busy as a bee. Instead of sauntering about with a book, or gazing at the
clouds, as he had often done on board the ship, he was hurrying along
the shore in all directions, with such of the men as he could persuade
to move, and examining every little creek and bay about the part of the
island on which they were cast away. And he was well rewarded for his
trouble, for the sea threw upon the land all the lighter part of the
cargo of the lost ship; provisions in sufficient abundance, some boxes
of clothes, many chests of tea, some casks of flour, and large portions
of the timbers and ropes of the vessel. In a small sandy creek, about a
quarter of a mile distant from the wreck, one of the ship’s boats was
found, upside down, and in it, preserved by being covered down tightly
with a sail, were found a compass, a watch, and a few bottles of wine,
with some biscuit, which had probably been put in for the use of the
unfortunate persons who had ventured into the boat in the hope of
reaching the land. A few yards farther on was found the dead body of a
lady, one of the passengers from India, and by her side, wrapped closely
and very carefully in a Scotch plaid, a male child of about a year old,
which was first supposed to be dead also; but the Philosopher, fancying
he perceived signs of life in the little creature, hurried back with
the infant to the party who had refused to move, and gave it in charge
to the women, which soon made them busy, for in the midst of their own
misfortunes they were all anxious that the poor little child should live.
Before the day was over, many of the dead bodies were thrown ashore,
and all were decently buried. Many of the drowned persons had filled
their pockets with money, trinkets, and different valuables which they
possessed. The hope of sharing this booty soon spread activity among all
the other idlers, and the recovered property was pretty equally divided
among them all; the Philosopher alone refusing to receive any of the
money or valuables, and only reserving for his own use the compass, one
of the watches, some of the books, with the paper and other contents of
his writing-desk, which floated ashore after they had been on the island
nearly a week. The spirits of the whole party being a little revived,
they made fires, partook of an evening meal, and retired to rest in
sheltered places under the hills, much more cheerfully than might have
been expected in their situation.
It would be curious to relate the contrivances which the new inhabitants
of the island had recourse to for their own comfort. The island was of a
crescent shape, like most islands in the South Sea, and was five miles
across and six in length, with a large and beautiful harbor. There was
grass, and there were shrubs, and many beautiful and delicate trees, and
flocks of wild pigeons and other birds, and many butterflies and other
insects, but no quadrupeds of any kind.
Those who have read the adventures of Robinson Crusoe, know how much even
one man might do in a desolate island, with the help of the stores of a
ship, and with a gun and ammunition. Our shipwrecked people had many
advantages over him. Some of the sailors had been brought up farmers’
boys, three of the soldiers were Glasgow weavers, the carpenter and the
cook soon found plenty to do, and the women were tailors to the whole
settlement.
In six months from the time of their landing, corn and potatoes were
growing, hand-mills were working, women were spinning and teaching their
children the same, and there were two looms nearly made by the ship’s
carpenter, under the direction of the Glasgow weavers. Flowers were seen
at the doors of several of the huts, and some parts of the island were
inclosed with shrubs and trees. Women might be seen spinning and teaching
their children how to do the same. Within six months more, the population
of the island was increased by the birth of four children.
[Illustration]
Every man at first worked at every thing; and the same man dug his
ground, caught his wild-fowl, gathered the eggs from the nests in the
rocks, and repaired his house when necessary. In short, every man was
what we call a jack-of-all-trades, and as happens commonly in such cases,
hardly any was master of one. But when the first clothes which they had
got from the ship were almost worn out, and every man tried to patch and
mend his own, they began to think it would be better if one or two of the
party should take that business into their own hands, and it was then
given up to the women. When the looms were set to work, the two weavers
were chiefly employed in making a coarse kind of cloth from a sort of
hemp which grew on the island, from which, after it was steeped in water
and beaten with sticks, a strong thread could be spun. Of this cloth, of
various thicknesses, they helped the women to make coats and gowns, boots
and shoes, and stockings. They made hats of a strong flat rush which grew
on the sand-hills near the sea. This work took up so much of their time
that the land of the two weavers was overrun with weeds, and it was found
better for them to give up their farm to a neighbor, who should be paid
for the produce in boots, coats, and money. The carpenter also was but
a poor farmer, and his crop failed. So he gave up farming, and worked
away at building houses, and making tables, and chairs, and bedsteads,
receiving payment in potatoes, corn, wild-fowls, eggs, or sometimes in
money. In the course of two or three years, some were bakers only, some
poulterers, some potato merchants, and only about half of the company
were farmers; of which the consequence was the land was better tilled,
the corn better ground and baked, the fowls better fed, eggs more easily
to be had, the potatoes better, and the huts kept in better repair. Each
man had a trade of his own, and each knew his trade pretty well. Each
man was consequently better fed, clothed, and lodged, than when he worked
at every trade himself.
