have deprived them of every particle of flesh.
The Parsees assign as their reason for not burying their dead, that,
having received many benefits from the earth during their lifetime,
they consider it defiled by placing dead bodies in it. Similarly, they
do not adopt the Hindoo custom of burning their dead, as another
element, fire, would be rendered impure.
The chief distinctive feature of the Parsee dress is the hat, to which
the community cling with a pertinacity that would be extraordinary,
were it not common. Even the Parsee representative of "Young Bombay,"
dressed from top to toe in European costume, including a pair of shiny
boots, cannot be induced to discard the abominable _topee_, or hat,
distinctive of his race; though, perhaps, after all, we who live in
glass houses should not throw stones; for what can be more hideous
than the chimney-pot hat of our boasted civilization? The Parsee
head-dress, which contests the palm of ugliness with its English
rival, is constructed on a strong but light framework, covered with
highly-glazed, dark-colored chintz. The priests, who dress like the
laity, wear a hat of much the same shape as the former, but white,
instead of a dark color.
On occasions of ceremony, the ordinary tight-fitting narrow garment is
exchanged for one with very full skirts, like a petticoat; and a shawl
is usually worn round the waist, which is at other times omitted. The
costume of the women is a combination of that of the Hindoos and
Mussulmans, consisting of the short body and _sarree_ of the former,
with the full trousers of the latter. Both sexes endue themselves, at
seven years of age, with the sacred shirt, which is worn over the
trousers; the _sadra_, as it is called, is made of a thin, transparent
muslin, and is meant to represent the coat-of-mail the men wore when
they arrived in India, and with which they believe they can resist the
spiritual assaults of Ahriman, the evil principle. The hair of the
women is concealed by linen skull-caps, fitting tight to the head.
It is a singular and interesting sight to watch the Parsees assembled
on the sea-shore, and, as the sun sinks below the horizon, to mark
them prostrating themselves, and offering up their orisons to the
great giver of light and heat, which they regard as representing the
Deity. Their prayers are uttered, it is said, in an unknown tongue;
and after the fiery face of the orb of day has disappeared in his
ocean bed, and the wondrous pillars of light shooting aslant the sky,
proclaim that the "day is done," and the night is at hand, they raise
themselves from their knees, and turn silently away from the beach,
which is left once more to twilight and the murmur, or, if in angry
mood, the roar, of the sea as it breaks on the shore.
[Illustration: {The unknown man rescues the girl from the burning
building}]
THE CRIPPLED BOY.
FROM THE FRENCH.
"Don't cry any more, Genevieve; you must get married again," said a
man in the working dress of a slater, just returning from his day's
work, to a poor woman who was sitting at the foot of a camp bed,
weeping, and rocking her baby at the same time. "Your husband is
dead; he fell from a ladder, and it killed him. It is a great
misfortune for you and your family; but crying won't help you."
Saying these words in a rough voice, to hide the emotion caused by the
poor woman's despair, the workman brushed away a tear with his coat
sleeve.
"My poor George!" said the woman.
"If your son was only good for anything," added the workman, rudely,
throwing a glance of disdain upon a poor, pale, weak, and crippled
boy, who was seated on the floor in a corner of the room; "if that
child would ever grow into a man, I would take him with me, and teach
him how to clamber over roofs, and to keep his balance upon the beams,
and drop from the end of a rope. But no, he grows worse and worse
every day; and now he can hardly bear his own weight. He is almost
twelve years old, that son of yours; and if they said he was four, it
would be a compliment."
"Is it the fault of Jacques that he came crooked into the world, my
brother?"
"No, certainly not. I don't blame him, poor child, I don't blame him;
but he will always be a useless mouth in the world. Luckily, he will
not live long," he whispered in the ear of his sister. Then he rose,
and went out, calling, "Good by till to-morrow," in a tone of voice
which betrayed the anxiety he felt at the situation of his sister and
her children.
"_Luckily_ I shall not live long," was repeated by a sweet, sad voice,
in an accent which only belongs to those who have suffered deeply.
"What are you saying, Jacques?" inquired Genevieve.
"That I am good for nothing. My uncle was right."
"Take courage, my son. When you are older, you will grow stronger."
"Yes, if--" said the boy.
But he left the sentence unfinished, and his mother was too much
absorbed in her grief to ask him what he meant. It was late, and in a
few minutes the poor family retired. It was hardly light when Jacques
went down into the court-yard to see the grooms curry the horses, wash
the carriages, and get ready for the day.
It was summer, and very soon a pretty little girl came down into the
court. Jacques uttered a loud cry when he saw her.
