CHAPTER XII.

[Illustration: THE LOST FOUND.... See January No. 1843.]

ROBERT MERRY’S

MUSEUM:

VOLUMES III. IV.

[Illustration]

BOSTON:

PUBLISHED BY BRADBURY, SODEN & CO.

10, SCHOOL STREET, AND 127, NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

1843.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, by S. G.

Goodrich, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of

Massachusetts.

ROBERT MERRY’S

MUSEUM.

EDITED BY

S. G. GOODRICH,

AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.

VOLUME III.

BOSTON:

BRADBURY, SODEN, & CO.,

NO. 10 SCHOOL STREET, AND 127 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

1842.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.

JANUARY TO JUNE, 1842.

The New Year, 1

Wonders of Geology, 3

The Siberian Sable-Hunter, 7, 65, 122

Merry’s Adventures, 12, 36, 79, 150, 177

Repentance, 16

Indians of America, 17, 41, 74, 97, 131, 165

Story of Philip Brusque, 21, 60, 87

Solon, the Grecian Lawgiver, 25

How to settle a Dispute without Pistols, 26

The Painter and his Master, 27

The Turkey and Rattlesnake,--a Fable, 28

Flowers, 28

Christmas, 29

Puzzles, 31, 95, 126, 159, 190

Varieties, 31, 188

Hymn for the New Year,--_Music_, 32

Anecdote of a Traveller, 33

Dr. Cotton and the Sheep, 34

The Robin, 34

Echo,--A Dialogue, 35

The Lion and the Ass, 35

National Characteristics, 35

The Two Seekers, 38

Resistance to Pain, 40

The Voyages, Travels and Experiences

of Thomas Trotter, 45, 84, 102, 139, 182

Cheerful Cherry, 48

The War in Florida, 56

Composition, 58

Natural Curiosities of New Holland, 59

Beds, 61

The Great Bustard, 62

The Tartar, 63

Answers to Puzzles, 63

The Snow-Storm,--_Music_, 64

Bees, 69

The several varieties of Dogs, 72

Anecdote of the Indians, 73

The Wisdom of God, 77

The Canary Bird, 78

The Paper Nautilus, 79

The Zodiac, 83

The Tanrec, 89

Letter from a Correspondent, 89

Different kinds of Type, 91

The Three Sisters, 92

The Zephyr, 95

To Correspondents, 95, 127, 158, 189

March,--_A Song_, 96

Butterflies, 101

Herschel the Astronomer, 107

Truth and Falsehood,--An Allegory, 108

The Chimpansé, 110

The Sugar-Cane, 111

Dialogue on Politeness, 112

The Date Tree, 114

Dress, 115

Eagles, and other matters, 117

April, 120

The Prophet Jeremiah, 121

Letter from a Subscriber, 124

Toad-Stools and Mushrooms, 125

Return of Spring, 126

Smelling, 129

Isaac and Rebekah, 135

Mr. Catlin and his Horse Charley, 136

The Kitchen, 138

Knights Templars, 145

The Garden of Peace, 146

The Banana, 148

Comparative Size of Animals, 149

Misitra and the Ancient Sparta, 155

Absence of Mind, 155

The Star Fish, 156

Where is thy Home? 157

Sea-Weed, 157

Inquisitive Jack and his Aunt Piper, 158

“Far Away,”--the Bluebird’s Song, 160

The Sense of Hearing, 161

“Fresh Flowers,” 162

June, 164

House-Building, 173

Edwin the Rabbit-fancier, 175

Who planted the Oaks? 181

The Deluge, 186

Page for Little Readers, 187

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, by S. G.

GOODRICH, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of

Massachusetts.

[Illustration: THE IGUANADON.]

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 1.

[Illustration: _Tom Stedfast._]

The New Year.

There are few days in all the year that are pleasanter than the first

of January--_New Year’s Day_. It is a day when we all salute each other

with a cheerful greeting;--when children say to their parents, as they

meet in the morning, “I wish you a happy new year!” and the parents

reply, “A happy new year, my dear children!”

The first of January is, then, a day of kind wishes; of happy hopes; of

bright anticipations: it is a day in which we feel at peace with all

the world, and, if we have done our duty well during the departed year,

we feel peaceful within.

Methinks I hear my young readers say, “Would that all our days might

be thus cheerful and agreeable!” Alas! this may not be. It is not our

lot to be thus cheerful and happy all the days of our lives. A part of

our time must be devoted to study, to labor, to duty. We cannot always

be enjoying holidays. And, indeed, it is not best we should. As people

do not wish always to be eating cake and sugar-plums, so they do not

always desire to be sporting and playing. As the cake and sugar-plums

would, by and by, become sickening to the palate, so the play would at

last grow tedious. As we should soon desire some good solid meat, so we

should also desire some useful and instructive occupation.

But as it is now new year’s day, let us make the best of it. I wish you

a happy new year, my black-eyed or blue-eyed reader! Nay, I wish you

many a happy new year! and, what is more, I promise to do all in my

power to make you happy, not only for this ensuing year, but for many

seasons to come. And how do you think I propose to do it? That is what

I propose to tell you!

In the first place, I am going to tell you, month by month, a lot of

stories both useful and amusing. I wish to have a part of your time

to myself, and, like my young friend Tom Stedfast, whose portrait I

give you at the head of this article, I wish you not only to read my

Magazine, but, if you have any little friends who cannot afford to buy

it, I wish you to lend it to them, so that they may peruse it.

Tom is a rare fellow! No sooner does he get the Magazine than he sits

down by the fire, just as you see him in the picture, and reads it from

one end to the other. If there is anything he don’t understand, he goes

to his father and he explains it. If there are any pretty verses, he

learns them by heart; if there is any good advice, he lays it up in

his memory; if there is any useful information, he is sure to remember

it. Tom resembles a squirrel in the autumn, who is always laying up

nuts for the winter season; for the creature knows that he will have

need of them, then. So it is with Tom; when he meets with any valuable

knowledge--it is like nuts to him--and he lays it up, for he is sure

that he will have use for it at some future day. And there is another

point in which Tom resembles the squirrel; the latter is as lively and

cheerful in gathering his stores for future use, as he is in the spring

time, when he has only to frisk and frolic amid the branches of the

trees--and Tom is just as cheerful and pleasant about his books and his

studies, as he is when playing blind-man’s-buff.

Now I should like to have my young readers as much like Tom Stedfast as

possible; as studious, as fond of knowledge, and yet as lively and as

good humored. And there is another thing in which I should wish all my

young friends to resemble Tom; he thinks everything of me! No sooner

does he see me stumping and stilting along, than he runs up to me,

calling out, “How do you do, Mr. Merry? I’m glad to see you; I hope you

are well! How’s your wooden leg?”

Beside all this, Tom thinks my Museum is first-rate--and I assure you

it is a great comfort to my old heart, when I find anybody pleased

with my little Magazine. I do not pretend to write such big books as

some people; nor do I talk so learnedly as those who go to college and

learn the black arts. But what I do know, I love to communicate; and

I am never so happy as when I feel that I am gratifying and improving

young people. This may seem a simple business, to some people, for an

old man; but if it gives me pleasure, surely no one has a right to

grumble about it.

There is another thing in Tom Stedfast which I like. If he meets with

anything in my Magazine which he does not think right, he sits down

and writes me a letter about it. He does not exactly scold me, but he

gives me a piece of his mind, and that leads to explanations and a

good understanding. So we are the best friends in the world. And now

what I intend to do is, to make my little readers as much like Tom

Stedfast as possible. In this way I hope I may benefit them not only

for the passing year, but for years to come. I wish not only to assist

my friends in finding the right path, but I wish to accustom their feet

to it, so that they may adopt good habits and continue to pursue it.

With these intentions I enter upon the new year, and I hope that the

friendship already begun between me and my readers, will increase as we

proceed in our journey together.

Wonders of Geology.

There are few things more curious, strange, and wonderful than the

facts revealed by geology. This science is occupied with the structure

of the surface of the earth; it tells us of the rocks, gravel, clay,

and soil of which it is composed, and how they are arranged.

In investigating these materials, the geologists have discovered the

bones of strange animals, imbedded either in the rocks or the soil, and

the remains of vegetables such as do not now exist. These are called

fossil remains; the word _fossil_ meaning _dug up_. This subject has

occupied the attention of many very learned men, and they have at last

come to the most astonishing results. A gigantic skeleton has been

found in the earth near Buenos Ayres, in South America; it is nearly

as large as the elephant, its body being nine feet long and seven feet

high. Its feet were enormous, being a yard in length, and more than

twelve inches wide. They were terminated by gigantic claws; while its

huge tail, which probably served as a means of defence, was larger than

that of any other beast, living or extinct.

This animal has been called the _Megatherium_: _mega_, great,

_therion_, wild beast. It was of the sloth species, and seems to have

had a very thick skin, like that of the armadillo, set on in plates

resembling a coat of armor. There are no such animals in existence now;

they belong to a former state of this earth,--to a time before the

creation of man.

Discoveries have been made of the remains of many other fossil

animals belonging to the ancient earth. One of them is called the

_Ichthyosaurus_, or fish lizard. It had the teeth of a crocodile, the

head of a lizard, and the fins or paddles of a whale. These fins, or

paddles were very curious, and consisted of above a hundred small

bones, closely united together. This animal used to live principally

at the bottoms of rivers, and devour amazing quantities of fish,

and other water animals, and sometimes its own species; for an

ichthyosaurus has been dug out of the cliffs at Lyme Regis, England,

with part of a small one in his stomach. This creature was sometimes

thirty or forty feet long.

[Illustration: _The jaws of the Ichthyosaurus._]

Another of these fossil animals is called the _Plesiosaurus_, a word

which means, _like a lizard_. It appears to have formed an intermediate

link between the crocodile and the ichthyosaurus. It is remarkable for

the great length of its neck, which must have been longer than that of

any living animal. In the engraving at the beginning of this number,

you will see one of these animals swimming in the water. The following

is a view of his skeleton; the creature was about fifteen feet long.

[Illustration: _Skeleton of the Plesiosaurus._]

But we have not yet mentioned the greatest wonder of fossil animals;

this is the _Iguanodon_, whose bones have been found in England. It was

a sort of lizard, and its thigh bones were eight inches in diameter.

This creature must have been from seventy to a hundred feet long, and

one of its thighs must have been as large as the body of an ox. I have

given a portrait of this monster, drawn by Mr. Billings, an excellent

young artist, whom you will find at No. 10, Court st., Boston. I cannot

say that the picture is a very exact likeness; for as the fellow has

been dead some thousands of years, we can only be expected to give a

family resemblance. We have good reason to believe, however, that it

is a tolerably faithful representation, for it is partly copied from a

design by the celebrated John Martin, in London, and to be found in a

famous book on the wonders of geology, by Mr. Mantel.

There was another curious animal, called the _Pterodactyle_, with

gigantic wings. The skull of this animal must have been very large

in proportion to the size of the skeleton, the jaws themselves being

almost as large as its body.

[Illustration: _Skeleton of the Pterodactyle._]

They were furnished with sharp, hooked teeth. The orbits of the eyes

were very large; hence it is probable that it was a nocturnal animal,

like the bat, which, at first sight, it very much resembles in the

wings, and other particulars.

The word pterodactyle signifies wing-fingered; and, if you observe, you

will find that it had a hand of three fingers at the bend of each of

its wings, by which, probably, it hung to the branches of trees. Its

food seems to have been large dragon-flies, beetles and other insects,

the remains of some of which have been found close to the skeleton of

the animal. The largest of the pterodactyles were of the size of a

raven. One of them is pictured in the cut with the Iguanodon.

Another very curious animal which has been discovered is the

_Dinotherium_, being of the enormous length of eighteen feet. It was an

herbiferous animal, and inhabited fresh water lakes and rivers, feeding

on weeds, aquatic roots, and vegetables. Its lower jaws measured

four feet in length, and are terminated by two large tusks, _curving

downwards_, like those of the upper jaw of the walrus; by which it

appears to have hooked itself to the banks of rivers as it slept in the

water. It resembled the tapirs of South America. There appear to have

been several kinds of the dinotherium, some not larger than a dog. One

of these small ones is represented in the picture with the Iguanodon.

The bones of the creatures we have been describing, were all found

in England, France, and Germany, except those of the megatherium,

which was found in South America. In the United States, the bones

of an animal twice as big as an elephant, called the _Mastodon_, or

_Mammoth_, have been dug up in various places, and a nearly perfect

skeleton is to be seen at Peale’s Museum, in Philadelphia.

Now it must be remembered that the bones we have been speaking of, are

found deeply imbedded in the earth, and that no animals of the kind

now exist in any part of the world. Beside those we have mentioned,

there were many others, as tortoises, elephants, tigers, bears, and

rhinoceroses, but of different kinds from those which now exist.

It appears that there were elephants of many sizes, and some of them

had woolly hair. The skeleton of one of the larger kinds, was found in

Siberia, some years since, partly imbedded in ice, as I have told you

in a former number.

The subject of which we are treating increases in interest as we

pursue it. Not only does it appear, that, long before man was created,

and before the present order of things existed on the earth, strange

animals, now unknown, inhabited it, but that they were exceedingly

numerous. In certain caves in England, immense quantities of the bones

of hyenas, bears, and foxes are found; and the same is the fact in

relation to certain caves in Germany.

Along the northern shores of Asia, the traces of elephants and

rhinoceroses are so abundant as to show that these regions, now so cold

and desolate, were once inhabited by thousands of quadrupeds of the

largest kinds. In certain parts of Europe, the hills and valleys appear

to be almost composed of the bones of extinct animals; and in all parts

of the world, ridges, hills and mountains, are made up of the shells of

marine animals, of which no living specimen now dwells on the earth!

Nor is this the only marvel that is revealed by the discoveries of

modern geology. Whole tribes of birds and insects, whole races of trees

and plants, have existed, and nothing is left of their story save the

traces to be found in the soil, or the images depicted in the layers

of slate. They all existed before man was created, and thousands of

years have rolled over the secret, no one suspecting the wonderful

truth. Nor does the train of curiosities end here. It appears that the

climates of the earth must have been different in those ancient and

mysterious days from what they are at present: for in England, ferns,

now small plants, grew to the size of trees, and vegetables flourished

there of races similar to those which now grow only in the hot regions

of the tropics.

As before stated, the northern shores of Siberia, in Asia, at present

as cold and desolate as Lapland, and affording sustenance only to the

reindeer that feeds on lichens, was once inhabited by thousands and

tens of thousands of elephants, and other creatures, which now only

dwell in the regions of perpetual summer.

The inferences drawn from all these facts, which are now placed beyond

dispute, are not only interesting, but they come upon us like a new

revelation. They seem to assure us that this world in which we dwell

has existed for millions of years; that at a period, ages upon ages

since, there was a state of things totally distinct from the present.

Europe was then, probably, a collection of islands. Where England now

is, the iguanodon then dwelt, and was, probably, one of the lords of

the soil.

This creature was from seventy to a hundred feet long. He dwelt along

the rivers and lakes, and had for his companions other animals of

strange and uncouth forms. Along the borders of the rivers the ferns

grew to the height of trees, and the land was shaded with trees,

shrubs, and plants, resembling the gorgeous vegetation of Central

America and Central Africa.

This was one age of the world--one of the days in which the process of

creation was going on. How long this earth remained in this condition,

we cannot say, but probably many thousands of years. After a time, a

change came over it. The country of the iguanodon sunk beneath the

waters, and after a period, the land arose again, and another age

began. Now new races of animals and vegetables appeared.

