_Various plantations――droll and dangerous adventures._
As I pursued my journey along the banks of the Surinam, I met with
frequent plantations of coffee, sugar-cane, cotton and cacao.
The sugar plantations, at a little distance, bear some resemblance to
our fields of Indian corn. The cane has a broad, long leaf, with a
jointed stalk or stem. This grows to the height of seven or eight
feet, and is very smooth and glossy. The sugar-cane is not propagated
by seeds, but by cuttings from the root end of the stalk, which are
planted in rows or hills. It puts forth large silky tassels, which
have a beautiful appearance. In eighteen months from the time of
planting, it is fit to cut; the stalks are put into a mill, and from
the juice that is crushed out, sugar and molasses are made.
The labor of Guiana is almost wholly performed by negroes. During the
period when they are making sugar, they live almost wholly upon the
juice of the cane, and at that time, they are said to get very fat.
The laboring horses, oxen and mules, though kept constantly at work,
being allowed to eat refuse stalks, and scummings from the
boiling-house, thrive in the most surprising manner.
The cacao trees bear the fruit of which chocolate is made. These
resemble young cherry-trees, but separate near the ground into four or
five stems. The leaves are about four inches long, smooth, but not
glossy, and of a dull green color. The flowers are saffron-colored,
and very beautiful. The fruit somewhat resembles a cucumber in shape.
Its color, while growing, is green; but as it ripens, this changes to
a fine bluish red, with pink veins.
Each of the pods contains from twenty to thirty nuts or kernels, which
resemble almonds, and consist of a white and sweet pulpy substance,
enveloped in a parchment-like shell. These are the cacao or chocolate
nuts. When the fruit is ripe, it is gathered, and the nuts are taken
from the pods, and laid on leaves or skins to dry. They are then put
into bags, each containing about a hundred weight, and thus packed,
are exported to foreign countries.
I noticed, as I went along, a few fields of Indian corn and rice, and
I was informed that two crops of these are frequently obtained in a
season. I observed the castor-oil plant, growing wild, as well as the
cabbage-tree, which is a kind of palm. This derives its name, not from
its appearance, but from the use to which it is put by the
inhabitants. The leaves grow crowded together at the top of the stem,
and when these are cut off, the central ones are found to be white and
tender, and when boiled, they are used as a substitute for cabbage.
I occasionally met with small patches of the indigo plant. This is
cultivated by seeds, which are sown in rows, about a foot apart. In
three months the top part is cut off, leaving the roots to shoot up
anew. I used to suppose that indigo was a kind of mineral, but I now
learned that it was made from these small plants. The tops of the
herbs being cut, as I have mentioned, are steeped in vats. They are
then pounded and put in water. The coloring matter, consisting of a
fine powder, forms a sediment, which is cut into small pieces about an
inch square, before it is perfectly dry. It is then packed in barrels,
or sewed up in sacks for sale. The process of making indigo is very
curious, and one thing is strange: the plant itself is harmless, but
the indigo drug is a deadly poison.
Although I had frequently a lonely sort of feeling, as I pursued my
way, and sometimes wished that I was snug at home with my mother and
sister, I still found it, on the whole, very pleasant to travel in
this strange land, and picked up a good deal of information, and saw
many things that were quite rare and wonderful to me. I was constantly
impressed with the strangeness of everything around me. Instead of
forests of chestnut, walnut, and maple trees, so common in
Connecticut, I here saw forests of gigantic mahogany, live oak, and
other curious trees, the names of which I could not learn.
The birds, too, were all different from those to which I had been
accustomed. The woods were all alive with flocks of green parrots and
red macaws, which kept up a constant chatting. The latter seemed
perpetually scolding each other, and I could sometimes fancy that they
were calling each other all the hard names they could think of. I saw
a great many toucans, with bills half as long as their bodies; they
kept bowing their heads and making a kind of motion, like a minister
in the pulpit. Hence, the people call this bird the preacher.
I saw a great many other birds, most of which were adorned with
magnificent plumage; but they had harsh voices, and were all very
unlike my feathered acquaintances in the “land of steady habits.” I
once met with a woodpecker, which resembled the red-headed thief, who
spears so many of our cherries with his long bill. He nodded his head,
and uttered a sort of cry, which reminded me so strongly of home, that
the tears filled my eyes, and I paused and partly turned about, for
the purpose of returning. But this weakness was transient, and I soon
pursued my way.
My path now turned from the river, and wound through a thick forest.