The individual whom we have mentioned as the Philosopher, was not an
idle man among all these working people. He was schoolmaster to all the
children, who were so fond of him, that he was seldom to be seen without
the strongest of them scrambling over the rocks or along the coast after
him. He measured out and divided the land which was each man’s portion.
He taught the rest of the men to select some of the roots with which
the island abounded; and to cultivate near their dwellings the graceful
trees which were natural to the soil. He made curious nets, which enabled
others to catch a constant supply of fish and of birds. He constructed
clocks of wood, which were found very useful in the different huts; and
he taught some of the bigger boys to make vessels of clay as well as
bricks, the latter of which made the foundation of the houses better
able to resist the storms that now and then swept across the island. He
also managed to make two or three musical instruments, on one or other
of which he would occasionally play in an evening, whilst the children,
and indeed often their fathers and mothers also, would dance on the grass
after the labors of the day. He was the only person in the island who
could keep an account of time; and he was of much use to the farmers
in advising them when to sow different seeds, and in what soils. In
short, there was no end to his contrivances. He also found time to make
a collection of all the different plants that grew on the island, from
some of which he prepared medicines for those who happened to be sick.
He made a survey of the whole of the island, and made drawings of it
and of the little town in which the shipwrecked people lived; cheering
them by saying they would some day look at them in England. He persuaded
every man and woman in the island to rest from work one day in seven;
on which day he used to have them collected together, and on the long
winter evenings, to read some prayers to them, and a chapter or two from
a Bible which had come ashore with some other books. He taught many of
the men and women to sing the hymns and ballads of their own country;
and contrived to make them so busy and so comfortable, that many of them
ceased to sigh for home; whilst their children, too, were growing up in
the peaceful island, ignorant of all that was doing in any other land
upon the globe, except what they learnt from the lessons and books of the
good Philosopher.
HINTS ON READING.
A proper and judicious system of reading is of the highest importance.
Two things are necessary in perusing the mental labors of others;—namely,
not to read too much, and to pay great attention to the nature of what
you do read. Many persons peruse books for the express and avowed purpose
of consuming time; and this class of readers forms by far the majority
of what are termed the “reading public.” Others, again, read with the
laudable anxiety of being made wiser; and when this object is not
attained, the disappointment may generally be attributed, either to the
habit of reading too much, or of paying insufficient attention to what
falls under their notice.
[Illustration]
It is recorded of Madame De Stäel Holstein, that before she was fifteen
years of age, she had “devoured” 600 novels in three months, so that
she must have read more than six a day, upon an average. Louis XVI,
during the five months and seven days of his imprisonment immediately
preceding his death, read 157 volumes, or one a day. If this species
of gluttony is pardonable in circumstances like those of Louis, it is
less so in those of a young lady of fourteen or fifteen. No one can have
time for reflection who reads at this rapid rate; and, whatever may be
thought, these devourers of books are guilty of abusing nature to an
extent, as much greater than those who overcharge their stomachs, as the
intellectual powers are higher than the animal propensities. Thousands
of young persons spend their time in perpetual reading, or rather in
devouring books. It is true, the food is light; but it occupies the
mental faculties for the time in fruitless efforts, and operates to
exclude food of a better quality.
The manners of a people are not to be found in the schools of learning,
or the palaces of greatness, where the national character is obscured or
obliterated by travel or instruction, by philosophy or vanity; nor is
public happiness to be estimated by the assemblies of the gay, or the
banquets of the rich. The great mass of nations is neither rich nor gay:
they whose aggregate constitutes the people, are found in the streets and
villages, in the shops and farms; and from them, collectively considered,
must the measure of general prosperity be taken.