The waters teemed with nautili, and many species of shell and other

fishes, at present extinct; the tropical forests had disappeared, and

others took their places. Instead of the iguanodon, and the hideous

reptiles that occupied the water and the land before, new races were

seen. Along the rivers and marshes were now the hippopotamus, tapir,

and rhinoceros; upon the land were browsing herds of deer of enormous

size, and groups of elephants and mastodons, of colossal magnitude.

This era also passed away; these mighty animals became entombed in the

earth; the vegetable world was changed; swine, horses and oxen were

now seen upon the land, and man, the head of creation, spread over the

earth, and assumed dominion over the animal tribes.

Such are the mighty results to which the researches of modern geology

seem to lead us. They teach us that the six days, spoken of in the

book of Genesis, during which the world was created, were probably not

six days of twenty-four hours, but six periods of time, each of them

containing thousands of years. They teach us also that God works by

certain laws, and that even in the mighty process of creation, there is

a plan, by which he advances in his work from one step to another, and

always by a progress of improvement.

So far, indeed, is geology from furnishing evidence against the truth

of the Bible, that it offers the most wonderful confirmation of it. No

traces of the bones of man are found among these remains of former

ages, and thus we have the most satisfactory and unexpected evidence

that the account given of his creation in the book of Genesis is true.

It appears, also, that the present races of animals must have been

created at the same time he was, for their bones do not appear among

the ancient relics of which we have been speaking.

[Illustration: _Linsk and the Aurora Borealis._]

The Siberian Sable-Hunter.

CHAPTER VI.

_The respectability of bears.--A hunter’s story.--Yakootsk

in sight._

While the travellers proceeded on their journey, Linsk, now thoroughly

excited by the adventure with the wolves, seemed to have his

imagination filled with the scenes of former days. In the course of

his observations, he remarked that though he had a great respect for a

wolf, he had a positive reverence for a bear.

“Indeed!” said Alexis, “how is it possible to have such a feeling as

reverence for a wild beast, and one so savage as a bear? I never heard

any good of the creature.”

“That may be,” said Linsk; “and yet what I say is all right and proper.

If you never heard any good of a bear, then I can give you some

information. Now there is a country far off to the east of Siberia,

called Kamtschatka. It’s a terrible cold country, and the snow falls so

deep there in winter, as to cover up the houses. The people are then

obliged to dig holes under the snow from one house to another, and thus

they live, like burrowing animals, till the warm weather comes and

melts away their covering.

“Now what would the people do in such a country, if it were not for

the bears? Of the warm skins of these creatures they make their beds,

coverlets, caps, gloves, mittens, and jackets. Of them they also make

collars for their dogs that draw their sledges, and the soles of their

shoes when they want to go upon the ice to spear seals; for the hair

prevents slipping. The creature’s fat is used instead of butter; and

when melted it is burnt instead of oil.

“The flesh of the bear is reckoned by these people as too good to be

enjoyed alone; so, when any person has caught a bear, he always makes a

feast and invites his neighbors. Whew! what jolly times these fellows

do have at a bear supper! They say the meat has the flavor of a pig,

the juiciness of whale-blubber, the tenderness of the grouse, and the

richness of a seal or a walrus. So they consider it as embracing the

several perfections of fish, flesh and fowl!

“And this is not all. Of the intestines of the bear, the Kamtschatdales

make masks to shield the ladies’ faces from the effects of the sun;

and as they are rendered quite transparent, they are also used for

window-panes, instead of glass. Of the shoulder-blades of this

creature, the people make sickles for cutting their grass; and of the

skins they make muffs to keep the ladies’ fingers warm.

“Beside all this, they send the skins to market, and they bring high

prices at St. Petersburgh, for the use of the ladies, and for many

other purposes. Such is the value of this creature when dead; when

alive he is also of some account. He has a rope put around his neck,

and is taught a great many curious tricks. I suppose he might learn to

read and go to college, as well as half the fellows that do go there;

but of this I cannot speak with certainty, for I never went myself. All

I can say is, that a well-taught bear is about the drollest creature

that ever I saw. He looks so solemn, and yet is so droll! I can’t

but think, sometimes, that there’s a sort of human nature about the

beast, for there’s often a keen twinkle in his eye, which seems to say,

‘I know as much as the best of you: and if I don’t speak, it’s only

because I scorn to imitate such a set of creatures as you men are!’

“It is on account of the amusement that bears thus afford, that these

Kamtschatdales catch a good many living ones, and send them by ships

to market. They also send live bears to St. Petersburgh, London, and

Paris, for the perfumers. These people shut them up, and make them very

fat, and then kill them for their grease. This is used by the fops and

dandies to make their locks grow. I suppose they think that the fat

will operate on them as it does on the bear, and give them abundance

of hair. I’m told that in the great cities, now-a-days, a young man

is esteemed in proportion as he resembles a bear in this respect.

Accordingly bears’ grease is the making of a modern dandy, and so

there’s a great demand for the creature that affords such a treasure.

“Now, master ’Lexis, I hope you are satisfied that in saying you never

heard any good of a bear, you only betrayed ignorance--a thing that is

no reproach to one so young as yourself. But, after all I’ve said, I

havn’t half done. You must remember that this creature is not like a

sheep, or a reindeer, or a cow, or a goat--always depending upon man

for breakfast, dinner and supper. Not he, indeed! He is too independent

for that; so he supports himself, instead of taxing these poor

Kamtschatdales for his living. Why, they have to work half the year to

provide food for their domestic animals the other half; whereas the

bear feeds and clothes himself, and when they want his skin, his flesh,

or his carcass--why, he is all ready for them!”

“I am satisfied,” said Alexis “that the bear is a most valuable

creature to those people who live in cold, northern countries; for he

seems to furnish them with food, dress, and money; but, after all, they

have the trouble of hunting him!”

“Trouble!” said Linsk; “why, lad, that’s the best of it all!”

“But isn’t it dangerous?” said Alexis.

“Of course it is,” replied the old hunter; “but danger is necessary

to sport. It is to hunting, like mustard to your meat, or pepper and

vinegar to your cabbage. Danger is the spice of all adventure; without

this, hunting would be as insipid as ploughing. There _is_ danger

in hunting the bear; for though he’s a peaceable fellow enough when

you let him alone, he’s fierce and furious if you interfere with his

business, or come in his way when he’s pinched with hunger.

“I’ve had some adventures with bears myself, and I think I know the

ways of the beast as well as anybody. Sometimes he’ll trot by, only

giving you a surly look or a saucy growl. But if you chance to fall

upon a she bear, with a parcel of cubs about her, why then look out.”

“Did you ever see a bear with cubs, father?” said Nicholas, the elder

of Linsk’s sons.

“To be sure I have,” was the answer.

“Well, what I want to know, father,” said the boy, “is, whether they

are such creatures as people say. I’ve been told that young cubs are as

rough as a bramble bush, and that they don’t look like anything at all

till the old bear has licked them into shape. Is that true?”

“No, no--it’s all gammon, Nick. Young cubs are the prettiest little

things you ever saw. They are as soft and playful as young puppies;

and they seem by nature to have a true Christian spirit. It’s as the

creature grows old that he grows wicked and savage--and I believe it’s

the same with men as with bears.

“I remember that once, when I was a young fellow, I was out with a

hunting party in search of sables. Somehow or other I got separated

from my companions, and I wandered about for a long time, trying in

vain to find them. At last night came on, and there I was, alone!

This happened far to the north, in the country of the Samoides. It

was mid-winter, and though the weather was clear, it was bitter cold.

I walked along upon the snow-crust, and, coming to an open space, I

called aloud and discharged my gun. I could hear the echoes repeating

my words, and the cracking of my piece, but there was no answer from

my friends. It was all around as still as death, and even the bitter

blast that made my whole frame tingle, glided by without a whisper or a

sigh. There were no people in all the country round about: and, I must

confess that such a sense of desertion and desolation came over me, as

almost made my heart sink within me.

“I remember it was one of those nights when the ‘_northern lights_’

shone with great brilliancy--a thing that often occurs in those cold

countries. At first there was an arch of light in the north, of a pure

and dazzling white. By and by, this began to shoot upward, and stream

across the heavens, and soon the rays were tinged with other hues. At

one time I saw a vast streak, seemingly like a sword of flame, piercing

the sky; suddenly this vanished, and a mighty range of castles and

towns, some white, some red, and some purple, seemed set along the

horizon. In a few seconds these were changed, and now I saw a thing

like a ship, with sails of many colors. This, too, disappeared, and

then I saw images like giants dancing in the sky. By and by their

sport was changed for battle, and it seemed as if they were fighting

with swords of flame and javelins of light!

“I watched this wonderful display for some time, and at first I thought

it boded some dreadful harm to me. But after a little reflection, I

concluded that such vast wonders of nature, could not be got up on

account of a poor young sable-hunter, and so I went on my way. Leaving

the open country, I plunged into the forest, and among the thick fir

trees began to seek some cave or hollow log, where I might screen

myself from the bitter blast.

“While I was poking about, I saw four little black fellows playing like

kittens, on the snow-crust, at a short distance. I gazed at them for a

moment, and soon discovered that they were young bears. They were each

of the size of a cat, and never did I see anything more playful than

they were. I stood for some time watching them, and they seemed very

much like so many shaggy puppies, all in a frolic.

“Well, I began to think what it was best to do; whether to make an

attack, or drive them to their den, and take a night’s lodging with

them. I was in some doubt how they would receive a stranger, while

their mamma was not at home; but I concluded, on the whole, to throw

myself upon their hospitality--for I was shivering with cold, and the

idea of getting into a warm bed with these clever fellows, was rather

inviting just then. So I walked forward and approached the party. They

all rose up on their hind legs and uttered a gruff growl, in token of

astonishment. Never did I behold such amazement as these creatures

displayed. I suppose they had never seen a man before, and they

appeared mightily puzzled to make out what sort of a creature I was.

“Having looked at me for some time, the whole pack scampered away, and

at a short distance entered a cave. I followed close upon them, and,

coming to their retreat, was rejoiced to find that it was a hollow in a

rock, the entrance of which was just large enough for me to creep in.

In I went, though it was dark as a pocket. I knew that the old bear

must be abroad, and as for the young ones, I was willing to trust them;

for, as I said before, all young creatures seem to be civil till they

have cut their eye teeth and learnt the wicked ways of the world.

“When I got into the cave, I felt round and found that it was about

five feet square, with a bed of leaves at the bottom. The young bears

had slunk away into the crevices of the rock, but they seemed to offer

no resistance. I found the place quite comfortable, and was beginning

to think myself very well off, when the idea occurred to me, that

madame bear would be coming home before long, and was very likely to

consider me an intruder, and to treat me accordingly. These thoughts

disturbed me a good deal, but at last I crept out of the cave, and

gathered a number of large sticks; I then went in again and stopped

up the entrance by wedging the sticks into it as forcibly as could.

Having done this, and laying my gun at my side, I felt about for my

young friends. I pretty soon got hold of one of them, and, caressing

him a little, pulled him toward me. He soon snugged down at my side,

and began to lick my hands. Pretty soon another crept out of his

lurking-place, and came to me, and in a short time they were all with

me in bed.

“I was soon very warm and comfortable, and after a short space the

whole of us were in a sound snooze. How long we slept I cannot tell;

but I was awakened by a terrible growl at the mouth of the cave, and a

violent twitching and jerking of the sticks that I had jammed into the

entrance. I was not long in guessing at the true state of the case. The

old bear had come back, and her sharp scent had apprized her that an

interloper had crept into her bed-room. St. Nicholas! how she did roar,

and how the sticks did fly! One after another was pulled away, and in a

very short space of time, every stick was pulled out but one. This was

the size of my leg, and lay across the door of the cave. I got hold of

it and determined that it should keep its place. But the raging beast

seized it with her teeth, and jerked it out of my hands in a twinkling.

The entrance was now clear, and, dark as it was, I immediately saw the

glaring eyeballs of the bear, as she began to squeeze herself into the

cave. She paused a moment, and, fixing her gaze on me, uttered the

most fearful growl I ever heard in my life. I don’t think I shall ever

forget it, though it happened when I was a stripling--and that is some

thirty years ago.

“Well, it was lucky for me that the hole was very small for such a

portly creature; and, mad as she was, she had to scratch and squirm

to get into the cave. All this time I was on my knees, gun in hand,

and ready to let drive when the time should come. Poking the muzzle of

my piece right in between the two balls of fire, whang it went! I was

stunned with the sound, and kicked over beside. But I got up directly,

and stood ready for what might come next. All was still as death; even

the cubs, that were now lurking in the fissures of the rocks, seemed

hushed in awful affright.

“As soon as my senses had fully returned, I observed that the fiery

eyeballs were not visible, and, feeling about with my gun, I soon

discovered that the bear seemed to be lifeless, and wedged into the

entrance of the cave. I waited a while to see if life had wholly

departed, for I was not disposed to risk my fingers in the mouth even

of a dying bear; but, finding that the creature was really dead, I

took hold of her ears, and tried to pull her out of the hole. But this

was a task beyond my strength. She was of enormous size and weight,

and, beside, was so jammed into the rocks as to defy all my efforts to

remove the lifeless body.

“‘Well,’ thought I, ‘this is a pretty kettle of fish! Here I am in a

cave, as snug as a fly in a bottle, with a bear for a cork! Who ever

heard of such a thing before!’ What would have been the upshot I cannot

say, had not unexpected deliverance been afforded me. While I was

tugging and sweating to remove the old bear, I heard something without,

as if there were persons near the cave. By and by the creature began

to twitch, and at last out she went, at a single jerk. I now crept out

myself--and behold, my companions were there!

“I need not tell you that it was a happy meeting. We made a feast of

the old bear, and spent some days at the cave, keeping up a pleasant

acquaintance with the young cubs. When we departed we took them with

us, and they seemed by no means unwilling to go. We had only to carry

one, and the rest followed. But look here, my boys! this is the river

Lena, and yonder is Yakootsk. Soon we shall be there!”

(_To be continued._)

A SHOP-KEEPER in New York, the other day, stuck upon his door the

following laconic advertisement: “_A boy wanted._” On going to his

shop, the next morning, he beheld a smiling urchin in a basket, with

the following pithy label: “_Here it is._”

Merry’s Adventures.

CHAPTER XV.

_Emigration to Utica.--An expedition.--The salamander hat.--A

terrible threat.--A Dutchman’s hunt for the embargo on the

ships.--Utica long ago.--Interesting story of the Seneca

chief._

I have now reached a point when the events of my life became more

adventurous. From this time forward, at least for the space of several

years, my history is crowded with incidents; and some of them are not

only interesting to myself, but I trust their narration may prove so to

my readers.

When I was about eighteen years of age, I left Salem for the first time

since my arrival in the village. At that period there were a good many

people removing from the place where I lived, and the vicinity, to seek

a settlement at Utica. That place is now a large city, but at the time

I speak of, about five and thirty years ago, it was a small settlement,

and surrounded with forests. The soil in that quarter was, however,

reputed to be very rich, and crowds of people were flocking to the land

of promise.

Among others who had made up their minds to follow the fashion of that

day, was a family by the name of Stebbins, consisting of seven persons.

In order to convey these, with their furniture, it was necessary to

have two wagons, one of which was to be driven by Mat Olmsted, and, at

my earnest solicitation, my uncle consented that I should conduct the

other.