It was no longer a wagon-road, but a mere mule-track. The weather
continued very hot, and I suffered excessively from the bite of large
gnats, three times as big as our musquitoes. At first, I was half
crazy from the sting of these insects; but by degrees I became
hardened, and at last took it very quietly, even if one of these
impertinent rogues thrust his little poisoned javelin into the point
of my nose. At night I slept soundly, although these fellows feasted
upon me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.
The forests through which I was proceeding grew more and more dense as
I advanced; many of the trees rose to an immense height, and festoons
of gray moss swung from tree to tree, as if they had been decorated by
the hand of art. Vines, with green leaves and gaudy flowers, wreathed
the trunks of the trees, and parasitical plants, with blossoms bright
as gems, and of every color and form, wound around their branches.
Nothing could surpass the gorgeous splendor of the scene. It appeared
as if nature, in a sportive and fantastic mood, had put forth every
effort here to combine the beautiful and the magnificent, in the
vegetable kingdom. And as if to captivate every sense, the air was
balmy, and the sweetest fragrance was borne on the gentle breezes that
stole from the forest.
I was so much occupied with noticing the curiosities that met me on
every hand, that I did not observe, till the sun was setting, that my
path had now shrunk into little more than a deer-track, and began to
suspect that I had missed my way; and this impression was strengthened
by the fact that I did not reach a negro settlement, where I had
expected to spend the night. I hesitated, for a few moments, whether
to proceed or turn back. Resolving upon the former, I pushed on with
rapid strides. My path, however, grew more and more undefined, and at
last I was completely lost in a bewildering maze. It was now sunset,
and the shadows of night had begun to thicken around me. I attempted
to retrace my steps, but could not recover the path. Finding it
hopeless to attempt to extricate myself, I concluded to pass the night
where I was.
My situation was not a pleasant one. I knew that these forests were
the abodes of wild animals, who shrunk from daylight, yet prowled
forth at night without fear or restraint. But courage is apt to come
with necessity; and seeing that there was no help at hand, I sat down,
clenched my cudgel, and determined to keep watch till morning. I
remained in this condition for some time, listening to the strange
sounds that began to steal upon the ear as the evening advanced. The
day birds had gone to their repose, and their various cries had
gradually faded into silence. But voices of a different kind now
saluted me. Reptiles of many kinds began their uncouth songs, and
droned away for hours together. Birds, known only to these solitudes,
and which, even here, were silent during the day, now poured out their
music without fear. Never did I hear such a jargon as seemed for a
time to fill the woods around me. I could easily fancy that strange
and unearthly spirits filled the air, and were trying to see what a
variety of uncouth songs they could produce.
I listened to these notes for a long time, with a degree of painful
excitement. It seemed to me that a thousand voices had united in one
wild chorus, as if to drive me mad. I stopped my ears to keep out the
din: I closed my eyes to withdraw my attention from the scene around
me. At last, the sounds began to subside, and darkness gradually gave
way, and I saw the moonbeams tinging the tops of the trees. Silence
stole over the scene, and I fell into a profound repose. My
imagination wandered to the scenes of my childhood. I was once more,
as I dreamed, with my mother and my sister. They embraced me with
rapture, and tears of bliss fell upon my cheeks. I remained with them
for days, and a tranquil joy filled my bosom. We went to church, and
once more I heard the sacred hymn, and the soothing, solemn tunes,
which had become associated with all my religious emotions.
The psalm was ended, and the preacher began his discourse. He seemed
at first a grave and reverend divine, holding before him a ponderous
volume, containing the sacred Scriptures. But suddenly he seemed to
change: his voice grew harsh and shrieking; his gestures became wild
and fantastic, and at last he uttered a hideous yell, and jumping out
of his pulpit, fell with a terrible crash upon the two deacons who sat
beneath. Startled and terrified, I suddenly awoke; but the scene which
now arrested my attention, was even more extraordinary than that which
had been presented in my dream.
At a little distance, was an open glade, upon which the moonlight now
fell with a dazzling splendor. In the centre of this spot there sat at
least a hundred figures, which seemed to me to be men and women, about
half the size of life. Upon a branch of a tree, which projected over
them, was another figure, who seemed to be addressing the assembly. He
uttered the most extraordinary sounds, and appeared to be speaking in
a very animated manner. His gestures were strong, quick, and emphatic.
Sometimes he sat upon his haunches, and sometimes he stood upright.
Occasionally he leaped from one branch of the tree to another, and at
times he swung off from his seat, and suspended himself by his tail.