W. P.
SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A ROACH.
WRITTEN AFTER SEVERAL INEFFECTUAL EFFORTS TO DRIVE ROACHES AWAY.
“I left my home some prey to track,
And promised my loved ones I soon would come back;
But when I returned—alack! alack!
I looked in vain for the well-known crack.”
Thus spake a poor Roach as he wandered alone,
And sad was his face, and mournful his tone;
For he thought on the home he never should see,
On Mrs. Roach and his loved family.
He remembered with grief that their larder was bare,
And young roaches he knew could not live upon air.
Ah! do you _human beings_ think what you’re about
When you fill up the cracks, and the old roaches out?
And poor Mrs. Roach sat sobbing at home,
Dreading that to her sposa some evil had come,
And the poor little young ones lay tumbling about,
Grieving much for their father who stayed so long out.
“At last,” quoth the eldest, “dear mother, I’ll go
And find if I can what keeps father so”—
And he started to go as he aye went before,
But gone was the crack they had used for a door!
Alas, human beings! do you know how you sin,
When you fill up the cracks, and the young roaches in?
Oh! then there was wailing within that dark hole,
For their grief was too deep to be under control,—
Said poor Mrs. Roach, “a widow I’ll be,
And who will provide for my dear family?”
Cheer up, little group! oh grieve not so sore!
If you’ll wait but a little there is comfort in store.
In the midst of their wailing a scraping they hear,
And lo! in their midst doth their sire appear.
“Cheer up, my dear wife, and ye children small,
For see, I have eaten my way through the wall!”
MORAL.
Good people, ’tis vain for you to stop up the holes,
For we roaches have _instinct_, if we have not got souls.
Here we’ve long been at home, and here we’ll remain,
And your _phosphorus_,[2] your _elder_,[2] and _wafers_,[2] are vain.
You may give up your efforts, your trouble and pother,
For when driven from one place, we will go to another:
If we weary your patience, your best plan, beyond doubt,
_Will be to move off_, ere we know that you’re out.
MARGARET R⸺.
[2] Various means for getting rid of roaches.
THE CARTER’S HELPMATES.
AN ANECDOTE OF KING GEORGE THE FOURTH.
[Illustration]
The minuter details of George IV’s life are not of a kind either to
interest or edify young people, but here is an anecdote of his boyhood
that will be certain of securing your sympathies.
The manners and appearance of George III and his family were entirely
simple and unostentatious, and the early youth of the young princes and
princesses was but very slightly different from that of other young
people of rank throughout the kingdom. It was the frequent habit of the
king to wander about the neighborhood of Windsor, altogether unattended,
and accompanied only by the young Prince of Wales, who was his almost
inseparable companion.
One morning they were pursuing their walk in their usual manner, when
they met a farm servant driving a covered cart towards Windsor; they had
passed him only by a few paces, when a sudden stoppage of the vehicle,
and the outcries of the driver, caused them to look around, and they then
perceived that the cart had got fast into a rut of the road, and the man
was vainly urging his horses to drag it out.
The prince sprang back, and with little thought of ceremony, began
applying his strength to the wheel, his majesty watching his efforts
for a moment in silence, but instantly after stepping forward himself
in the same service. Encouraged by this unlooked for help, the carter
flogged and bawled to his horses, while the royal shoulders heaved as
heartily at the wheel; and Hercules—moved no doubt by their ship-shape
mode of invoking his aid—gave them strength enough to accomplish what
they desired: the vehicle was extricated, and the driver, grateful to his
friends, swore roundly that they must take a draught of ale with him,
offering at the same time a seat in front of his cart to the next public
house.
This civil offer was not accepted; the King and Prince shook the dust of
their late labor from their plain clothing, and prepared to bid their
friend adieu; but first his majesty presented the fortunate carter with
a guinea, which the prince, holding to be no very worthy gift, instantly
amended by a couple from his own purse. The carter, lost in astonishment,
stood looking after these surprising helpmates (first making any thing
but graceful, though very sincere acknowledgments), and it was not until
they had got fairly out of his sight that he could bethink himself of
once more getting on with his team.