After a preparation of a week, and having bade farewell to all my

friends, Raymond, Bill Keeler, and my kind old uncle, and all the rest,

we departed. Those who are ignorant of the state of things at that day,

and regard only the present means of travelling, can hardly conceive

how great the enterprise was esteemed, in which I was now engaged. It

must be remembered that no man had then even dreamed of a rail-road or

a steamboat. The great canal, which now connects Albany with Buffalo,

was not commenced. The common roads were rough and devious, and instead

of leading through numerous towns and villages, as at the present day,

many of them were only ill-worked passages through swamps and forests.

The distance was about two hundred miles--and though it may now be

travelled in twenty hours, it was esteemed, for our loaded wagons, a

journey of two weeks. Such is the mighty change which has taken place,

in our country, in the brief period of thirty-five years.

I have already said that Mat Olmsted was somewhat of a wag; he was,

also, a cheerful, shrewd, industrious fellow, and well suited to

such an expedition. He encountered every difficulty with energy, and

enlivened the way by his jokes and his pleasant observations.

It was in the autumn when we began our journey, and I remember one

evening, as we had stopped at a tavern, and were sitting by a blazing

fire, a young fellow came in with a new hat on. It was very glossy,

and the youth seemed not a little proud of it. He appeared also to

be in excellent humor with himself, and had, withal, a presuming and

conceited air. Approaching where Mat was sitting, warming himself by

the fire, the young man shoved him a little aside, saying, “Come, old

codger, can’t you make room for your betters?”

“To be sure I can for such a handsome gentleman as yourself,” said Mat,

good naturedly; he then added, “That’s a beautiful hat you’ve got on,

mister; it looks like a real salamander!”

“Well,” said the youth, “it’s a pretty good hat, I believe; but whether

it’s a salamander, or not, I can’t say.”

“Let me see it,” said Olmsted; and, taking it in his hand, he felt of

it with his thumb and finger, smelt of it, and smoothed down the fur

with his sleeve. “Yes,” said he, at length, “I’ll bet that’s a real

salamander hat; and if it is you may put it under that forestick, and

it won’t burn any more than a witch’s broomstick.”

“Did you say you would bet that it’s a salamander hat?” said the young

man.

“To be sure I will,” said Mat; “I’ll bet you a mug of flip of it; for

if there ever was a salamander hat, that’s one. Now I’ll lay that if

you put it under the forestick, it won’t singe a hair of it.”

“Done!” said the youth, and the two having shaken hands in token of

mutual agreement, the youth gave his hat to Olmsted, who thrust it

under the forestick. The fire was of the olden fashion, and consisted

of almost a cartload of hickory logs, and they were now in full blast.

The people in the bar-room, attracted by the singular wager, had

gathered round the fire, to see the result of the experiment. In an

instant the hat was enveloped by the flames, and in the course of a few

seconds it began to bend and writhe, and then curled into a scorched

and blackened cinder.

“Hulloo!” said Mat Olmsted, seizing the tongs and poking out the

crumpled relic from the bed of coals, at the same time adding, with

well-feigned astonishment, “Who ever did see the like of that! it

wasn’t a salamander, arter all! Well, mister, you’ve won the bet.

Hulloo, landlord, give us a mug of flip.”

The force of the joke soon fell upon the conceited young man. He had

indeed won the wager--but he had lost his hat! At first he was angry,

and seemed disposed to make a personal attack upon the cause of his

mortification; but Matthew soon cooled him down. “Don’t mind it, my

lad,” said he; “it will do you good in the long run. You are like a

young cockerel, that is tickled with his tall red comb, and having had

it pecked off, is ever after a wiser fowl. Take my advice, and if you

have a better hat than your neighbors, don’t think that it renders you

better than they. It’s not the hat, but the head under it, that makes

the man. At all events, don’t be proud of your hat till you get a real

salamander!”

This speech produced a laugh at the expense of the coxcomb, and he soon

left the room. He had suffered a severe rebuke, and I could hardly

think that my companion had done altogether right; and when I spoke to

him afterward, he seemed to think so himself. He, however, excused what

he had done, by saying that the fellow was insolent, and he hoped the

lesson would be useful to him.

We plodded along upon our journey, meeting with no serious accident,

and in the course of five or six days we were approaching Albany.

Within the distance of a few miles, Matthew encountered a surly fellow,

in a wagon. The path was rather narrow, and the man refused to turn out

and give half the road. High words ensued, and, finally, my friend,

brandishing his whip, called out aloud, “Turn out, mister; if you

don’t, I’ll sarve you as I did the man back!”

The wagoner was alarmed at this threat, and turning out, gave half the

road. As he was passing by, he had some curiosity to know what the

threat portended; so he said, “Well, sir, how did you serve the man

back?” “Why,” said Matthew, smiling, “I turned out myself!” This was

answered by a hearty laugh, and after a few pleasant words between the

belligerent parties, they separated, and we pursued our journey.

Albany is now a large and handsome city; but at the time I speak of,

it contained but about three thousand people, a very large part of whom

were Dutch, and who could not speak much English. None of the fine

streets and splendid public buildings, which you see there now, were

in existence then. The streets were narrow and dirty, and most of the

houses were low and irregular, with steep roofs, and of a dingy color.

Some were built of tiles, some of rough stones, some of wood, and some

of brick. But it was, altogether, one of the most disagreeable looking

places I ever saw.

We remained there but a few hours. Proceeding on our journey, we soon

reached Schenectady, which we found to be a poor, ill-built, Dutch

village, though it is a handsome town now. We stopped here for the

night; and, a little while after we arrived, a man with a wagon, his

wife and three children, arrived also at the tavern. He was a Dutchman,

and seemed to be in very ill-humor. I could hardly understand what he

said, but by a little help from Matthew, I was able to make out his

story.

You must know that Congress had passed a law forbidding any ships to

go to sea; and this was called an embargo. The reason of it was, that

England had treated this country very ill; and so, to punish her, this

embargo was laid on the ships, to prevent people from carrying flour

and other things to her, which she wanted very much; for many of her

people were then engaged in war, and they could not raise as much grain

as they needed.

Well, the old Dutchman had heard a great deal about the embargo on the

ships; for the two parties, the _democrats_ and _federalists_, were

divided in opinion about it, and accordingly it was the subject of

constant discussion. I remember that wherever we went, all the people

seemed to be talking about the embargo. The democrats praised it as

the salvation of the country, and the federalists denounced it as the

country’s ruin. Among these divided opinions, the Dutchman was unable

to make up his mind about it, accordingly, he hit upon an admirable

method to ascertain the truth, and satisfy his doubts. He tackled

his best horses to the family wagon, and, taking his wife and three

children, travelled to Albany _to see the embargo on the ships_!

Well, he drove down to the water’s edge, and there were the vessels,

sure enough; but where was the embargo? He inquired first of one man,

and then of another, “Vare is de embargo? I vish to see de embargo

vat is on de ships!” What he expected to see I cannot tell; but he

had heard so much said about it, and it was esteemed, by one party at

least, the cause of such multiplied evils, that he, no doubt, supposed

the embargo must be something that could be seen and felt. But all his

inquiries were vain. One person laughed at him, another snubbed him as

an old fool, and others treated him as a maniac. At last he set out to

return, and when he arrived at the tavern in Schenectady, he was not

only bewildered in his mind, but he was sorely vexed in spirit. His

conclusion was, that the embargo was a political bugbear, and that no

such creature actually existed!

We set out early the next morning, and by dint of plodding steadily on

through mud and mire, we at last reached the town of Utica, having been

fourteen days in performing the journey from Salem. We found the place

to contain about a thousand people, all the houses being of wood, and

most of them built of logs, in the fashion of the log cabin. The town,

however, had a bustling and thriving appearance, notwithstanding that

the stumps of the forest were still standing in the streets.

I noticed a great many Indians about the town, and soon learned that

they consisted of the famous tribes called the Six Nations. Some of

these are still left in the state of New York, but they have dwindled

down to a very small number. But at the time I speak of, they consisted

of several thousands, and were still a formidable race. They were at

peace with the White people, and seemed to see their hunting grounds

turned into meadows and wheat fields, with a kind of sullen and

despairing submission.

One of the first settlers in this vicinity was Judge W., who

established himself at Whitestown--about four miles from Utica. This

took place nearly a dozen years before my visit. He brought his family

with him, among whom was a widowed daughter with an only child--a fine

boy of four years old. You will recollect that the country around was

an unbroken forest, and that this was the domain of the savage tribes.

Judge W. saw the necessity of keeping on good terms with the Indians,

for as he was nearly alone, he was completely at their mercy.

Accordingly he took every opportunity to assure them of his kindly

feelings, and to secure good-will in return. Several of the chiefs

came to see him, and all appeared pacific. But there was one thing

that troubled him; an aged chief of the Seneca tribe, and one of great

influence, who resided at the distance of half a dozen miles, had not

yet been to see him; nor could he, by any means, ascertain the views

and feelings of the sachem, in respect to his settlement in that

region. At last he sent him a message, and the answer was, that the

chief would visit him on the morrow.

True to his appointment the sachem came. Judge W. received him with

marks of respect, and introduced his wife, his daughter, and the little

boy. The interview that followed was deeply interesting. Upon its

result, the judge conceived that his security might depend, and he was,

therefore, exceedingly anxious to make a favorable impression upon

the distinguished chief. He expressed to him his desire to settle in

the country; to live on terms of amity and good fellowship with the

Indians; and to be useful to them by introducing among them the arts of

civilization.

The chief heard him out, and then said, “Brother, you ask much, and you

promise much. What pledge can you give me of your good faith?”

“The honor of a man that never knew deception,” was the reply.

“The white man’s word may be good to the white man, yet it is but wind

when spoken to the Indian,” said the sachem.

“I have put my life into your hands,” said the judge; “is not this an

evidence of my good intentions? I have placed confidence in the Indian,

and I will not believe that he will abuse or betray the trust that is

thus reposed.”

“So much is well,” replied the chief; “the Indian will repay confidence

with confidence; if you will trust him he will trust you. But I must

have a pledge. Let this boy go with me to my wigwam; I will bring him

back in three days with my answer!”

If an arrow had pierced the bosom of the mother, she could not have

felt a keener pang than went to her heart, as the Indian made this

proposal. She sprung from her seat, and rushing to the boy, who stood

at the side of the sachem, looking into his face with pleased wonder

and admiration; she encircled him in her arms, and pressing him close

to her bosom, was about to fly from the room. A gloomy and ominous

frown came over the sachem’s brow, but he did not speak.

But not so with Judge W. He knew that the success of their enterprise,

the very lives of his family, depended upon the decision of the moment.

“Stay, stay, my daughter!” said he. “Bring back the boy, I beseech you.

He is not more dear to you than to me. I would not risk the hair of his

head. But, my child, he must go with the chief. God will watch over

him! He will be as safe in the sachem’s wigwam as beneath our roof and

in your arms.”

The agonized mother hesitated for a moment; she then slowly returned,

placed the boy on the knee of the chief, and, kneeling at his feet,

burst into a flood of tears. The gloom passed from the sachem’s brow,

but he said not a word. He arose, took the boy in his arms and departed.

I shall not attempt to describe the agony of the mother for the three

ensuing days. She was agitated by contending hopes and fears. In the

night she awoke from sleep, seeming to hear the screams of her child

calling upon its mother for help! But the time wore away--and the third

day came. How slowly did the hours pass! The morning waned away; noon

arrived; and the afternoon was now far advanced; yet the sachem came

not. There was gloom over the whole household. The mother was pale and

silent, as if despair was settling coldly around her heart. Judge W.

walked to and fro, going every few minutes to the door, and looking

through the opening in the forest toward the sachem’s abode.

At last, as the rays of the setting sun were thrown upon the tops

of the forest around, the eagle feathers of the chieftain were seen

dancing above the bushes in the distance. He advanced rapidly, and the

little boy was at his side. He was gaily attired as a young chief--his

feet being dressed in moccasins; a fine beaver skin was over his

shoulders, and eagles’ feathers were stuck into his hair. He was in

excellent spirits, and so proud was he of his honors, that he seemed

two inches taller than before. He was soon in his mother’s arms, and

in that brief minute, she seemed to pass from death to life. It was a

happy meeting--too happy for me to describe.

“The white man has conquered!” said the sachem; “hereafter let us be

friends. You have trusted the Indian; he will repay you with confidence

and friendship.” He was as good as his word; and Judge W. lived for

many years in peace with the Indian tribes, and succeeded in laying the

foundation of a flourishing and prosperous community.

Repentance:

A GERMAN PARABLE.

A certain farmer reared with his own hands a row of noble fruit trees.

To his great joy they produced their first fruit, and he was anxious to

know what kind it was.

And the son of his neighbor, a bad boy, came into the garden, and

enticed the young son of the farmer, and they went and robbed all the

trees of their fruit before it was fully ripe.

When the owner of the garden came and saw the bare trees, he was very

much grieved, and cried, Alas! why has this been done? Some wicked boys

have destroyed my joy!

This language touched the heart of the farmer’s son, and he went to

his companion, and said, Ah! my father is grieved at the deed we have

committed. I have no longer any peace in my mind. My father will love

me no more, but chastise me in his anger, as I deserve.

But the other answered, You fool, your father knows nothing about it,

and will never hear of it. You must carefully conceal it from him, and

be on your guard.

And when Henry, for this was the name of the boy, came home, and saw

the smiling countenance of his father, he could not return his smile;

for he thought, how can I appear cheerful in the presence of him whom

I have deceived? I cannot look at myself. It seems as if there were a

dark shade in my heart.

Now the father approached his children, and handed every one some of

the fruit of autumn, Henry as well as the others. And the children

jumped about delighted, and ate. But Henry concealed his face, and wept

bitterly.

Then the father began, saying, My son, why do you weep?

And Henry answered, Oh! I am not worthy to be called your son. I can no

longer bear to appear to you otherwise than what I am, and know myself

to be. Dear father, manifest no more kindness to me in future, but

chastise me, that I may dare approach you again, and cease to be my own

tormentor. Let me severely atone for my offence, for behold, I robbed

the young trees!

Then the father extended his hand, pressed him to his heart, and said,

I forgive you, my child! God grant that this may be the last, as well

as the first time, that you will have any action to conceal. Then I

will not be sorry for the trees.

[Illustration: _Santaro leading the Araucanians to battle._]

Sketches of the Manners, Customs, &c., of the Indians of America.

CHAPTER XII.

_Chili continued.--The Araucanians attack the Spaniards.--

Valdivia, the Spanish general, enters the territory of the

Republic.--Founds cities.--Is defeated and slain.--The

Spaniards are driven from the country.--Santaro slain._

In the preceding chapter, I have given an account of the customs

and manners of that nation in Chili called Araucanians. The country

inhabited by this brave nation is one of the finest in South America.

It lies on the seacoast, and is calculated to be 186 miles in length,

and its breadth from the sea to the Andes is over 300 miles.

But it is not the size of territory, or its fertility, or beautiful

climate which excites our interest; it is the character and the deeds

of a free and noble-spirited people, fighting for their homes and

country. I shall briefly recount their wars with the Spaniards, from

the time of the first battle in 1550, till the time when the Spaniards

were completely driven from the Araucanian territory, in 1692.

The first battle was fought in the country of the Pemones, a nation

occupying the north bank of the Biobio, a river which separates the

Araucanian territory from the other nations of Chili. The Araucanians,

finding the Spaniards had conquered all that part of Chili which had

been subjected to Peru, and were advancing towards their province, did

not wait to be invaded, but boldly marched to seek the white men.