This last performance led me to conclude that if this was a
congregation of human beings, they must be of rather a queer species.
I sat still, and for a long time observed the scene. Nothing could
exceed the seeming eloquence of the preacher, except the sympathy and
sensibility of the audience. They appeared to feel every tone and
gesture, and responded by sympathetic grunts, groans, yells, and every
possible variety of attitude and gesticulation. At last, the orator,
having uttered a tremendous burst of eloquence, leaped from his
rostrum, and came with a bound into the midst of the congregation.
Upon this, they all set up a shout, which echoed far and wide over the
scene.
I had become so interested in this spectacle, that I had risen from my
resting-place, and advanced so far as to be near the actors in this
curious drama. One of them now chanced to spy me; upon which he
uttered a terrific yell. The eyes of the whole assembly were turned
upon me, and, uttering a frightful howl, they all set out, and came
bounding toward me. Never in my life have I been placed in a situation
at once so ludicrous and so appalling. A hundred monkeys now
surrounded me; some mounting the trees over my head, and some winding
among the bushes at my feet; some howling, and all grinning at me, and
making the most threatening demonstrations.
Bill and the Boys.
_The story of the lottery ticket, concluded._
We might have supposed that the Trudges, being now rich, and having
attained what seemed the summit of Mrs. Trudge’s ambition, were
perfectly happy. But this was far from being the case. They lived in a
fine house, made a great dash, were admitted into what is called good
society, and fancied that they were exciting the envy and admiration
of the whole town of Buckwheat. But with all this show of bliss, there
were many drawbacks to their felicity.
In the first place, as to Tom,――or Squire Trudge, as we must now call
him,――he was a simple-minded, sensible fellow, and but for the example
and influence of his spouse, he had borne his prosperity without
intoxication. Indeed, as it was, he behaved with considerable
propriety. He spoke to his neighbors, as he met them, much as before,
and when he could get from under his wife’s supervision, he would stop
and chat familiarly with old intimates. He demeaned himself modestly,
and seemed little elated with his good fortune. He was kind-hearted,
and ready to befriend the needy; but still, he had many sources of
vexation.
His restless helpmate insisted that he should dress “as became his
station;” and accordingly he was compelled to wear tight shoes, which
pinched his corns terribly, and kept him in an almost constant state
of martyrdom. When he walked abroad, he put his foot to the ground as
gingerly as if he were stepping on eggs. He was required to have his
coat in the fashion, which trussed him up about the arms, and made
those limbs stand out upon each side of him, like a couple of
pump-handles. His neckcloth, of pure white, (as was the fashion then,)
was lined with what was called a pudding; and to please his dame, who
had a nice taste in these matters, he tied it so tight that it threw
the blood into his face, and gave his ruddy complexion a liver-colored
hue.
Nor was this all poor Tom had to endure. He was constantly
“hatchelled” as to his manners, somewhat after the following fashion:
“My dear Trudge,” his wife would say to him, “do now try to be a
gentleman. Pray wipe your nose with your pocket handkerchief, and not
with your fingers! Turn your toes out, man, or people will never
forget that you was once a pedler. Hold your head up, step large,
swing your arms bravely, and seem to be somebody. In short, pray do be
genteel.”
“Well, well, wife,” Trudge would reply; “I’ll do as well as I can.”
The dialogue would usually go on pretty much as follows.
_Mrs. T._ Do as well as you can! and is that all you have to say for
yourself? Oh, dear, dear! I’m afraid I shall never make nothin’ on
you. One can’t make a silk purse of a sow’s ear, as Shakspeare says.
Oh, Tom, Tom, I wish you had a little more _jinnysyquaw_!
_Tom._ Jinnysyquaw! What the mischief’s that?
_Mrs. T._ Just as if you didn’t know what jinnysyquaw was! Oh, my dear
Tom! you are as ignorant as the whipping-post. Not know what
jinnysyquaw is! Oh, dear, dear! This comes of not knowing French. Why,
jinnysyquaw is a――a――a kind of something-or-other――that――nobody knows
nothing about――that is to say――it is a kind of can’t-tell-ish-ness.
For instance, if a person has a very genteel air, they say, “_He’s got
the true jinnysyquaw._” All the people who have been to Paris talk a
great deal about it; and I’ll tell you as a secret, Tom――Dick Flint
whispered in my ear, the other night at Mrs. Million’s party, and he
told me I had the real French jinnysyquaw! Now, what do you think of
that?