"Without crutches, Mademoiselle Emilie!"
"So you see, Jacques," replied the young girl, with a sweet smile. "I
shall not use them any more. To be sure, I am a little weak here," she
added, showing her left arm and foot, which were smaller than the
right; "and besides," she said, "I am a little crooked."
"And mademoiselle believes that she is entirely cured?"
"Certainly, Jacques. Only think, I was worse than you are! Stop,
Jacques! I do really believe that _you_ would be cured if you would go
with me, and take lessons in gymnastics at the house of Colonel
Amoros."
"I am too poor to do that, mademoiselle. Somebody told my mother that
these academies of gymnas--gym--I don't know what--are very expensive;
and besides that, what good would they do me? for my uncle says I
shall not live long."
"Perhaps your uncle does not know any better than our doctor. But
really, Jacques, have you not seen sometimes old people crooked and
deformed? They have lived long, perhaps, those same old people."
"But it is not at all likely that they were obliged to earn their
living, mademoiselle."
[Illustration: THE LITTLE CRIPPLE BOY.]
"Poor Jacques!" exclaimed Emilie, in a tone of compassion. "You listen
to me. When I am married, and have lots of money, I promise you that
it will give me pleasure to make any sacrifice to pay for your being
cured."
"Ah, I shall be too old then, or dead--who knows?"
"What can be done?" she exclaimed, tapping the toe of her boot on the
ground with an air of vexation.
Then seeing an elderly lady come into the court, she ran to meet her,
exclaiming,--
"My dear friend, allow Jacques to go with us to the Amoros gymnasium.
You gave me one ticket. Say, will you give me two?"
"It is impossible, mademoiselle. I cannot give away your tickets
without leave from your father."
"Leave from my father, who is not here!" cried Emilie. "He is in
Martinique. Before we could get an answer--O, dear! O, dear!"
"Do not distress yourself so, my child," said the governess. "I have
heard that they receive free pupils in the gymnasium conducted by M.
Amoros. For many years they have taken those unfortunate children who
are unable to pay the price of subscription. It is very generous and
kind in Colonel Amoros, for it must be very expensive to support an
establishment of this kind in the city."
"It is very good in the colonel; but then I want to pay for Jacques,
because if every one went without paying, the school would soon come
to an end."
"But what money have you to pay with?"
"Ah, you shall see, my kind friend.--Jacques," she added, turning to
the poor boy, whose pale and suffering face expressed all the interest
he took in this conversation,--"Jacques, you must come with me to the
gymnasium."
"Never, for I cannot walk so far as that, mademoiselle," said Jacques,
sadly.
"But you must ride in my carriage."
"Just think of that, mademoiselle! No, I am too poorly clothed," said
the poor son of the slater, glancing at his worn-out vest and at his
green trousers patched with gray.
"Haven't you any Sunday clothes?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, but they are very little better."
"They must be cleaner, certainly. Go and put them on. Hurry!"
Jacques obeyed. A few moments later, he came down, looking a little
better dressed; but it was owing to the careful hands of a good
workwoman, and not to the quality of the cloth which made his
garments.
Emilie was obliged to use all her authority before the servants would
allow the little peasant to enter the coach. At last she placed him on
the seat before her, and he was much more astonished than delighted at
finding himself run away with by a pair of frisky young horses.
In a street named Jean-Goujon you can see a large white building, of a
very elegant style of architecture. On the front of it was printed, in
large letters, the words GYMNASE CIVIL ORTHOSOMATIQUE, and other
inscriptions to explain the object of the edifice.
In 1815 Colonel Amoros made the first effort to introduce gymnastics
into France. Messrs. Jomard and Julien not only seconded him fully,
but insisted on the importance of these exercises, not alone for
physical development, but for moral and intellectual strength.
Colonel Amoros was of Spanish origin, and became distinguished in the
Spanish army. He formed two companies of Zouaves, and achieved the
most daring exploits with them in Europe and Africa. Then he became
private secretary to King Charles IV. He formed a large gymnasium in
Madrid, which was destroyed in the war of 1808. But in devoting, his
life to the physical training of children in Paris, Colonel Amoros
performed the greatest service to humanity. Though societies decorated
him with medals, and France gave him funds for his military gymnasium,
he will find in grateful hearts his best reward.
But let us return to little Emilie, when the coach stopped at the
gymnasium.
The exercises had not begun. The professors, who were all young and
active men, wore the same dress--a white vest and trousers, with a
tri-colored belt, and a little blue cap on the head. They only waited
for a signal to begin, as they stood in groups in the centre of the
court. Very soon a middle-aged gentleman appeared among them. Though
he was no longer young, he was still strong and active, and seemed to
have a powerful constitution. He wore a blue coat, and a decoration at
his button-hole, which was given as a token of bravery. He wore a cap
upon his head.