Valdivia commanded the Spanish forces; he had been in many battles in

Europe as well as America, but he declared that he had never before

been in such imminent danger. The Araucanians rushed on, without

heeding the musketry, and fell at once upon the front and flanks of the

Spanish army.

The victory was long doubtful; and though the Araucanians lost their

chief, and finally withdrew from the field, the Spaniards were in no

condition to follow them.

Not in the least discouraged, the brave Indians collected another army,

and chose a new toqui, named Lincoyan. This commander was a great man

in size, and had the show of being brave, but he was not so; and during

the time he held the office of toqui, no battle of consequence was

fought with the Spaniards.

Valdivia soon improved these advantages. He advanced into the

Araucanian country, and founded a city on the shores of the Canten, a

river that divides the republic into two nearly equal parts. It was

a beautiful place, and abounded with every convenience of life. The

Spaniards felt highly gratified with their success. Valdivia called the

name of their new city Imperial, and he prepared to divide the country

among his followers, as Pizarro had divided Peru. Valdivia gave to

Villagran, his lieutenant-general, the province of _Maquegua_, called

by the Araucanians the key of their country, with thirty thousand

inhabitants. The other officers had also large shares.

Valdivia received reinforcements from Peru, and he continued to

advance, and, in a short time, founded a second city, which he named

from himself, Valdivia; and then a third, which he called the City of

the Frontiers. He also built a number of fortresses, and so skilfully

disposed his forces that he thought the people were completely subdued.

He did not gain all these advantages without great exertions. He was

often engaged in battles with the Indians, but the toqui was a timid

and inefficient commander, and the spirit of the brave Araucanians

seemed to have forsaken them.

However, men who have been accustomed to freedom, are not easily

reduced to that despair which makes them peaceable slaves. The

Araucanians at length roused themselves, and appointed a new toqui.

There was an old man, named Colocolo, who had long lived in retirement,

but his country’s wrongs and danger impelled him to action. He

traversed the provinces, and exhorted the people to choose a new toqui.

They assembled, and, after a stormy debate, they requested Colocolo to

name the toqui. He appointed _Caupolicon_, ulmen of Tucupel.

He was a man of lofty stature, uncommon bodily strength, and the

majesty of his countenance, though he had lost one eye, was surpassing.

The qualities of his mind were as superior as his personal appearance.

He was a serious, patient, sagacious, and valiant man, and the nation

applauded the choice of Colocolo.

Having assumed the axe, the badge of his authority, Caupolicon

appointed his officers, and soon marched with a large army to drive

the Spaniards from the country. He took and destroyed the fortress

of Arauco, and invested that of Tucupel. Valdivia, hearing of this,

assembled his troops and marched against the Indians. He had about two

hundred Spaniards and five thousand Indian auxiliaries, Promancians and

Peruvians, under his command. Caupolicon had about ten thousand troops.

The two armies met on the third of December, 1553. The fight was

desperate and bloody. The Spaniards had cannon and musketry--but the

brave Araucanians were on their own soil, and they resolved to conquer

or die. As fast as one line was destroyed, fresh troops poured in to

supply the places of the slain. Three times they retired beyond the

reach of the musketry, and then, with renewed vigor, returned to the

attack.

At length, after the loss of a great number of their men, they were

thrown into disorder, and began to give way. At this momentous crisis,

a young Araucanian, named Santaro, of sixteen years of age, grasping a

lance, rushed forward, crying out, “Follow me, my countrymen! victory

courts our arms!” The Araucanians, ashamed at being surpassed by a boy,

turned with such fury upon their enemies, that at the first shock they

put them to rout, cutting in pieces the Spaniards and their Indian

allies, so that of the whole army only two of the latter escaped.

Valdivia was taken prisoner. Both Caupolicon and Santaro intended to

spare his life, and treat him kindly, but while they were deliberating

on the matter, an old ulmen, of great authority in the country, who

was enraged at the perfidy and cruelty the Spaniards had practised on

the Indians, seized a club, and, at one blow, killed the unfortunate

prisoner. He justified the deed by saying that the _Christian_, if he

should escape, would mock at them, and laugh at his oaths and promises

of quitting Chili.

The Araucanians held a feast and made great rejoicings, as well they

might, on account of their victory. After these were over, Caupolicon

took the young Santaro by the hand, presented him to the national

assembly, and, after praising him for his bravery and patriotism in the

highest terms, he appointed the youth lieutenant-general extraordinary,

with the privilege of commanding in chief another army, which was to be

raised to protect the frontiers from the Spaniards. This was a great

trust to be committed to a youth of sixteen.

The Spaniards were overwhelmed with their misfortunes, and, dreading

the approach of the Indians, they abandoned all the places and

fortified posts, except the cities of Imperial and Valdivia, which had

been established in the Araucanian country. Caupolicon immediately

besieged these two places, committing to Santaro the duty of defending

the frontier.

In the meantime the two soldiers who escaped from the battle, fled to

the Spanish cities established in the Promancian territory, and roused

them to attempt another expedition. Francis Villegran was appointed

commander, to succeed Valdivia, and an army of Spaniards and their

Indian allies soon began their march for Arauco.

Villegran crossed the Biobio without opposition, but immediately on

entering the passes of the mountains he was attacked by the Indian

army under Santaro. Villegran had six pieces of cannon, and a strong

body of horse, and he thought, by the aid of them, he could force the

passage. He directed an incessant fire of cannon and musketry to be

kept up; the mountain was covered with smoke, and resounded with the

thunder of the artillery and the whistling of bullets. Santaro, in the

midst of this confusion, firmly maintained his post; but finding that

the cannon was sweeping down his ranks, he directed one of his bravest

captains to go with his company, and seize the guns. “Execute my

order,” said, the young Santaro, “or never again come into my presence!”

The brave Indian and his followers rushed with such violence upon the

corps of artillery, that the Spanish soldiers were all either killed

or captured, and the cannon brought off in triumph to Santaro. In

fine, the Araucanians gained a complete victory. Of the Europeans and

their Indian allies, three thousand were left dead upon the field, and

Villegran himself narrowly escaped being taken prisoner. The city of

Conception fell into the hands of Santaro, who, after securing all the

booty, burned the houses and razed the citadel to its foundation.

These successes stimulated the young chief, Santaro, to carry the

war into the enemy’s country. Collecting an army of six hundred men,

he marched to the attack of Santiago, a city which the Spaniards had

founded in the Promancian territory, more than three hundred miles

from the Araucanians. Santaro reached Santiago, and in several battles

against the Spaniards was victorious; but, at length, betrayed by a

spy, he was slain in a skirmish with the troops of Villegran; and

his men, refusing to surrender to those who had slain their beloved

general, fought, like the Spartans, till every Araucanian perished!

The Spaniards were so elated with their victory, that they held public

rejoicings for three days at Santiago.

But the memory of Santaro did not perish with his life. He was long

deeply lamented by his countrymen, and his name is still celebrated in

the heroic songs of his country, and his actions proposed as the most

glorious model for the imitation of their youth. Nor did the Spaniards

withhold their tribute of praise to the brave young patriot. They

called him the Chilian Hannibal.

“It is not just,” said a celebrated Spanish writer, “to depreciate the

merit of the American Santaro, that wonderful young warrior, whom, had

he been ours, we should have elevated to the rank of a hero.”

But the history of battles and sieges, all having the same object,--on

the part of the Spaniards that of conquest, on the part of the

Araucanians the preservation of their liberties and independence,--will

not be profitable to detail. Suffice it to say, that from the fall

of Santaro in 1556, till peace was finally established between the

Spaniards and Araucanians in 1773, a series of battles, stratagems,

and sieges, are recorded, which, on the part of the Araucanians, were

sustained with a perseverance and power, such as no other of the Indian

nations in America have ever displayed. Nor were their victories

stained with cruelty or revenge.

The Spaniards obtained many triumphs over the haughty _freemen_; and I

regret to say that they did not use their advantages in the merciful

spirit of Christianity. Probably, if they had done so, they might have

maintained their authority. But the Spaniards went to America to gain

riches; they indulged their avaricious propensities till every kind and

generous feeling of humanity seems to have been extinguished in their

hearts. An excessive desire to be rich, if cherished and acted upon

as the chief purpose of life, is the most degrading passion indulged

by civilized man; it hardens the heart, and deadens or destroys every

generous emotion, till the cold, cruel, selfish individual would hardly

regret to see his species annihilated, if by that means he might be

profited. The cannibal, who feeds on human flesh, is hardly more to be

abhorred, than the civilized man who, on human woes, feeds his appetite

for riches!

But the Spaniards gained nothing from the Araucanians. After a contest

of nearly one hundred and fifty years, and at the cost of more blood

and treasure than all their other possessions in South America had

demanded, the Spaniards were glad to relinquish all claim to the

territory of these _freemen_, only stipulating that the Indians should

not make incursions into that part of Chili which lies between the

southern confines of Peru and the river Biobio. The Spanish government

was even obliged to allow the Araucanians to keep a minister, or public

representative, in the city of St. Jago.

The spirit and character of this brave Indian people made a deep

impression upon their invaders. Don Ercilla, a young Spaniard of

illustrious family, who accompanied Don Garcia in his Chilian

expedition, wrote an epic poem on the events of the war,--the

“Araucana,”--which is esteemed one of the best poems in the Spanish

language. Ercilla was an eye-witness of many of the scenes he

describes, and the following lines show his abhorrence of the mercenary

spirit which governed his own countrymen.

“O, thirst of gold! disease without a cure!

What toils thy persevering slaves endure!

Thou subtle vice, whose long, tenacious spell

The noblest energies of mind can quell!

Thy deadly charms the human soul unbind

From heaven, and let her drive before the wind.”

The Araucanian are still a free and independent people; and Christians,

whose charitable plans embrace the whole heathen world as their

mission-ground, may probably find in this nation the best opportunity

of planting the Protestant faith which South America now offers.

Story of Philip Brusque.

CHAPTER IX.

_Rejoicings.--Remorse and contrition.--A pirate’s story.--François

restored to his parents._

We left our colonists of Fredonia at the moment that the struggle

was over which resulted in the death of Rogere. The scenes which

immediately followed are full of interest, but we can only give them a

passing notice.

The defeated party sullenly retired to their quarters at the outcast’s

cave; and those at the tents were left to rejoice over their

deliverance. Their present joy was equal to the anxiety and despair

which had brooded over them before. The mothers clasped their children

again and again to their bosoms, in the fulness of their hearts;

and the little creatures, catching the sympathy of the occasion,

returned the caresses with laughter and exultation. The men shook

hands in congratulation, and the women mingled tears and smiles and

thanksgivings, in the outburst of their rejoicing.

During these displays of feeling, Brusque and Emilie had withdrawn from

the bustle, and, walking a part, held discourse together. “Forgive me,

Emilie,” said Brusque, “I pray you forgive me for my foolish jealousy

respecting the man you were wont to meet by moonlight, at the foot of

the rocks. I now know that it was your brother, and I also know that

we all owe our deliverance and present safety to you and him. I can

easily guess his story. When the ship was blown up, he had departed,

and thus saved his life.”

“Yes,” said Emilie; “but do you know that this weighs upon his spirit

like a millstone? He says, that he had voluntarily joined the pirates,

and for him to be the instrument of blowing up their ship, and sending

them into eternity, while he provided for his own safety, was at once

treacherous and dastardly.”

“But we must look at the motive,” said Brusque. “He found that his

father, his mother, his sister, were in the hands of those desperate

men: it was to save them from insult and death that he took the fearful

step. It was by this means alone that he could provide escape for those

to whom he was bound by the closest of human ties.”

“I have suggested these thoughts to him,” replied Emilie; “and thus far

he might be reconciled to himself; but that he saved his own life is

what haunts him; he thinks it mean and cowardly. He is so far affected

by this consideration, that he has resolved never to indulge in the

pleasures of society, but to dwell apart in the cave, where you know I

have been accustomed to meet him. Even now he has departed; and I fear

that nothing can persuade him to leave his dreary abode, and attach

himself to our community.”

“This is sheer madness,” said Brusque. “Let us go to your father, and

get his commands for François to come to the tents. He will not refuse

to obey his parent; and when we get him here, we can, perhaps, reason,

him out of his determination.”

Brusque and Emilie went to the tent of M. Bonfils, and, opening the

folds of the canvass, were about to enter, when, seeing the aged man

and his wife an their knees, they paused and listened. They were side

by side. The wife was bent over a chest, upon which her face rested,

clasped in her hands; the husband,--with his hands uplifted, his white

and dishevelled hair lying upon his shoulders, his countenance turned

to heaven,--was pouring out a fervent thanksgiving for the deliverance

of themselves and their friends from the awful peril that had

threatened them. It was a thanksgiving, not for themselves alone, but

for their children, their friends and companions. The voice of the old

man trembled, yet its tones were clear, peaceful, confiding. He spoke

as if in the very ear of his God, who yet was his benefactor and his

friend. As he alluded to François, his voice faltered, the tears gushed

down his cheeks, and the sobs of the mother were audible.

The suppliant paused for a moment for his voice seemed choked; but soon

recovering, he went on. Although François was a man, the aged father

seemed to think of him as yet a boy--his wayward, erring boy--his only

son. He pleaded for him as a parent only could plead for a child.

Emilie and Brusque were melted into tears; and sighs, which they

could not suppress, broke from their bosoms. At length the prayer was

finished, and the young couple, presenting themselves to M. Bonfils,

told him their errand. “Go, my children,” said he, “go and tell

François to come to me. Tell him that I have much to say to him.” The

mother joined her wishes to this request, and the lovers departed for

the cave where François had before made his abode.

As they approached the place, they saw the object of their search,

sitting upon a projecting rock that hung over the sea. He did not

perceive them at first, and they paused a moment to look at him. He

was gazing over the water, which was lighted by the full moon, and he

seemed to catch something of the holy tranquillity which marked the

scene. Not a wave, not a ripple, was visible upon the placid face of

the deep. There was a slight undulation, and the tide seemed to play

with the image of the moon, yet so smooth and mirror-like was its

surface as to leave that image unbroken.

After a little time, the two companions approached their moody friend,

who instantly rose and began to descend the rocks toward his retreat;

but Brusque called to him, and, climbing up the cliff, he soon joined

them. They then stated their errand, and begged François to return with

them. “Come,” said Brusque, “your father wishes, nay, commands you to

return!”

“His wish is more than his command,” said François. “I know not how it

is, but it seems to me that my nature is changed: I fear not, I regard

not power--nay, I have a feeling within which spurns it; but my heart

is like a woman’s if a wish is uttered. I will go with you, though it

may be to hear my father’s curse. I have briefly told him my story.

I have told him that I have been a pirate, and that I have basely

betrayed my companions: but I will go with you, as my father wishes it.”

“Nay, dear François!” said Emilie, throwing her arms around his neck,

“do not feel thus. Could you have heard what we have just heard, you

would not speak or feel as you do.”

“And what have you heard?” was the reply. Emilie then told him of the

scene they had witnessed in the tent, and the fervent prayer which

had been uttered in his behalf. “Dear, dear sister!” said François,

throwing his powerful arm around her waist, and clasping her light form

to his rugged bosom,--“you are indeed an angel of light! Did my father

pray for me? Will he forgive me? Will he forgive such a wretch as I

am? Will my mother forgive me? Shalt I, can I, be once more the object

of their regard, their affection, their confidence?”

“Oh, my brother!” said Emilie, “doubt it not--doubt it not. They will

forgive you indeed; and Heaven will forgive you. We shall all be happy

in your restoration to us; and however much you may have erred, we

shall feel that your present repentance, and the good deeds you have

done this night, in saving this little community, your father, your

mother, your sister, from insult and butchery, is at once atonement and

compensation.”