_Tom._ What do I think of it! I think he’s an impudent jackanapes, and
you are a――!
_Mrs. T._ Hold your tongue, Tom――hold your tongue! Dick Flint’s the
height of fashion: everybody is running after him. He’s been abroad,
sir――yes, he’s been abroad, sir! That’s more than you can say for
yourself. So, hold your tongue, and listen to me. Try to be a
gentleman, as becomes your station. Hold up your head, carry a stiff
upper lip, and keep up an important air. There should always be about
a person of consequence, something which says, “Clear the road, for
_I_ am coming.”
_Tom._ I suppose you mean the jinnysyquaw.
This last observation was made by Tom with a quizzical look, as if he
was poking fun at his spouse. But she took it in good part, for she
was too well satisfied with herself to suspect that she could be the
object of ridicule.
We have thus given some idea of certain vexations which marred the
happiness of Squire Trudge. Nor was this the only evil of his lot.
Though he had a sort of impression that he was so rich as to justify
any degree of extravagance, yet he was sometimes disturbed by the sums
of money which his ambitious wife lavished upon her follies.
Nor was that lady wholly without her annoyances, however she might
seem to be floating upon a sea of bliss. She could not but feel the
superiority of Mrs. Million, who was a woman of talent and education,
and the only mode she had to supply her own deficiency, was to excel
her rival in dash and splendor. Accordingly, she had fine horses and a
splendid carriage. She gave parties, at which there was always an
abundant feast. She appeared in the most costly dresses, and carried
every fashion to its height.
While she affected to despise and hate Mrs. Million, she imitated her
in everything. At last, she became so complete a caricature of that
fashionable dame, that everybody discovered the ridiculous
resemblance. Mrs. Million, far from being flattered by seeing such a
grotesque reflection of herself, was infinitely more vexed at the
involuntary homage thus rendered by Bridget, than she could have been
by her envy and spleen.
A new fancy now crept into the brain of our heroine. Mrs. Million had
just got a piano from New York, and, as it was the only one in the
town, and a great rarity in those days, it excited quite a sensation
among the fashionable circles of Buckwheat. Perceiving this, and
determined to be behind in nothing, Bridget resolved to get one, and a
much more splendid one than Mrs. Million’s. Accordingly, the following
conversation ensued between herself and Tom the next morning.
_Mrs. T._ My dear Mr. Trudge, I wish you had been at Mrs. Million’s
last night. She’s got the beautifullest _pianny_ in her parlor that
you ever see. Now I want you to send to New York for one for me, and I
want to have the beautifullest that can be got.
_Tom._ What’s the use of sending to New York? Can’t you get one here?
_Mrs. T._ Get one here, indeed! not a bit of it. Beside, nothing will
do but one all the way from New York.
_Tom._ Well, well! I’ll see about it.
_Mrs. T._ Well, let it be here on Thursday, for my _sorry_――that’s a
good man!
Here the conversation ended, and, on the appointed day, a huge tub,
set on wheels, and painted green, was brought from New York, and
trundled into the front entry of the Trudges. The tub contained a
splendid group of _peonies_, in full bloom.
“What _have_ you got there?” said Mrs. Trudge to her husband, who was
standing by. “Why, the _pianny_, to be sure,” says Tom. “The pianny!”
said his wife, throwing up her hands; “the pianny! What a ridiculous
blunder! Oh, Tom, Tom, you’ll break my heart! You’ve no more
hedication than a heath-hen. I axed you to get me a pianny, and you
have got me a pianny.”
Here Mrs. Trudge sobbed aloud, and it was a long time before poor Mr.
Trudge could be made to understand the mistake he had made. He was at
last compelled to order the piano, even though it cost four hundred
dollars, and he considered the peace with his wife, which he thus
purchased, to have been cheaply obtained.
Another vexation which Mrs. Trudge experienced, arose from her
servants. Sometimes she was familiar, sometimes imperious and
tyrannical. She therefore secured neither the respect nor affection of
those around her. She was accordingly accustomed to indulge in the
fashionable outcry against her “_help_.”
An incident which throws some light upon this topic, it may be worth
while to relate. Mrs. Million had recently introduced bells into her
house, and Bridget followed suit. The servants conceived a dislike to
being thus summoned into the presence of their mistress. It struck
them not only as an innovation, but as a rude and harsh mode of
calling them. Mrs. Trudge’s manner was not calculated to allay this
aversion, for while the bells were being put up, she seemed to assume
a loftier tone than usual.