On arriving at the public house which he had destined as the place of
his rejected treat, and relating the wondrous occurrence that had taken
place, he was acquainted with the quality of his assistants; but he could
in no way be brought to believe the fact. Above all, he insisted that,
though the prince might be the prince, yet the king could not be the
king; for, he argued, why else did the first give him two guineas, when
the second, whom his informants would have to be the greater, gave him
only one! No, this was not “in his philosophy,” and he was convinced that
his friends were wrong.
The story, and especially the man’s obstinacy, was talked of till it
reached the king, whom it greatly amused. Some time after, his majesty
met the same man on the road, and thus accosted him:
“So, you think, my friend, that my present was not a king’s present,
though my son’s might do for a prince, hey? But remember that I must be
just before I am generous; the prince has only himself to think about,
but I have many who look up to me, as your children at home do to you,
for all they want—do not forget _that_, my friend; good morning, good
morning.” And the monarch once more left John Carter to his cogitations.
THE FOLLY OF BEING VAIN.
[Illustration]
Caroline was trifling away her time in the garden with a little
favorite spaniel, her constant companion, when she was sent for to her
music-master. But the servant called her no less than three times,
before she thought proper to go into the house. When the lesson was
finished, and the master gone, she turned to her mother, and asked her,
in a fretful and impatient tone of voice, how much longer she was to be
plagued with teachers—for she had had them a very long time, and she
really thought she now knew quite enough of every thing.
“That you have had them a very long while,” answered her mother, “I
perfectly agree with you; but that you have profited so much by their
instruction, as you seem to imagine, I am not so certain. I must,
however, acquaint you, my dear Caroline, that you will not be _plagued_
with them much longer. Your father says he has expended such large sums
upon your education that he is quite vexed with himself for having done
so, because he finds it impossible to be at an equal expense for your two
little sisters. I should therefore advise you, whilst he is so good as to
allow you to continue your lessons, to make the most of your time, that
it may not be said you have been learning so long to no purpose.”
Caroline appeared quite astonished at her mother’s manner of speaking.
The vain girl assured her that she knew every thing perfectly. She said,
that if her father wished to save the expense of masters for her sisters,
_she_ would undertake to make them quite as accomplished as she herself
was.
Some time after this conversation, she accompanied her mamma on a visit
to a particular friend, who resided in the country. As there were
several gentlemen and ladies at the same time in the house, Caroline
was extremely happy in the opportunity she thought it would give her of
surprising so large a party by her music and other accomplishments. It
was not very long before she gave them so many samples of her vanity and
self-conceit, as rendered her quite ridiculous in their eyes.
She was never in the least ashamed to contradict those who were older and
better instructed than herself. She would sit down to the harp, with the
utmost unconcern, and attempt to play a sonata which she had never seen
before, though at the same time she could not get through a little simple
air, without blundering half a dozen times.
There lived, at about the distance of a mile from Mrs. Melvin’s house,
a widow lady, with her daughter, a charming little girl, thirteen years
of age. So very limited was the fortune of this lady, that she had never
had it in her power to be at the smallest expense on account of her
daughter’s education. Indeed, her income was so narrow, that, without the
strictest economy in every respect, she could not have made it suffice
to procure them the necessaries of life. So she was obliged to content
herself with the little instruction she could give to her child. She
encouraged her, as much as possible, to exert herself, and to endeavor to
supply, by attention and perseverance, the want of a more able instructor.
When Caroline heard this talked of, she concluded immediately that Laura
must be a poor little ignorant thing, whom she would astonish by a
display of her accomplishments. The vain young lady enjoyed in idea the
wonder she would show, when she beheld her beautiful drawings, heard her
touch the keys of the piano, and speak French and Italian as well as her
own language. This she wished to persuade herself was the case, though
she knew no more of either of these languages than she did of all the
other things of which she was so vain and conceited.
She told Mrs. Melvin that she really pitied extremely the situation of
the poor unfortunate Laura, and wished, whilst she was so near, that
she could have an opportunity of seeing her frequently, as she would
give her some instruction, which would be of service to her. Mrs. Melvin
was extremely disgusted with the vanity of her friend’s daughter. But,
wishing to give her a severe mortification, which she thought would be of
more use to her than any lesson she had ever received, she told her that
she should pay Laura a visit the next morning.