“Oh, speak not, Emilie, of compensation--speak not of what I have done

as atonement. I cannot think of myself but as an object of reproach; I

have no account of good deeds to offer as an offset to my crimes. One

thing only can I plead as excuse or apology, and that is, that I was

misled by evil company, and enlisted in the expedition of that horrid

ship while I was in a state of intoxication. This, I know, is a poor

plea--to offer one crime as an excuse for another; yet it is all I can

give in extenuation of my guilt.”

“How was it, brother? Tell us the story,” said Emilie.

“Well,” said François. “You know that I sailed from Havre, for the West

Indies. Our vessel lay for some time at St. Domingo, and I was often

ashore. Here I fell in with the captain of the pirate vessel. He was a

man of talents, and of various accomplishments. We used often to meet

at a tavern, and he took particular pains to insinuate himself into my

confidence. We at last became friends, and then he hinted to me his

design of fitting out a vessel to cruise for plunder upon the high

seas. I rejected the proposal with indignation. My companion sneered

at my scruples, and attempted to reason me into his views. ‘Look at

the state of the world,’ said he, ‘and you will remark that all are

doing what I propose to do. At Paris they are cutting each other’s

throats, just to see which shall have the largest share of the spoils

of society--wealth, pleasure, and power. England is sending her ships

forth on every ocean: and what are they better than pirates? They have,

indeed, the commission of the king--but still it is a commission to

burn, slay, and plunder all who do not bow to the mistress of the seas.

And why shall not we play our part in the great game of life, as well

as these potentates and powers? Why should we not be men--instead of

women?

“‘Look at the state of this island--St. Domingo. Already is it heaving

and swelling with the tempest of coming revolution. I know secrets

worth knowing. Ere a month has rolled away, this place will be deluged

in blood. The vast wealth of Port au Prince is now secretly being

carried on board the ships, to take flight, with its owners, for places

of safety from the coming storm. Let us be on the sea, with a light

craft, and we will cut and carve, among them, as we please!’

“Such were the inducements held out to me by the arch-pirate: but it

was all in vain, while my mind was clear. I shrunk from the proposal

with horror. But now a new scheme was played off. I was led, on one

occasion, to drink more deeply than my wont; and being already nearly

intoxicated, I was plied with more liquor. My reason was soon lost--but

my passions were inflamed. It is the nature of drunkenness to kill all

that is good in a man, and leave in full force all that is evil. Under

this seduction, I yielded my assent, and was hastened on board the

pirate ship, which lay at a little distance from the harbor. Care was

taken that my intoxication should be continued; and when I was again

sober, our canvass was spread, and our vessel dancing over the waves.

There was no retreat; and, finding myself in the gulf, I sought to

support my relenting and revolting bosom by drink. At last I partially

drowned my remorse; and but for meeting with Brusque on the island, I

had been a pirate still.”

By the time this story was done, the party had reached the hut. They

entered, and being kindly received by the aged parents, they sat down.

After sitting in silence for a few moments, François arose, went to his

father, and kneeling before him, asked for his forgiveness. He was yet

a young man--but his stature was almost gigantic. His hair was black

as jet, and hung in long-neglected ringlets over his shoulders. His

countenance was pale as death; but still his thick, black eyebrows,

his bushy beard, and his manly features, gave him an aspect at once

commanding and striking. When erect and animated, he was an object to

arrest the attention and fix the gaze of every beholder. In general,

his aspect was stern, but now it was so marked with humiliation and

contrition, as to be exceedingly touching. The aged parent laid his

hand upon his head, and looking to heaven, said, in a tone of deep

pathos, “Father, forgive him!” He could say no more--his heart was too

full.

We need not dwell upon the scene. It is sufficient to say, that from

that day, François lived with his parents. His character was thoroughly

changed: the haughty and passionate bearing, which had characterized

him before, had given place to humility and gentleness; and the

features that once befitted the pirate, might now have been chosen to

set forth the image of a saint. Such is the influence of the soul, in

giving character and expression to the features.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration: _Solon writing laws for Athens._]

Solon, the Grecian Lawgiver.

Of all the nations of antiquity, the Greeks were, in some respects, the

most interesting. Though they inhabited one country, they were divided

into different states, somewhat as the United States are. Among the

principal states, were Athens and Sparta. The people, government, and

laws of these were very different. The Athenians cultivated literature,

such as poetry and history; but the Spartans despised these things.

The Athenians were devoted to science and philosophy; the Spartans

had no relish for them. The Athenians encouraged the arts--as music,

sculpture, painting, and architecture; the Spartans held such things

in contempt. The Athenians were gay, fickle, and fond of pleasure; the

Spartans were severe, determined, and devoted to war.

It is not easy to account for such differences of character in the

people of two states, living but a few miles apart. Probably it was

owing in part to original differences in the people who settled the two

countries, and in part to the difference of the laws.

Sparta had a famous lawgiver, named Lycurgus. He drew up a system, or

code of laws, and then called the people together. He told them he was

going away, and asked them if they would keep his laws till he should

return. This they solemnly promised to do: so Lycurgus went away, and

starved himself to death. His object was to make the Spartans keep his

laws forever. His body was burned, by his direction, and his ashes

thrown into the sea, so that the Spartans could not bring his body

back, and thus have an excuse for setting aside his laws. He died about

2700 years ago.

Solon was the greatest lawgiver of Athens. Many of his laws were

wise and good, and some of them have even descended to our day, and

are incorporated in our own codes. But the people of Athens were

changeable; and, soon after Solon’s death, the supreme power was

usurped by an ambitious citizen, named Pisistratus, and the government

thus became, for a time, a sort of despotism. Solon died about 2400

years ago.

How to settle a Dispute without

Pistols.

“_The first thing_,” says the philosophic wag, in his recipe for

cooking a turbot, “_is to catch a turbot_.” Before you enter upon a

discussion, settle it clearly in your mind, what it is you propose to

discuss. How many vain disputes, how many angry controversies would be

prevented, if the parties would start with a definition,--if, before

beginning to cook a turbot, they would catch a turbot.

Some few years since, an American gentleman, who did not understand the

French language, being in Paris, wished to go to Bourdeaux. Accordingly

he went down to the diligence office, and making such inquiries as he

was able, paid his fare, entered the diligence, and set off, as he

supposed, for Bourdeaux. Four days and four nights he travelled very

patiently, not dreaming that he was in the wrong coach.

At last he reached the termination of his journey, and having taken a

long night’s repose, he dressed himself carefully, selected his letters

of introduction, and, calling the waiter, showed him the inscriptions

of these letters, and intimated that he wished to go to the persons to

whom they were addressed. The man stared in the traveller’s face, and

uttered a good deal of incomprehensible French. The American talked

English, but all to no purpose. At last the waiter left the traveller

in despair, and called his master. _He_ was as much puzzled as the

servant, and finally, as the only resort, sent out for an Englishman

living in the town, to come and see an American gentleman, who was out

of his head.

The Englishman came, and the American stated his grievance. “Here,”

said he, showing his letters, “are some letters of introduction to

several gentlemen in this city, and I want these stupid people to take

me to them: but they only gaze in my face, shrug their shoulders, and

cry ‘sacre-r-r-r,’ like a watchman’s rattle.”

The Englishman stared at the American, as if he, too, thought him out

of his head. At last he said to him, “Sir, these letters are addressed

to a gentleman in Bourdeaux: where do you suppose you are?”

“In Bourdeaux, to be sure,” said the American.

“Not so,” said the Englishman: “you are in the city of Lyons, 700 miles

from Bourdeaux.” The simple explanation of the whole scene was, that

the traveller had entered the wrong coach, and instead of proceeding

to Bourdeaux, had gone 400 miles in the opposite direction. This story

shows the importance of looking well to the outset of a journey--or, if

you please, to the commencement of, a discourse, or a dispute. In the

one case, be sure to enter the right coach--in the other, start with a

definition.

If, unluckily, you should by any chance get into a dispute, the best

way is to stop short, and ask your antagonist to enter into a

consideration of what the point of debate is. This is apt to have a

cooling effect upon both parties, and to result in a clear

understanding of the real question.

A few years since, I happened to be travelling in a stage coach,

where, among half a dozen passengers, there were a Frenchman and an

Englishman. There seemed to be a sort of cat-and-dog feeling between

them; for if one opened his lips to speak, the other was sure to

fly at the observation with the teeth and claws of dispute. As we

were driving along, the Englishman spoke of a sheep he had seen in

some foreign land, with a tail so long as to drag upon the ground.

Thereupon, the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, curled up his lip,

lifted his eyebrows, and took a pinch of snuff.

“What do you mean by that?” said the Englishman, not a little nettled

at the contemptuous air of his rival.

“Vat do I mean?” said the latter; “I means dat a sheap has not got von

tail at all.”

“A sheep hasn’t got a tail, ha?” said the Englishman.

“No, not von bit,” said the Frenchman.

“Well, this comes of eating frogs,” said the John Bull. “What can you

expect of a man who eats frogs? You say a sheep hasn’t got a tail. I

tell you, mounseer, a sheep _has_ got a tail.”

“Pardon, monsieur,” said the other, with a polite bow, yet with a very

sneering expression; “you say de sheap has von tail: I say de sheap has

no tail, not von bit.”

By this time the parties were greatly excited, and I cannot say what

might have happened, had not one of the passengers asked the Frenchman

what he meant by a “_sheap_?”

“Vat I mean by _sheap_? vy I means von big larsh ting, with sails and

ruddair, that go upon de sea.”

“Oh ho!” said the Englishman, “you mean a _ship_.”

“Oui, monsieur,” was the reply; “I mean von _sheap_, that has de

captain and de sailors, and goes on de vater.”

“Very well,” said the Englishman: “I meant a _sheep_, a creature with

four legs, and covered with wool.”

“Ah, you mean von _sheap_ vit de vool!” said the other. “Oh, oui,

monsieur; de sheap vit de vool has de tail. Oui, oui.”

This incident taught me a lesson, and I give it gratis to my

readers;--_if they ever get into a controversy, let them consider

whether one of the parties does not mean a ship, and the other a sheep_.

The Painter and his Master.

A young painter had just finished an excellent picture, the best that

he had made. His master himself found no fault with it. But the young

artist was so charmed, that he looked at this specimen of his art

incessantly, and neglected his studies; for he now thought himself

perfect.

One morning, as he went to rejoice anew over his picture, he discovered

that his master had completely defaced it. Angry and weeping, he ran to

him and inquired the reason of this cruel act.

The master answered, “It is the work of serious deliberation. The

picture was good, as a proof of your advancement, but it was at the

same time your ruin.”

“How so?” inquired the young artist.

“Beloved,” answered the master, “you loved no longer the art in your

painting, but merely yourself. Believe me, it was not a finished

production, even if it appeared so to us; it was only a first effort.

Take the pencil then, and see what you can do again. Let not the

sacrifice grieve you. The great must be in you, before you can bring it

on canvass.”

Courageously, and full of confidence in himself and his master, he

seized the pencil and finished his magnificent work, the _offering of

Iphigenia_!--for the name of the artist was _Timanthes_.

“WHERE are you driving the pig, Paddy?” “To Limerick, your honor.”

“Limerick! this is the Cork road.” “Hush, speak low, I’m only

pretending; if it knew I was wanting it to go to Cork, it would take

the Limerick road.”

The Turkey and Rattlesnake:

A FABLE.

On a fine day in summer, a wild turkey was walking along over one of

the prairies of the far West. As the sun shone upon his glossy neck, he

cast his eye downward, and seemed lost in admiration of his own beauty.

While engaged in this way, he heard something hissing in the grass;

and soon a rattlesnake issued from the spot, and, coiling himself up,

placed himself before the turkey. The latter grew very red in the face,

spread his tail and wings to their utmost extent, and, having strutted

back and forth several times, approached the snake, and spoke as

follows:

“You impudent serpent! Was it you that I heard laughing at me in the

bushes? How dare you laugh at me, the handsomest cock-turkey of the

whole prairie? Have I not the reddest wattles, and the largest comb,

the blackest wing, and the glossiest neck of any bird that is seen on

the plain? Did not my grandfather swallow an alligator alive, and could

I not take down such a little, insignificant thing as you, without

winking?”

“Don’t put yourself in a passion,” said the serpent in reply, at the

same time swelling up, his flesh writhing, and the colors of his skin

growing very bright. “Don’t put yourself in a passion; I know you’re

a coward, like the whole of your race, and you are as vain as you are

timid.”

Upon this, the turkey seemed bursting with rage; his throat was so

choked, that he could not speak distinctly, but he gobbled the louder.

He also strutted round in a circle, grating the ends of his wings upon

the ground. At length he came bristling up toward the serpent, who,

being mortally offended, coiled himself into a ball, and springing

toward the turkey, struck him in the neck with his fangs, and inflicted

a fatal wound. The latter in return gave the serpent a deep scratch in

his side, and both fell dead upon the ground.

A wise ant, that dwelt in a little hillock near by, and saw the whole

affray, crawled to the spot, and made the following sage observations:

“It would seem that this vast prairie were wide enough for the

creatures that dwell upon it to live together in peace; but, alas!

their angry passions lead to strife, and strife ends in death. Nor is

this all. As the poison of the serpent taints these carcasses, so an

evil name always follows those who ‘die as the fool dieth.’”

Flowers.

“Sweet flowers, sweet flowers, baptized with dew,

By the rosy-hand of morn;

Daisies red and violets blue,

In the spring-time newly born.

Beautiful flowers, each ruddy lip

Inviteth the humming bee,

And I, like them, would nectar sip,--

Then, prithee, come talk to me.

“Tell me, oh, tell me, lovely flowers,

Why do ye bloom so fair?”

“To lighten, my love, the dreary hours,

And sweeten the cup of care.”

“But why do ye fade, oh, gentle flowers?”

“By cold winds cruelly slain,

That we may spring up in brighter hours,

And blossom and smile again.

“So thou, in thy youth, my little child,

Will spring up in golden bloom,

But soon will the storm or the tempest wild,

Smite thee down to the dreary tomb;

But thou shalt arise in beauty fair,--

To a happier clime make wing,

And blossom in heaven’s eternal air,

Like flowers in a brighter SPRING!”

[Illustration: _Dividing the cake on twelfth-night._]

Christmas.

Christmas is an interesting festival, held in commemoration of Christ’s

birth, which is supposed to have taken place on the 25th of December,

the day on which Christmas is celebrated.

Those who belong to the Romish or English church, pay great attention

to Christmas: on that day they hold religious meetings, and have their

most interesting services. On the occasion, the churches are decorated

with evergreens, and have a handsome appearance.

In this country the people, generally, do not pay great attention to

Christmas; but in all European countries it is noticed by a variety of

customs, some of which are pleasing and interesting. In England, though

the Christmas customs have many of them ceased, there are others which

are kept up and observed with much interest. It is there a time for

making presents, particularly to friends, and it seldom happens that

any boy or girl does not receive some gratifying mark of regard in this

way.

Christmas is a time when hospitality and kind feelings are cherished

and displayed. The rich then remember the poor, and there are few

indeed, on that day, that have not the means of making a feast, though

in many cases it may be a humble one.