When they were at last arranged, she attired herself in a splendid
satin dress, took a bottle of hartshorn, reclined luxuriously upon a
sofa, and then pulled the bell-rope, which was near. She waited a
little, but no one came at the summons. She pulled again, but there
was no answer. At last, she gave the cord an imperious twitch, which
nearly sundered the wires. In a few seconds, the chambermaid popped
her head in at the door, and said spitefully to her mistress, “You may
pull and pull till you are gray, Miss Trudge; the more you ring, the
more I won’t come.”
Such were some of the vexations which disturbed the brilliant career
of our heroine. There were others, also, and even those of a more
serious character. But she still pressed forward in her course of
ambition. She seemed indeed to be always in a flurry, and to keep
everybody around her in a constant state of uneasy excitement. She was
indeed never happy for a moment, and seemed ever to be tormented with
the desire of chasing a phantom she could never obtain. If, indeed,
she had any enjoyments, they consisted only of the fleeting pleasures
which characterize little minds――the idea that she was exciting the
envy and admiration of those around her.
Thus affairs proceeded for several years, but, at last, a crisis came.
The extravagance of the family not only exhausted the whole of
Trudge’s fortune, but ran him in debt. His creditors came upon him,
and as he could not meet their demands, he was declared a bankrupt.
The event found Mrs. Trudge upon the full tide of fashionable
dissipation. She was struck like a bird in mid flight. She could not,
and would not at first, believe the melancholy tidings. It was, alas!
too true, and she was compelled to submit to her cruel fate.
With scarcely a shilling in his pocket, and only a few necessary
articles of furniture which his creditors had allowed him, poor Tom
set out with his wife and children to return to the little brown
dwelling, which he had occupied before his drawing the prize. They
were obliged to go on foot, and as Bridget proceeded down the
nicely-gravelled walk, thus taking leave of her splendid mansion
forever, she felt a keener pang than can be well uttered in words. She
was indeed the very image of despair. Her pride was humbled――her
prospects blighted――her heart broken. Tom led the way, and though he
felt for his wife and children, there was a remarkable aspect of
cheerfulness in his countenance.
The party at length arrived at their dwelling. It seemed so desolate
and bare, that for two or three days Bridget seemed utterly crushed.
Tom treated her with great tenderness, and, at the same time, kept up
a cheerful air. In a few days, Bridget’s good sense and energy of
character prevailed. She entered upon her duties, and before a
fortnight had passed, she seemed not only resigned to her fate, but
absolutely content. Tom whistled, and danced, and said that he was ten
times happier than when he lived in the great house. He could now wear
an easy old coat, and shoes that did not pinch his corns. Beside, he
had been weary of the idle life he had led, and he now entered upon
his old trade as a pedler, with pleasure and alacrity. The children
soon became accustomed to the change, and, in less than three months
after their downfall, Tom and his wife both agreed that they were
happier in their brown house than they ever had been in the big
mansion.
“Style and splendor may do for those who are brought up to it,” said
Tom; “but, after all, the comfort and content of the cottage are much
better. Don’t you think so, Bridget?”
“Yes, Tom, I do indeed,” said the spouse.
_Tom._ It’s almost equal to the _jinnysyquaw_, an’t it, Bridget?
_Mrs. T._ Hold your tongue, Tom!
――――
ANECDOTE OF A TIGER.――One day a singular circumstance took place in a
menagerie near London, which shows the retentive memory of the tiger.
A sailor, who had been strolling round the exhibition, loitering here
and there to admire the animals, was attracted by a strange noise,
made by a tiger, who seemed irritated beyond endurance. Jack, somewhat
alarmed, sought the keeper to inquire the cause of so singular a
display of feeling, which, he remarked, became more boisterous, the
nearer he approached the animal. The keeper replied, that the behavior
of the tiger indicated that he was either vastly pleased, or very much
annoyed. Upon this, the sailor again approached the den, and gazed at
the tiger a few minutes, during which time the animal became frantic
with seeming rage, lashing his tail against his sides, and giving
utterance to the most frightful bellowings. He soon discovered the
tiger to be one that he had, not long before, brought to England, and
which had been his especial care.
It now was Jack’s turn to be delighted, as it appears the tiger was,
in thus recognizing his old friend; and, after making repeated
applications to be permitted to enter the den, for the purpose, he
said, of “shaking a fist” with the beautiful animal, he was suffered
to do so. The iron door was opened, and in jumped Jack, to the delight
of himself and his striped friend, and the astonishment of the
lookers-on. The affection of the animal was now shown by caressing and
licking the pleased sailor, whom he seemed to welcome with the
heartiest satisfaction; and when the honest tar left the den, the
anguish of the poor animal seemed almost insupportable.