He came forward to speak to Emilie, and his eye fell upon poor
Jacques, who was overcome with emotion at seeing a school where
children who had been lame from weakness found the use of their limbs
on recovering their health.
Before the colonel had time to ask who this boy was,--for he knew
Jacques was not one of his scholars,--Emilie seized his hand, and with
the coaxing voice that children know how to use so well when they want
to ask a favor, she said,--
"I can walk without crutches now, colonel."
"I am rejoiced to hear it, my child. You ought to be able to do so."
"And I have grown almost an inch in six months. O, I am so much
obliged to you, colonel!"
"You mean to my gymnasium, my dear child."
"No, to you, colonel, to you. For really I was much worse than Jacques
is, and to-day I am better than he is."
"Who is Jacques?"
"This boy that you see here," said Emilie, taking the hand of Jacques,
who was hiding behind her, and making him come forward before the
colonel. "He is the son of a slater. His father is dead. He fell from
a roof. Poor man! His mother is very miserable, for she has another
child to take care of; so you see yourself, colonel, it is quite
necessary that he should be able to stand alone."
All the time that M. Amoros was examining Jacques, rolling up the
sleeves of his jacket to see his arms, turning up his trousers to look
at his legs, feeling his spine, and making him stretch out his limbs,
Emilie continued, with a coaxing voice,--
"If you are willing, Colonel Amoros, we can make an arrangement. O,
you must not refuse me, I beg of you!"
"What?" said the kind man, continuing his examination.
"This boy is very poor--very, very poor. If he is not cured, he will
never be able to get his living. He has a mother and sister to
support; and see, colonel, I am very sure my poor Jacques will die
soon."
"Will you hold your tongue, you little simpleton?" said the colonel,
suddenly turning round at the word "die."
"He will die soon if you don't take pity on him, dear Colonel Amoros,"
added the little girl, clasping her small hands eagerly before the
colonel, who was too much engaged in examining poor Jacques, and
considering the best way to cure him, to pay much attention to
Emilie's words.
"Please let Jacques take part in the exercises, and I will pay you out
of my savings; or if you are willing to wait, I will pay it when I am
married. And besides that, I will write to my father, and tell him to
let me come and take lessons here after I am entirely cured."
The colonel could not restrain his mirth at the idea of Emilie
wishing to pay him for a kind action, which his generous heart
prompted him to do without any persuasion.
"It does not require so much eloquence to urge me to do a kindness, my
little friend," he replied. "Do you think I don't enjoy my practice? I
will receive your protege with pleasure, if he will promise to obey my
orders, and if he will resemble his protectress in the love of doing
good."
While speaking these words, the colonel called one of the teachers,
and pointing to Jacques,--who did not know whether he was dreaming or
not,--he said,--
"Take this boy, give him a belt, and a knot of scarlet ribbon on the
left shoulder; that is the side which needs strengthening."
Then he explained which exercises he should take, and those he ought
to avoid.
He then gave a signal for the bell to ring, and the professors and
children were soon busy in the centre of the gymnasium.
It was a pretty sight, I can assure you. Such a wonderful combination
of poles, ropes, posts, and ladders! You might wonder, at first, what
they all meant. But soon every child came along in his turn, without
effort, and with such perfect enjoyment, that it explained the
mystery.
Gymnastic exercises were practised with great care by the ancients.
They formed part of the education of a gentleman. They give that
physical beauty and grace which only spring from a fine muscular
development. Among the Greeks and Romans, men frequented the gymnasium
and the circus. Philosophers, judges, and soldiers took part in these
exercises with the citizens, that they might become stronger and more
athletic, more active and capable of bearing fatigue.
M. Amoros not only gave health and strength to the pupils of his
gymnasium, but he taught them to call only those deeds _great_ which
were inspired by bravery, love of humanity, and pure benevolence.
Two years had passed away; spring had arrived at the old chateau on
the Loire, and M. Martel, the father of little Emilie, had returned
from his voyage to Martinique. He was busy in making many necessary
repairs in his family mansion, and many workmen came from Paris for
that purpose. The night after their arrival, the chateau was
discovered to be on fire. M. Martel awoke in haste; startled by the
light of the flames, which suddenly illuminated his room, he ran to
see where the fire sprang from, and called aloud for his daughter,
whom he could not see anywhere. The spectacle that met his view quite
overwhelmed him. The story that was on fire was the place where his
daughter slept. It could be reached only from a neighboring roof, that
was almost consumed. A single beam connected one building with the
other. Notwithstanding his age and the gout, which paralyzed one of
his limbs, the poor father wished to climb up and save his daughter,
or to die with her. They held him back; he uttered fearful shrieks,
when a young man, little more than a boy, was seen on the beam, which
tottered with his weight. He walked along without fear. A profound
silence succeeded to the cries of terror. The souls of the spectators
seemed to look out of their eyes. M. Martel fell upon his knees.