Among the superstitious notions of the olden time, was this: they used

to believe that St. Nicholas, familiarly called _Santaclaus_, used to

come down chimney on Christmas eve, the night before Christmas, and put

nuts, cakes, sugarplums, and pieces of money, into the stockings of

such people as would hang them up for the purpose. Now it really did

often happen, that when the stocking was hung up, in the morning it

was found stuffed with such things as children take delight in! I have

seen this actually done: and in New York, where Santaclaus is supposed

to be at home, it is still practised. But the secret of the matter is

this: the parents and friends, when children are snug in bed, and fast

asleep, slip into the room, and fill their stockings with such things

as please the young sleepers. In the morning, when they get up, they

find their treasures, and give old Santaclaus all the credit of the

pleasant trick.

There are other very agreeable customs connected with Christmas, but I

suppose my readers know as much about them as I do. I will, however,

say a few words about twelfth-day, which occurs on the twelfth day

after Christmas; being the last of the Christmas holidays, it is kept

up with great glee in England.

In certain parts of Devonshire, the farmer, attended by his workmen,

with a large pitcher of cider, goes to the apple orchard on the eve of

twelfth-day, and there, standing round one of the best bearing trees,

they drink the following toast three times:--

“Here’s to thee, old apple-tree,

Hence thou may’st bud, and whence thou may’st blow,

And whence thou may’st bear apples enow!

Hats full! caps full!

Bushel--bushel--sacks full,

And my pockets full too! huzza!”

This done, they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure

to find bolted by the women. Be the weather what it may, these are

inexorable to all entreaties to open them, till some one has named what

is on the spit--which is generally some nice little thing, difficult to

be guessed. This is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are

then thrown open, and the fortunate guesser receives the tit-bit. Some

are so superstitious as to believe that if they neglect this custom,

the trees will bear no apples the coming year.

Another custom among these people, is to go after supper into the

orchard, with a milk-pan full of cider, which has roasted apples

pressed into it. Out of this each person in the company takes an

earthen cup full, and standing under each of the more fruitful

apple-trees, he addresses it thus:--

“Health to thee, good apple-tree,

Well to bear pockets full, hats full,

Pecks full, bushel bags full,”--

and then, drinking up part of the contents, he throws the rest, with

the fragments of the roasted apples, at the tree. At each cup the

company set up a shout.

[Illustration: _Parley pinned to the woman._]

On twelfth-day, in London, from morning till night, every pastry-cook

in the city is busy, dressing out his windows with cakes of every size

and description. These are ornamented with figures of castles, kings,

trees, churches, milk-maids, and a countless variety of figures of

snow-white confectionary, painted with brilliant colors. At evening the

windows are brilliantly illuminated with rows of lamps and wax candles

inside; while the outside is crowded with admiring spectators. Among

these, are numbers of boys, who take great delight in pinning people

together by their coat-tails, and nailing them to the window frames.

Sometimes eight or ten persons find themselves united together in

this way; and such is the dexterity of the trick, that a piece of the

garment is always sacrificed in the struggle for freedom.

Perhaps you have heard that old Peter Parley, when he was once in

London, as he was gazing into a shop-window, seeing the twelfth-night

cakes, got his coat-tail pinned to the gown of a woman, which made no

small degree of fun.

Within doors there is also a frolic going on at this time. A large

cake is cut up among a party of young people, who draw for the slices,

and are chosen king and queen of the evening. They then draw for

characters, thus making a great deal of sport.

Puzzles.

My first and last are man’s beginning;

My ninth, ’leventh, twelfth, a school-boy’s task;

My fifth, tenth, sixth, a welcome winning,

If maids consent when lovers ask.

My second, third and fourth, to do,

Is but the lot of human creatures;

Seven, eight, nine, ten--if books are true--

Bore once a goddess’ form and features;

My first half--save a single letter--

Denotes a jolly, one-legged fellow;

My other half--perchance the better--

Doth mean a thing with covers yellow.

Such is my riddle--can you guess it?

If so, pray write us, and confess it.

And if you think you’d like to try it,

Why, send a dollar--and you’ll buy it.

A friend has sent us the following. Will any of our readers tell us the

secret?

I am a name of 28 letters.

My 1st, 15th, 28th, 23d, 11th, 9th, and 5th, is a town in the East

Indies.

My 3d, 2d, 6th, 25th, 13th, 26th, 9th, and 9th, is what some persons

hate to see.

My 4th, 24th, and 13th is a vehicle much in use.

My 22d, 5th, and 7th, is a domestic animal.

My 14th, 17th, and 10th, is a kind of grain.

My 13th, 12th, 9th, and 11th, is a nickname.

My 16th, 18th, 8th, and 6th, is a great blessing.

My 19th, 21st, and 7th, is much to be pitied.

My 14th, 27th, 20th, and 2d, is a beautiful flower.

My 4th, 21st, 25th, 7th, 27th, and 6th, is a great article of

commerce.

C. B. F.

Varieties.

ONCE on a time, a Dutchman and a Frenchman were travelling in

Pennsylvania, when their horse lost a shoe. They drove up to a

blacksmith’s shop, and no one being in, they proceeded to the house to

inquire. The Frenchman rapped and called out, “Is de smitty wittin?”

“Shtand pack,” says Hans; “let me shpeak. Ish der plack-smit’s shop in

der house?”

* * * * *

WHY are lovers’ sighs like long stockings? Because they are _heigh

ho’s_.

* * * * *

WHY is a child seated down to perform a long sum, like a thermometer at

zero? Give it up?--Because it is down to cipher.

HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM;

THE LATTER BY GEO. J. WEBB.

[Illustration: music]

Another year is past and gone,

Bearing its wishes, hopes and fears,

As winds, the leaves,--away, away--

To rest with-in this vale of tears.

Another year upon us breaks,

Bringing its budding cares and joys--

And, like a flowery lawn, invites

Us on to pluck its blooming toys.

Yet as the circling seasons pass,

Chasing each other in their flight--

Oh let us not forget that each

Doth on the heart its record write!

And let us all remember well,

That record we must bear above;

Oh may it in the judgment hour

Shine with the heavenly lines of love!

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 2.

[Illustration]

Anecdote of a Traveller.

The following amusing anecdote is told of Buckhardt, a famous traveller

in Africa:--

Buckhardt sailed from England early in 1809, and arrived at Malta in

safety. Here he equipped himself in the style of an Oriental, assuming

the character of an Indian Mahommedan merchant, and sailed for Acre,

whence he hoped to be able to reach Tripoli, in Syria, or Latakia.

After being twice duped by the captains of the little trading vessels

with whom he engaged a passage, by their telling him, when he was

fairly embarked, that they were not going to the place which they

had represented, he reached the coast of Syria, at Suedieh. Having

bargained with the muleteers for the transport of himself and his

baggage to Aleppo, he was beginning to load the mules, when he received

a message from the aga, or Turkish governor of the place, requesting

to see him. Our traveller found this dignitary smoking his pipe in a

miserable room, and pulling off his slipper, he sat down before him.

After having partaken of a cup of coffee, Buckhardt asked his highness

what he wanted. The aga answered by making a sign with his thumb and

fore-finger, like a person counting money; at the same time inquiring

particularly what was contained in the chest of which our traveller’s

baggage was composed. Buckhardt, who had among them several packets for

the British consul at Aleppo, told him that he did not know, but that

he thought there was a sort of Frank or European drink (beer) and some

eatables, which he had brought from Malta for the consul. Not to be

thus eluded, the aga sent one of his people to examine the contents.

The messenger tasted the beer and found it abominably bitter, and as

a sample of the eatables, he carried a potato, which he took out of

one of the barrels, to his master. The aga tasted the raw potato, and,

instantly spitting it out again, exclaimed loudly against the Franks’

stomach, which could bear such food. After this sample he did not care

to investigate farther, and exacting a fine of ten piastres he allowed

Buckhardt to proceed.

Dr. Cotton and the Sheep.

There is an anecdote told of Mr. Cotton, the old minister of Boylston,

which may perhaps amuse some of our young readers. This gentleman’s

house stood upon an eminence, with a garden sloping down in front,

filled with fruit-trees. At the foot of the garden was a fence, and,

in a straight line with the fence, an old well-curb. Mr. Cotton kept

a great number of sheep, as most of our farmers did in olden times;

and one day these uneasy creatures took it into their heads to get a

taste of their master’s fruit. But the minister had another mind about

the matter, and sallied out to give the marauders better instructions.

The sheep were somewhat alarmed at being detected, and, according to

their usual habit, all followed their leader to escape. The well-curb

being the lowest part of the barrier which presented itself to the

retreating general, over he leaped, and down he went to the very bottom

of the well; and after him came several of his followers, till the

well was in danger of being choked up with the silly sheep. There was

but one way for the good pastor to save his flock; and, like a gallant

chieftain, over the curb he also leaped, and boldly faced the flying

insurgents, who were rushing on to destruction. We need not add that

the _coup-de-main_ was effectual, and that the remainder of the herd

was in this manner preserved. As for the precipitated general and his

comrades, they humbly lifted themselves upon their hind feet, and

stretching their paws toward their master, bleated a faint petition for

release. “Don’t be in haste,” quietly replied the good pastor; “wait

patiently till I go to the house for a rope--then I will try to save

you.” He was as good as his word. Descending the well, he fastened the

rope around their bodies, and drew them safely out; and I dare say the

silly creatures did not soon forget the lesson they had learned at so

fearful a risk.

The Robin.

A robin came, in the severity of winter, to the window of an honest

farmer, and appeared as though he wished to enter. Then the farmer

opened the window and kindly took the confiding little animal into

his dwelling. He picked up the crumbs that fell from the table. The

children loved and valued the bird. But when spring again appeared and

the trees were covered with leaves, the farmer opened his window, and

the little stranger flew into a neighboring grove, and built his nest

and sang his cheerful song.

And behold, when winter returned, the robin came again to the dwelling

of the farmer, and brought his mate with him. And the farmer, together

with his children, rejoiced greatly, when they saw the two little

animals, as they looked with their clear, small eyes, confidently

round. And the children said, “The birds regard us as though they had

something to say.”

Then the father answered, “If they could speak they would say, Friendly

confidence awakens confidence, and love produces reciprocal affection.”

Echo: a Dialogue.

The following dialogue between Echo and a glutton was written in 1609:--

_Glut._ Who curbs his appetite’s a fool.

_Echo._ Ah, fool!

_Glut._ I do not like this abstinence.

_Echo._ Hence!

_Glut._ My joy’s a feast, my wish is wine.

_Echo._ Swine!

_Glut._ Will it hurt me if I eat too much?

_Echo._ Much!

_Glut._ Thou mockest me, nymph, I’ll not believe it.

_Echo._ Believe it!

_Glut._ Dost thou condemn, then, what I do?

_Echo._ I do.

_Glut._ Is it that which brings infirmities?

_Echo._ It is!

_Glut._ Then, sweetest temperance, I’ll love thee!

_Echo._ I love thee!

_Glut._ If all be true which thou dost tell, to gluttony I bid farewell.

_Echo._ Farewell.

The Lion and the Ass.

An ass was one day travelling with a lion, who wanted the assistance

of his bray in frightening the animals he was hunting. The ass felt

very proud of his company, and did not like to speak to his old

acquaintances.

As they were travelling along in this manner, the ass met an old

friend, of his own race, who very civilly bade him a good morning.

The ass started back with a stare, and said, “really, you are very

impudent--I don’t know you!”

“Why not?” replied his friend: “because you are in company with a lion,

are you any better than I am--anything more than an ass?”

Those narrow-minded people, who, in prosperity, forget the friends of

their humbler days, are about as wise as the ass in the fable.

National Characteristics.

England is said, by a French paper, to be a vast manufactory, a great

laboratory, a universal country-house. France is a rich farm, tending

to turn itself into a manufactory. Germany is an uncultivated field,

because they are philosophers and not peasants who till it. Southern

Italy is a villa in ruins. Northern Italy is an artificial prairie.

Belgium is a forge. Holland is a canal. Sweden and Denmark are

carpenter’s yards. Poland is a sandy heath. Russia is an ice-house.

Switzerland is an _avalanche_. Greece is a field in a state of nature.

Turkey is a field, fallow. India is a gold mine. Egypt is a workshop

for apprentices. Africa is a furnace. Algiers is a nursery-ground.

Asia is a grove. The Antilles are sugar-refineries. South America is a

store. North America is a till, full. Spain is a till, empty.

Merry’s Adventures.

CHAPTER XVI.

_We set out to return.--The woods.--A fierce animal.--A wild

adventure.--Repose in the forest._

The horses and waggons with which we had travelled to Utica, belonging

to Mr. Stebbins, he concluded to sell them, as he was offered a much

greater price for them than he could have obtained at Salem. This

arrangement left Mat Omsted and myself to find our way back on foot,

for there were no stages, canal-boats, or rail-roads then.

I did not myself dislike the plan, for I was fond of a tramp,

especially with so cheerful a companion as Matthew. It had an air of

adventure, and so I set off for our return, with as buoyant a feeling

as if I had been about to accomplish some great enterprise.

We had each provided ourselves with a bear-skin, which was rolled up

and strapped upon the shoulder. Matthew had also obtained a tinder-box,

with flint and steel; these precautions being necessary, as it was

likely that we might occasionally be obliged to find our lodgings in

the forest.

It was a bright morning in the latter part of November, when we

departed, and the cheerfulness of the weather found its way to our

bosoms. My friend, though not a talkative man, made an occasional sally

of wit, and wore a smile upon his face. I was so light of heart as

hardly to feel the ground upon which I trod. We marched rapidly on, and

in a few hours were several miles from the town, and winding along the

devious road that led through the tall forest.

Although the leaves were stripped from the trees, and the flowers were

sleeping in their tombs--though the birds had fled, and their happy

minstrelsy was heard no more, still there were signs of cheerfulness

around us. The little woodpeckers were creeping up and down the hoary

oaks, seeking for the worms that had taken winter quarters in the bark;

the partridges were calling their mates by flapping their wings upon

some rotten log, thus producing a sound like the roll of a distant

drum; the black and gray squirrels, in vast numbers, were holding their

revel upon the walnut and chestnut trees, occasionally chasing each

other, like birds, among the branches. Small flocks of wild turkeys

frequently crossed our path; and now and then a deer bounded before

us, gazed backward for a moment, and then, with his tail and antlered

head erect, plunged into the wood. We frequently saw racoons amidst

the trees, moving about with a kind of gallop, or sitting upon their

haunches like monkeys, and using their paws as if they were hands.

Sometimes, as we approached them, they sprang up the trees, and having

gained a secure elevation, would look down upon us,--their sharp black

features assuming almost a smile of derision, and seeming to say, “If

you want me, mister, come and get me!”

We marched on, amused by a multitude of little incidents, and as

evening approached, had proceeded about five and twenty miles. It was

our expectation to spend this night in the woods, and we were beginning

to think of seeking a place for repose, when we heard a cry in the

distance, like that of a child in distress. We listened for a moment,

and then both of us plunged into the forest to seek the cause of this

lamentation, and offer relief, if it should be needed. It grew more and

more distinct as we proceeded, until at last, when we had reached the

spot, beneath a lofty hemlock, whence the sounds seemed to issue, it

suddenly ceased. We looked around in every direction, and were not a

little astonished that no human being was there. The space beneath the

tree was open; not a bush or shrub was near to obstruct our sight, or

afford concealment to any object that might have been the occasion of

the thrilling cries we had heard.

While Matthew and myself stood looking at each other in amazement, I

heard a slight rustling in the boughs of the hemlock, over our heads.

I turned my eyes instantly in that direction, and met the gaze of the

fiercest looking animal I had ever beheld. It was of the size of a

large dog, with the figure of a cat, and was crouching as if to spring

upon its prey. I had not time for reflection, for it leaped like an

arrow from the bow, making me the object of its aim. Down came the

formidable beast, its jaws expanded, its legs stretched out, and its

claws displayed, ready to grapple me as it fell.