[Illustration]
Miss Pappoo.
Here she is――Miss Pappoo――all the way from New Guinea――a specimen of
humanity which shows the lovely, fascinating, bewitching effect of an
exuberant quantity of hair. It is all her own, too! not purchased at
Gilbert’s, nor forced by beef marrow, antique oil, bear’s grease, or
Macassar ointment! No; it is pure, genuine nature.
It may be that there are some persons who cannot appreciate the
loveliness of Miss Pappoo’s locks; but every day, we see in our
streets, certain young and middle-aged men, who strike us as kindred
spirits. They possess long, tangled locks, and an immense quantity of
beard, covering each side of the face, the throat, and the chin.
Sometimes it is permitted also to cover the upper lip. This bushy
beard gives to a man the somewhat simpering aspect of an old goat; but
still, it would seem that many of our beaux are delighted at making
such a figure. Their great desire seems to be to run to hair.
It is to be remarked that in general these excessively whiskered
gentry have low crowns, and of course a small quantity of brains, and
probably the little they have is of rather an inferior quality. Still,
they seem satisfied, nay, delighted――conceited even――if they can make
up this deficiency with an enormous quantity of bristles growing out
of their chins.
To all such persons, we present Miss Pappoo, not doubting that there
will be a sympathy――a fellow-feeling between her and them. They truly
can appreciate a character so eminently distinguished for hair. She is
a native of the great island of Papua, or New Guinea, lying in the
Pacific Ocean, near New Holland. She is dressed in the highest fashion
of her country, and doubtless would pass for a belle of the first
order there.
Now, if any of our whiskered countrymen, impelled by a fellow-feeling
for Miss Pappoo, are desirous of a nearer acquaintance, we will do
what we can to bring about an introduction between them and the fair
Papuan. Let the letters of all applicants be written upon pink paper,
perfumed with the otto of roses, marked on the outside with Cupid’s
bow, and contain a specimen of the applicant’s whiskers.
COSMOPOLITE.
The Old Man in the Corner.
NO. V.
FABLES.
We must not be too much captivated with the deeds of those called
_great_. It often happens that their victories and triumphs over
others are obtained by unfair means; their successes are frequently
purchased by meanness and treachery; and thus it is that, if we could
see the truth even beneath their rays of glory, we should sometimes be
taught to despise, rather than applaud their actions. The fable that
follows may throw some light upon this subject.
THE GOLDEN SHIELD.
There was once a famous knight, who went forth in search of
adventures. Now, he was a great coward and knave, but he got himself a
shield of burnished gold, and so brilliant was it, that every eye was
dazzled which looked upon it. When he met another knight, instead of
giving him fair and honorable fight, he used to ride near him, and
then slyly and unawares, would stab him with a dirk. His enemy would
fall murdered to the ground, but the people, being dazzled by the
glittering armor, would cry out, “Victory and honor to the knight of
the golden shield!”
VANITY.
This folly or vice usually belongs to the weak and the idle――those who
do little good to others, and are mostly occupied in thinking of
themselves. Vanity is generally large and strong in proportion to the
littleness of the individual who exercises it: one who is its victim,
is incapable of judging of things rightly; even in the presence of
what is great and sublime, he is blind to everything except his
important self. Hear the story of the
GRASSHOPPER AND THUNDER-CLOUD.
Upon the top of a mullen-stalk, sat a grasshopper, who thus
complacently sang of himself:――
Was ever seen, in earth or air,
As my sweet self, a thing so fair?
My coat is made of shining green,
My little wings are glossy sheen,
My form is such as fairies love,
My motions those that mark the dove;
But oh! my voice, so soft and low,
No music can so sweetly flow.
The thrush is silent when I sing――
The linnet stays on balanced wing――
The oak doth hush its whispering leaves,
No more its web the spider weaves,
The rill and river cease their roar,
And all around confess my power,
E’en yonder passing thunder-cloud
Pauses to hear, though yet so proud!
While the grasshopper thus indulged its strain of self-conceit, a bolt
of lightning fell upon an oak near by, and shattered its trunk into a
thousand splinters. One of them struck the mullen-stalk, and the vain
insect was crushed in an instant.
Pictures of Various Nations.