The intrepid youth reached the window, and scaled it. They saw him
unroll a long rope, or rope-ladder, and fasten it securely to the iron
balcony which ornamented the window; then he disappeared.
Not a sound betrayed the anxiety of the spectators. The unknown man
returned; he held a young person supported upon his back. He mounted
the iron balcony, and suspended himself with his precious burden upon
it, for she was well secured by a strong belt. This horrible suspense
was more than M. Martel could bear. He covered his face with his
hands. But soon the universal shouts of joy told him that his daughter
was safe.
After the first moments of delight, the young girl turned to her
deliverer. An exclamation of surprise fell from their lips.
"Jacques!"
"Mademoiselle Emilie!"
Then they gazed at each other in silence by the red light of the fire.
They were no longer two pale, sad children, with haggard little faces,
already prematurely old. They had been separated ever since Emilie had
left the gymnasium, and, not living in the same place, they hardly
recognized each other. Emilie was a tall and beautiful girl, enjoying
all the delight of perfect health. Jacques almost had become a man.
M. Martel had not heard without emotion about his daughter's generous
act, and her efforts to have Jacques received as a pupil in the Amoros
gymnasium.
"Am I not well rewarded?" she exclaimed, extending her hand to the
young man. "You would not have had any daughter without him, papa. The
horror of my position, the impossibility of my finding a rope, a
ladder, or any way of escape, frightened me so, that I lost my senses,
and I should have been burned alive, if it had not been for Jacques."
"Ah, mademoiselle," said the slater's son, with emotion, "it is not
life alone that I owe to you; is it not more than life? It is health,
the use of my limbs, and the happiness of being able to support my
mother. Yes, mademoiselle," added Jacques, with fervor, "I am a
workman, and thanks to the lessons of our excellent professor, Colonel
Amoros, I am more skilful than any of my fellow-laborers. I can
support my family, and my wages are higher, because I can work harder
and work longer than the rest."
"Brave boy!" exclaimed M. Martel, pressing Jacques in his arms, who
was quite overcome at the meeting. "From this day forward you shall be
my son. I will take charge of your education and your advancement, of
your mother and your sister. Brave boy! My daughter has done much for
you, but you deserve it; she understood your heart."
M. Martel kept his word. And some days after, when Jacques and his
uncle met in the small attic of the poor widow, and were rejoicing
over the happy change in their fortunes, the poor mother clasped her
boy's head to her heart, and bathed his curls with tears, and covered
them with kisses, exclaiming,--
"Now you see, brother, Jacques was not a useless creature. It is owing
to him that our fortune is made."
"Yes, thanks to Colonel Amoros," said the workman.
"Thanks to Mademoiselle Emilie," said Jacques, heaving a sigh.
S. W. LANDER.
[Decoration]
[Illustration: {The girl kisses her father on the forehead}]
A DINNER AND A KISS.
"I have brought your dinner, father,"
The blacksmith's daughter said,
As she took from her arm the kettle,
And lifted its shining lid.
"There is not any pie or pudding;
So I will give you this;"
And upon his toil-worn forehead
She left the childish kiss.
The blacksmith took off his apron,
And dined in happy mood,
Wondering much at the savor
Hid in his humble food,
While all about him were visions
Full of prophetic bliss;
But he never thought of the magic
In his little daughter's kiss.
While she, with her kettle swinging,
Merrily trudged away,
Stopping at sight of a squirrel,
Catching some wild bird's lay,
O, I thought, how many a shadow
Of life and fate we would miss,
If always our frugal dinners
Were seasoned with a kiss!
MY MOTHER.
"Honor thy father and thy mother."
Father and mother! sacred names and dear;
The sweetest music to the infant ear,
And dearer still to those, a joyous band,
Who sport in childhood's bright enchanted land.
And when, as years roll on, night follows day,
The young wax old and loved ones pass away,
Through mists of time yet holier and more dear,
"Father and mother" sound to memory's ear.
The days, the hours, the moments as they speed,
Each crowned by loving thought or word or deed,
Oh, heart's long-suffering, self-denying! sure
Earth holds no love more true, and none so pure.