By instinct, rather than reason, I bent forward, and the creature

passed over my head, striking directly against the foot of a sapling

that stood in the way. My friend had seen the whole manœuvre, and

was ready, with his uplifted cane, to give him battle. Though stunned,

the creature turned upon me, but he received from Matthew a rap over

the skull that made him reel. At the same time my friend caught hold of

his long tail, and drew him back, for he was at the instant about to

fix his fangs upon me. Thus insulted, the enraged brute turned upon his

enemy behind; but Mat held on to the tail with one hand, and pummelled

him with the other. At the same time, in order to secure his advantage

and keep off the teeth and claws of the monster, he gave him a whirling

motion. So, round and round they went, the cudgel flying like a flail,

and the beast leaping, scratching, and howling, till the woods echoed

with the sound. There was an odd mixture of sublimity and fun in the

affair, that even then, in the moment of peril, I could not fail to

feel. Mat’s hat had flown off, his hair streamed in the wind, and his

glaring eyeballs watching every twist and turn of his enemy; his cane

went rapidly up and down; and all the while he was twitched and jerked

about in a circle, by the struggles of the beast.

This passed in the space of a few seconds, and I had hardly time to

recover my self-possession, before Matthew and the monster were both

getting out of breath. I thought it was now time for me to join in the

fight, and, approaching the beast, I laid my cane, with the full weight

of both hands, over his head. It was a lucky blow, for he instantly

staggered and fell upon the ground. Matthew let go his hold, and there

lay the beast prostrate before us!

“Better late than never!” said Matthew, puffing like a porpoise.

“Better late than never. Whew! I’m as hot as a flap-jack on a

griddle,--whew! The unmannerly beast!--whew! So! this is the way of

the woods, is it?--whew! You pretend to be a child in distress--whew!

and then you expect to make a supper of us!--whew! The infarnal

hyppecrite!--whew!

“Well, what sort of a beast do you call it?” said I.

“Why,” said my friend, “it’s a catamount, or a wild-cat, or a

panther--the varmint! It’s just like all other scamps; it’s got a long

parcel of names; in one place it goes by one name, and in another place

it goes by another. But it’s the most rebellious critter that ever I

met with! He came plaguy nigh givin’ your hair a combing.”

“That he did,” said I; “and if you hadn’t been here to comb his, I

should have had a hard time of it.”

“Like as not--like as not,” was the reply. “But, arter all,” said

Matthew, looking at the panther, now lying outstretched upon the

ground, and bearing all the marks of great agility and power, “arter

all, it’s a pity that such a fine fellow hadn’t better manners. It’s

one of God’s critters, and I expect that he loved life as well as his

betters. He’s a noble brute--though I can’t commend his tricks upon

travellers. Poor beast! I’m sorry for you; howsomdever, accidents will

happen: it’s all luck and chance; it might have been Bob, or it might

have been me. Well, it can’t be helped--what’s done is done.”

Matthew having settled the matter in this speech, we left the place,

and at a little distance, beneath the partial shelter of a rock, we

struck up a fire and made preparations for our repose, for it was

already night.

[Illustration]

PETER PARLEY’S NEW STORIES.

No. 1.

The Two Seekers.

I promised, in my last number, to give my readers some of the genuine

stories found among old Parley’s papers. Here is one of them, and I

shall follow it with others.

R. MERRY.

There were once two boys, Philip and Frederick, who were brothers.

Philip was a cheerful, pleasant, good-natured fellow; he had always

a bright smile on his face, and it made everybody feel an emotion

of happiness just to look at him. It was like a strip of sunshine,

peeping into a dark room--it made all light and pleasant around.

Beside this, Philip had a kind heart; indeed, his face was but a sort

of picture of his bosom. But the quality for which he was remarkable,

was a disposition to see good things, only, in his friends and

companions. He appeared to have no eye for bad qualities. If he noticed

the faults, errors, or vices of others, he seldom spoke of them. He

never came to his parents and teachers, exaggerating the naughty things

that his playmates had done. On the contrary, when he spoke of his

friends, it was generally to tell some pleasant thing they had said

or done. Even when he felt bound to notice another’s fault, he did it

only from a sense of duty, and always with reluctance, and in mild and

palliating terms.

Now Frederick was quite the reverse of all this. He loved dearly to

tell tales. Every day he came home from school, giving an account of

something wrong that had been done by his playmates, or brothers and

sisters. He never told any good of them, but took delight only in

displaying their faults. He did not tell his parents or teacher these

things from a sense of duty, but from love of scandal--from a love of

telling unpleasant tales. And, what was the worst part of it all, was

this: Frederick’s love of tale-bearing grew upon him, by indulgence,

till he would stretch the truth, and make that which was innocent in

one of his little friends, appear to be wicked. He seemed to have no

eye for pleasant and good things--he only noticed bad ones: nay, more,

he fancied that he saw wickedness, when nothing of the kind existed.

This evil propensity grew upon him by degrees; for you know that if

one gets into a bad practice, and keeps on in it, it becomes at last a

habit which we cannot easily resist. A bad habit is like an unbroke

horse, which will not mind the bit or bridle, and so is very apt to run

away with his rider.

It was just so with Frederick: he had got into the habit of looking out

for faults, and telling of faults, and now he could see nothing else,

and talk of nothing else.

Now the mother of these two boys was a good and wise woman. She noticed

the traits of character we have described, in her sons, and while

she was pleased with one, she was pained and offended on account of

the other. She often talked with Frederick, told him of his fault,

and besought him to imitate his amiable brother: but as I have said,

Frederick had indulged his love of telling tales, till it had become a

habit, and this habit every day ran away with him. At last the mother

hit upon a thing that cured Frederick of his vice--and what do you

think it was?

I will tell you, if you will just keep out of the way of my great toe.

I have got a touch of the gout, boys, and you must be careful. Tom,

Jerry, Peter!--don’t be so careless! Keep clear of my great toe, I beg

of you!

Now I do not believe that any of you can guess what it was that cured

master Frederick. It was not a pill, or a poultice; no, it was a

story--and as I think it a good one, I will tell it to you.

“There were once two boys,” said the mother, “who went forth into the

fields. One was named Horace, and the other was named Clarence. The

former was fond of anything that was beautiful--of flowers, of sweet

odors, of pleasant landscapes. The other loved things that were hideous

or hateful--as serpents, and lizards--and his favorite haunts were

slimy swamps and dingy thickets.

“One day the two boys returned from their rambles; Horace bringing a

beautiful and fragrant blossom in his hand, and Clarence bringing a

serpent. They rushed up to their mother, each anxious to show the prize

he had won. Clarence was so forward, that he placed the serpent near

his mother’s hand; whereupon the reptile put forth his forked tongue,

and then he fixed his fangs in her flesh.

“In a moment a pain darted through the mother’s frame, and her arm

began to swell up. She was in great distress, and sent for the

physician. When he came, he manifested great alarm, for he said the

serpent was an adder, and its bite was fatal, unless he could find a

rare flower, for this alone could heal the wound. While he said this,

he noticed the blossom which Horace held in his hand. He seized upon it

with joy, saying--‘This, this is the very plant I desired!’ He applied

it to the wound, and it was healed in an instant.

“But this was not the whole of the story. While these things were

taking place, the adder turned upon the hand of Clarence, and inflicted

a wound upon it. He screamed aloud, for the pain was very acute. The

physician instantly saw what had happened, and applying the healing

flower to the poor boy’s wound, the pain ceased, as if by enchantment,

and he, too, was instantly healed.”

Such was the story which the mother told to her two sons. She then

asked Frederick if he understood the meaning of the tale. The boy hung

his head, and made no answer. The mother then went on as follows:--

“My dear Frederick--the story means that he who goes forth with a love

of the beautiful, the pleasant, the agreeable, is sure to find it: and

that he who goes forth to find that which is evil, is also sure to find

what he seeks. It means that the former will bring peace and happiness

to his mother, his home, his friends; and that the latter will bring

home evil--evil to sting his mother, and evil that will turn and sting

himself. The story means that we can find good, if we seek it, in our

friends, and that this good is like a sweet flower, a healing plant,

imparting peace and happiness to all around. The story means that we

can find or fancy evil, if we seek for it, in our friends; but that,

like an adder, this only wounds others, and poisons those who love to

seize upon it.”

Now this was the way the mother cured her son. Frederick took the story

to heart; he laid it up in his memory. When he was tempted to look out

for the faults of his companions, and to carry them home, he thought of

the adder, and turning away from evil, he looked out for good; and it

was not long before he was as successful in finding it as his brother

Philip.

Resistance to Pain.

On one occasion, while some missionaries at South Africa were at dinner

in their tent, some of the native chiefs and their wives being present,

one of them seeing Mr. Read, a missionary, help himself to cayenne

pepper, its red color attracted his attention, and he asked for some of

it. On getting the cayenne, he instantly threw a quantity of it upon

his tongue, but on feeling its pungency, he shut his eyes, clapped his

hand upon his mouth, and holding down his head, endeavored manfully to

conceal the pain. When he was able to look up, he slyly touched Mr.

Read with his foot to intimate that he should say nothing, but give the

same dose to the others present. Another chief next got some, who also

instantly felt its powers; but, understanding the joke, as soon as he

was able to speak, he asked for some for his wife; and thus it went

round, to the great diversion of all present.

[Illustration: _Indian children singing._]

Sketches of the Manners, Customs, &c., of the Indians of America.

CHAPTER XIII.

_South America continued.--Discovery of Brazil.--Character of

its inhabitants.--Their treachery and cannibalism.--Notice of

the first emigrants.--Missionaries.--Teaching the children

to sing.--Effect of music on the natives.--Present state of

the country.--Personal appearance of the Indians.--Manner of

living.--Botucudoes.--Description of this tribe.--General

description.--Horses, weapons, ornaments.--Religion.--Remarks._

Brazil was discovered in 1500. The first Spaniard who ventured to

cross the equinoctial was Vincent Pinzon. He landed at a point on the

coast of Brazil, about twenty miles south of Pernambuco. A fleet was

soon after sent out from Portugal, in which sailed that fortunate

adventurer, Americus Vespucius, who has given his name to the New World.

The Indians of Brazil were real savages, perfidious, cruel, and

cannibals, who scarcely appear to have had a noble or generous trait in

their characters. The dreadful depravity of these tribes seems to have

infused the spirit of the furies into the female heart; and when the

women of a nation are rendered ferocious, there is little if any chance

that the nation will ever, by their own efforts, become civilized. The

following account of the first interview between the Portuguese and the

Brazilian Indians is sufficient to show the spirit of the latter.

When the ships arrived on the coast, in latitude 5 deg. S., there was

a party of natives discovered on a hill near the shore. Two sailors

volunteered to go ashore, and several days passed without their return.

At length the Portuguese landed, sent a young man to meet the savages,

and returned to their boats. The _women_ came forward to meet him,

apparently as negociators. They surrounded him and seemed examining

him with curiosity and wonder. Presently there came down another woman

from the hill, having a stake in her hand, with which she got behind

him, and dealt him a blow that brought him to the ground. Immediately

the others seized him by the feet, and dragged him away, and then the

Indian men, rushing to the shore, discharged their arrows at the boats.

The boats finally escaped, but the men had to witness the horrid sight

of their poor comrade destroyed by the ruthless savages. The women cut

the body in pieces, and held up the mutilated limbs in mockery; then,

broiling them over a huge fire, which had been prepared, as it seemed,

for that purpose, with loud rejoicings, they devoured them in presence

of the Portuguese. The Indians also made signs that they had eaten the

two sailors![1]

It will not be pleasant or useful to give any more minute accounts

of the practice of cannibalism. Suffice it to say, that the tribes

inhabiting the southern part of South America, appear to have been in

the grossest ignorance and most deplorable state of vice and misery

to which human beings can be reduced. They were more like tigers

and serpents than men; for they used poisoned arrows, deadly as the

“serpent’s tooth,” in battle; and they tore and devoured their enemies

with the voracity of beasts of prey.

The Europeans who first settled in Brazil, had to gain all their

possessions by the sword; and few would go voluntarily to such a place;

the Portuguese settlers were mostly convicts, banished for their

crimes. As might be expected, this class of men, rendered desperate by

their situation, and often hardened in crime, were not very merciful

to the natives, who showed them no mercy. The bloody conflicts and

atrocities on both sides were awful; yet we cannot feel the same

sympathy for the cannibal Indian as for the gentle Peruvian, when his

country is laid waste by the invader.

It was about fifty years from the time of the first landing of the

Portuguese, before a regular government was established, and a governor

appointed by the king of Portugal. Then the Jesuits established

themselves in Brazil, and began their labor of Christianizing the

savages. Several tribes had entered into alliance with the colonists,

and these Indians were, by the governor, forbidden to eat human flesh.

To conquer this propensity, was the great aim of the Jesuits; but

finding they could not reclaim the old ones, they set themselves to

instructing the children.

One gentle propensity these Brazilian savages showed, which seems

hardly compatible with their cruel and vindictive characters--they were

passionately fond of music--so fond, that one Jesuit thought he could

succeed in Christianizing them by means of songs.

He taught the children to sing; and when he went on his preaching

expeditions, he usually took a number of these little choristers, and

when they drew near an inhabited place, one child carried the crucifix

before them, and the others followed, singing the litany. The savages,

like snakes, were won by the voice of the charmer, and received the

Jesuit joyfully.

He set the catechism, creed and ordinary prayers to _sol fa_; and the

pleasure of learning to sing was such a temptation, that the little

savages frequently ran away from their parents to put themselves under

the care of the Jesuits.

The Jesuits labored with the most devoted zeal to convert the natives.

Their labors were of great effect; and gradually a change has been

wrought, and the cannibal propensities, among those tribes that still

remain independent, are no longer indulged.

Many missions, as they are called, that is, villages, where a priest

resides, and instructs the Indians in agriculture and the most

essential arts of civilized life, as well as in their catholic duties,

were established by the Jesuits, and are still continued. One very

unfortunate circumstance has done much to alienate the independent

tribes from their white neighbors. It was thought best to make slaves

of the savages, in order to civilize them. Walsh thus describes the

decree and its effect:--

“The Indians were, as late as 1798, the occupants of the woods,

and were generally found resident on the banks of the rivers and

streams, which intersected the country. An elderly gentleman, who was

secretary to the undertaking, informed me that it was necessary for

the commissioners and workmen to go constantly armed, to be protected

against their hostility. The Puvis lay on the river Parahiba, and

others on the streams which fall into it.

“By a mistaken humanity, however, permission was afterwards given to

the Brazilians, to convert their neighbors to Christianity; and for

this laudable object, they were allowed to retain them in a state of

bondage for ten years, and then dismiss them free, when instructed

in the arts of civilized life, and the more important knowledge of

Christianity. This permission, as was to be expected, produced the very

opposite effects.

“A decree for the purpose was issued so late as the year 1808, by Don

John, and it was one of the measures which he thought best to reclaim

the aborigines, who had just before committed some ravages. He directed

that the Indians who were conquered, should be distributed among the

agriculturalists, who should support, clothe, civilize, and instruct

them in the principles of our holy religion, but should be allowed to

use the services of the same Indians for a certain number of years, in

compensation for the expense of their instruction and management.