The morning was very fine, and the whole company set forward immediately
after breakfast. They were soon in sight of a very neat but small house,
which they were informed belonged to the mother of Laura. A little white
gate opened into a garden in the front of it. The grounds were so neat,
and laid out with so much taste, that they all stopped to admire them,
for the flowers and shrubs were tied up with the utmost nicety, and not a
weed was to be seen in any part of the garden.
[Illustration]
“This is Laura’s care,” said Mrs. Melvin; “her mother cannot afford to
pay a gardener, but she hires a laborer now and then to turn up the
ground, and, with the help of their maid, Laura keeps this little
flower-garden in the order in which you see it. By inquiring of those
who understand the subject, instead of fancying herself perfect in all
things, she has gained so much information, that she is become a complete
florist.”
They were shown into a very neat parlor, which was ornamented with a
number of drawings. “Here,” said Mrs. Melvin, “you may again see the
fruits of Laura’s industry and perseverance. She has had no instruction
except the little her mother could give her, but she was determined
to succeed, and has done so, as you may perceive. These drawings are
executed with as much taste and judgment as could possibly be expected of
so young a person, even if she had had the advantage of having a master
to instruct her. The fringe on the window-curtains is entirely of her
making. The pretty border and landscape on that fire-screen are of her
cutting.”
Caroline began to fear she should not shine quite so much as she had
expected to do. When Laura came into the room, and was desired to sit
down at the piano, she was extremely mortified at hearing her play and
sing two or three pretty little songs, so well and so sweetly, that every
one present was delighted with her.
After they had amused themselves indoors, Laura’s mother invited them out
into the garden, where the extreme neatness and care exhibited by Laura
in its care was the theme of universal praise. One of the ladies of the
party spoke in such extremely high terms of the beauty of the flowers,
that Laura’s mother, who was now getting rather old and feeble, and was
obliged to walk with a cane, picked a pretty bouquet and begged her to
accept it.
Laura and her doings were so much the theme of praise from all, that
Caroline found there was little opportunity of making the display she had
expected to, and in fact felt her real inferiority, notwithstanding the
many masters she had had, to the humble Laura, that she did not enjoy
her visit near so much as she had anticipated to do. But her visit was
of great service and benefit to her, for ever after she tried really to
make good use of the instructions of her teachers; and it is therefore no
wonder she became a better and wiser girl, casting aside her excessive
vanity.
When my youthful readers attempt to show off, I think it will be of great
use to them if they will remember this story of the vain little girl.
THE ORPHAN WANDERERS.
[Illustration: NEW-YORK
D. APPLETON & CO. 200 BROADWAY.]
Gentle lady, good and happy,
Hear my simple tale, I pray;
’Tis the sad, sad truth, I tell you,
Send us not so soon away.
Once we had a home of plenty,
Once we knew a father’s care,
Once a mother’s fond affection
Breathed for us the nightly prayer.
Now we wander, lost, and lonely,
Over many a weary mile;
Gloomy night comes gathering round us,
But we find no mother’s smile.
Once there came a gloomy winter,
Trade was bad, and wages low,
Dark December rains were falling
Over heaps of melting snow.
One sad evening—never, never
Can that evening be forgot;
Something came, across our father,
Anger—grief—we knew not what.
From that time his mind seemed wandering,
And his manly look was gone;
Sometimes kind, and sometimes fretful,
Constant to one vice alone.
Constant to one guilty pleasure,
When those fatal doors were passed,
Shame was vanquished, conscience followed,
All our comforts went at last.
Long my mother bore in silence
Loss of plenty, loss of fame;
Though sometimes the gossip’s slander
Tinged her faded cheek with shame.
Little did we know that sorrow
Had such deep and deadly power,
Little dreamed her strength was failing—
Failing faster, hour by hour;
Till one awful moment told us
All the fatal truth at last;
To her restless bed she called us,
O’er my brow her fingers passed.
There were sighs, and words so broken,
Yet so fond, and full of love;
And her smiles—we ne’er forgot them,
Like an angel’s from above.