“This unfortunate permission at once destroyed all intercourse between

the natives and the Brazilians. The Indians were everywhere hunted down

for the sake of their salvation; wars were excited among the tribes,

for the laudable purpose of bringing in each other captives, to be

converted to Christianity; and the most sacred objects were prostituted

to the base cupidity of man, by even this humane and limited permission

of reducing his fellow-creatures to slavery.

“In the distant provinces, particularly on the banks of the Maranhão,

it is still practised, and white men set out for the woods, to seek

their fortunes; that is, to hunt Indians and return with slaves. The

consequence was, that all who could escape, retired to the remotest

forests; and there is not one to be now found in a state of nature, in

all the wooded region.

“It frequently happened, as we passed along, that dark wreaths of what

appeared like smoke, arose from among distant trees on the sides of

the mountains, and they seemed to us to be decisive marks of Indian

wigwams; but we found them to be nothing more than misty exhalations,

which shot up in thin, circumscribed columns, exactly resembling smoke

issuing from the aperture of a chimney.

“We met, however, one in the woods with a copper-colored face, high

cheekbones, small dark eyes approaching each other, a vacant, stupid

cast of countenance, and long, lank, black hair, hanging on his

shoulders. He had on him some approximation to a Portuguese dress,

and belonged to one of the aldêas formed in this region; but he had

probably once wandered about these woods in a state of nature, where he

was now going peaceably along on an European road.

“We had passed along through Valença, one of these aldêas of the

Indians of the valley of Parahiba, Christianized and taught the arts of

civilized life. Another, called the Aldêa da Pedra, is situated on the

river, nearer to its mouth, where the people still retain their erratic

habits, though apparently conforming to our usages.

“They live in huts, thatched with palm leaves; and when not engaged

in hunting and fishing, which is their chief and favorite employment,

they gather ipecacuanha, and fell timber. They are docile and pacific,

having no cruel propensities, but are disposed to be hospitable to

strangers. Their family attachments are not very strong, either for

their wives or children, as they readily dispose of both to a traveller

for a small compensation.”[2]

One of the most ferocious tribes of Brazil was the Botucudoes,[3]

thought to be the remains of a powerful and most cruel tribe, which

the early settlers called Aymores. This tribe disfigured themselves by

making a large hole in the under lip, and wearing therein a piece of

white wood or some ornament. They also cut large holes in their ears,

and stick feathers in the aperture for ornaments. They used to go

entirely naked, and, brown as the beasts of the forest, were frightful

objects to behold.

“The Brazilian government deserves credit for the manner in which it

has managed these Indians. They lived on the Rio Doce, and laid waste

every settlement attempted in that beautiful and fertile region. In

1809, a party of Europeans were sent up the river, and they found one

hundred and fifty farms in ruins, whose proprietors had either perished

or fled. Detachments were accordingly ordered in all directions, to

restrain their inroads and to punish their aggressions, and every

encouragement was held out, to establish new settlements and civilize

them.

“Every village consisting of twelve huts of Indians and ten of Whites,

was to be considered a villa, with all its benefits and privileges,

and sesmarios or grants of land were made to such as would become

cultivators, giving all the privileges and advantages of original

donotorios. New roads were then opened to form more easy communication,

and considerable effect was produced on these intractable natives. The

Puvis, a neighboring tribe, to the number of one thousand, were located

in villages, called aldêas; and the arts and industry of civilized life

made more progress among them in a few years from this period, than

they had before done in so many centuries.”[4]

In personal appearance, the Brazilian Indians were stout and well

made; but the tribes differed considerably in height; some races being

shorter than the average measure of the red men, or not more than

five feet five inches; and other tribes, particularly the Botucudoes,

were uncommonly tall. They all went naked, or nearly so, and were

excessively filthy, so that their skins were a deeper shade of brown

than the Indians of Mexico and Peru; and, compared with the clean and

becomingly clothed Araucanian, these Brazilians seemed indeed savages.

Their huts--houses they could scarcely be called--were of the rudest

kind. The stems of young trees and poles stuck in the ground, are

bent at the top and tied together, and then a covering of cocoa or

patioba leaves was laid on. These huts were very flat and low. Near

each of them was a sort of grate, consisting of four prongs stuck in

the ground, on which were laid four sticks, and these were crossed by

others laid pretty close, for the purpose of roasting or broiling their

game.

Their weapons were bows and arrows, and many of the tribes had the art

of poisoning their arrows. This appeared to be almost the only art

they had discovered. Nor had they any manufactures; for their uncouth

ornaments evinced so little design or industry in their formation,

that they are hardly worth naming. The women wore beads made of hard

berries, or the teeth of animals, and sometimes bunches of feathers in

their ears.

Both sexes occasionally painted their bodies black and their faces

red. The men wore round their neck, attached to a strong cord, their

most precious jewel, a knife. Before the settlement of Europeans this

was made of bone, or stone. They had no canoes nor any notion of

navigation; and some historians assert that they could not swim.

Their religious ideas were of the grossest kind. They believed in

malignant demons, great and small, and were afraid to pass the night in

the forest alone. They held the moon in high veneration, and thought

her influence caused the thunder and lightning. They had a tradition

of a general deluge; but they had no distinct idea or hope of a future

state.

From this dreadful ignorance and degradation, many of the tribes, or

the remnants of them rather, are now in some measure redeemed. The

labors of missionaries, and the exertions of the government, are still

directed to the improvement of the Indian subjects of the emperor of

Brazil; and though they are still very ignorant and very indolent,

it is greatly to the praise of the Portuguese inhabitants of South

America, that they have not made the natives of the country they have

conquered, worse than they found them.

[1] See Southey’s History of Brazil.

[2] See Walsh’s Notices of Brazil.

[3] See Mrs. Graham’s Journal of a Voyage to Brazil.

[4] See Walsh’s Notices of Brazil.

The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences

of Thomas Trotter.

CHAPTER XV.

_Detention at Lipari.--Passage to Naples in a felucca.--Prospect

of the Bay of Naples.--Novel sensations on landing in the

city.--Strange appearances in the streets.--View of the city

from the hill of St. Elmo.--Lively manners of the Neapolitans._

My readers left me at the island of Lipari, to which place I had been

driven by a storm, while voyaging from Messina toward Naples. Our

vessel was too much shattered by the gale to put to sea again, and

I had the prospect of a long stay at this island, which was little

agreeable to me. There was not much on the island that excited my

curiosity; besides, I was in a hurry to get to Naples, where a thousand

interesting and wonderful objects lay open to my observation. Very

luckily for me, on the fourth day of my stay at the island, a felucca

from Palermo touched there, and I was gratified by the information that

she was bound from thence directly to Naples. I immediately struck a

bargain for a passage in her.

The felucca was a vessel of about sixty tons, with two masts and lateen

sails. We had a good wind, and on the morning of the second day, as I

went on deck, I found we were close to the Italian shore, near the Bay

of Naples. We steered between the island of Capri and the main land.

Capri is a mountainous island, with steep, rocky shores, worn into

arches and caverns by the surf. Little villages and country houses

spotted the surface of it in different parts: and a lofty castle

frowned over our heads as we sailed under the steep cliff that looks

toward the continent. As we proceeded further, the wide bay of Naples

opened in all its magnificent beauty upon us, and as we rounded the

rocky promontory of Sorrento, Mount Vesuvius burst upon the view,

sending forth a column of white smoke from its lofty summit, and

lording it over the whole scene.

Hardly anything can surpass the beauty of this celebrated bay. We have

no scenery in America of a class to compare with it. The novelty of the

objects strikes the beholder no less than their beauty and grandeur.

The great volcano rises proudly in a black-looking mass from the inner

shore of the bay. The dark and rocky coast on one hand is dotted with

white houses all along the water’s edge. On the opposite side, the

great city of Naples rises in a pile of white walls from the water,

with her castles, domes, and turrets. Three or four islands, of the

most beautiful forms imaginable, lie about the mouth of the bay, and

diversify the prospect in that quarter. Castles and palaces stud the

water’s edge in every quarter, for here is no tide which leaves the

strand bare, and the sea beats only in a gentle surf, which gives

additional beauty to the scene along the shore. So enchanting is the

whole prospect that it has given rise to a proverbial saying among the

Italians, “_See Naples, and then die_.”

There were no large vessels under sail in the bay. A few fishing boats

were plying their occupation near the shore, and some small craft were

stretching across from Sorrento to the city. All the large shipping lay

in the upper part of the bay, behind the mole. Here I found an immense

collection of vessels, lying closely in rows, five or six deep, along

the shore. There are no wharves. The shore is so bold that vessels may

lie close to the land. I was surprised to find this enormous fleet all

lying idle. They were stripped of their sails, and mostly bedecked with

barnacles and sea-weed, as if they had long been out of occupation.

In fact, there is very little commerce carried on by the Neapolitans.

Their own ships lie rotting in the bay, while most of their maritime

trade is carried on by French and English merchantmen. American vessels

hardly ever touch at Naples, on account of the high port-charges.

When I got on shore it seemed to me that I was transported into the

midst of Babel. Such a crowd of people, such noise, confusion, bawling,

chattering, vociferating, and hurly-burly I never before witnessed

in my life. I believe the world does not afford another such a scene

as the streets of Naples. Everybody seems to be out of doors, and in

constant talk, bustle, hurry and agitation. The streets are crowded

with passengers; and the _Toledo_, which is the main street of the

city, has all day long a crowd in it as dense, lively, and tumultuous

as that of Boston mall on election day. It seemed almost to me that

I had never been alive before, such exhilaration and excitement were

produced by the novelty of the scene. People do not confine themselves

to the side-walks, for there are none in the city; but crowd the whole

breadth of the street: and all descriptions and classes of people mix

up together, without any regard to the distinction of dress, gentility,

or rank. Gentlemen, ladies, beggars, hawkers, pedlers, children,

carriages, horsemen, donkeys, and herds of goats, are all jumbled up

together in an ever-shifting confusion. It is more picturesque than

any scene that was ever exhibited at a theatre. As often as a chaise

or carriage comes along, the cry of “_gard! gard!_” causes the throng

to open and let the vehicle pass. It was the greatest astonishment to

me that a hundred people were not run over and killed, the first day

that I took my walk through the streets; yet no fatal accident occurred

within my observation.

Nothing makes a stronger contrast with our manners than the propensity

of these people to keep out of doors. They seem to have no privacy,

but do almost everything, in the way of business or amusement, in the

streets.

The shopkeeper carries his goods into the street, and spreads them

over the ground. The cobbler takes his seat outside the door, thumps

his lapstone, and pulls away at his waxed-end, lifting his head at the

passer-by, and inquiring, “any shoes to mend?” The confectioner and

the baker have their little portable ovens in the street, and offer

cakes and comfits piping hot. Cookery of all sorts is going on in the

open air, and at every step you may smell the savory steam of the

frying-pans, stew-pans, and griddles. The brokers and money-changers

sit at their tables, tossing over heaps of silver coin. Old women squat

down in the street to darn stockings and patch their gowns: others

toddle about with a spindle and distaff, spinning flax. Countrymen,

driving their donkeys, loaded with fruit and vegetables, cry their

articles for sale: everybody has something to say, and the jargon,

clatter and tumult can never be adequately conceived except by an

actual witness.

The Toledo is about as wide as Washington street, in Boston; but most

of the others are very narrow. The houses are seven, eight, and nine

stories high. Generally every story is occupied by a separate family.

Those who live in the upper stories do not take the trouble to go down

if they wish to buy anything that is passing in the street, but lower a

basket from the window. In looking through a street, you may see, in

the forenoon, sometimes, fifty or a hundred of these baskets at a time,

dangling in the air. The houses are built of a coarse, soft stone, and

covered with a white plastering. Many of them are painted to resemble

brick, which is a more costly and durable material here than the common

building stone.

A steep and lofty hill rises immediately back of the city, on the top

of which stands an old castle. I climbed to the top of the hill by a

zig-zag road furnished with stone steps. From this spot I had a most

enchanting view of the city and bay. Innumerable domes, covered with

glazed tiles of variegated color, sparkled in the bright sun; and the

blue waters of the bay spread beautifully out beyond, bounded by the

majestic pile of Vesuvius, and the romantic shores of Sorrento. But

what struck me as the most novel, was the remarkable hum of the city.

It was not the ordinary clatter and roar of carriage wheels, but the

audible murmur of three hundred thousand human voices, which broke on

my ear in a continuous roll, like the moan of the distant ocean. The

city is like a great bee-hive where the inhabitants keep up a constant

hum.

To describe the amusements, the lively and comical manners of the

Neapolitans, which render the streets of the city a perpetual fair and

spectacle, night and day, would require a volume. The ordinary manners

of the people, when engaged in the common transactions of life, are

full of action, grimace, and theatrical flourish. Two fellows, making

a bargain, will chatter, bawl, exclaim, sputter, roll up their eyes,

shrug their shoulders, flourish their arms, stamp their feet, cut

capers, and practise the most extravagant grimaces; you would think

they were going to claw each other’s eyes out; yet they are only

higgling about the value of a sixpence. If you ask the price of an

article, in the street, you will be told that it is five dollars; but

there will be no difficulty in beating it down to half a dollar. They

think it not at all disreputable to impose on a stranger, and make him

pay ten times the value of a thing. When they are reproached with these

transactions, they smile in your face, and ask you how you can expect a

poor man to be honest!

The following story is extracted from a little book entitled “Moral

Tales, by Robert Merry,” and published by John S. Taylor & Co., New

York.

Cheerful Cherry;

OR, MAKE THE BEST OF IT.

“Oh dear me,” said Frederic; “how the wind does blow! It will take my

hat off and throw it into the pond! I wish it wouldn’t blow so!”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” said little Philip, set agoing by the cries and

complaints of his elder brother; “Oh dear, naughty wind, blow Philip

away!”

“How it does rain!” said Frederic.

“Oh how it rain!” said Philip.

“Oh dear, I’m so wet!” said Frederic.

“Oh! Philip all wet!” said the little boy.

“Nonsense, nonsense,” said Geraldine; “don’t mind the wind and the

rain. Why, Freddy, you should be more of a man. Philip, my dear, it

won’t hurt you to get a little wet. You are not made of sugar, child!

We’ll run home as fast as we can, and if you get wet I’ll put you on a

nice dry apron, and a dry gown, and you will be all right again. Come

along! Don’t mind the storm, Freddy. Always make the best of it. We’ll

soon get home!”

Thus cheered by their sister, who was considerably older than

themselves, the children scampered towards the house as fast as their

little feet could carry them. On the way, Freddy’s hat was taken off

by the wind, and away it went, hop, skip, jump, across the field.

Geraldine, or Cherry, as she was familiarly called by the family, left

Philip, and gave chase to the runaway hat. It was a funny race, for the

hat really seemed as if it was alive, and having gained its freedom,

was determined to take final leave of its proprietor. At one time it

rolled along edgewise, like a hoop, and then it leaped from a little

eminence, and skimmed away on the wind, like a hawk with expanded

wings. At last, it seemed to pause for a moment, and Cherry, who was

close upon it, reached out her hand to take it. But just then a puff of

wind lifted it high in the air, whirled it round and round, and with a

determined sweep, cast it into the edge of the pond.

Cherry still pursued, and nothing daunted by the water, in she went,

and seizing the truant hat brought it safely to land. It was dripping

with water when she gave it to Frederic, who, greatly distressed at

the unaccountable behavior of his hat, stood crying where Cherry had

left him. Philip was at his side, and encouraged by the example of his

brother was crying at the top of his little lungs.

“Don’t cry, Freddy! don’t cry, Philip!” said Cherry; “there’s no harm

done!”

“I say there is,” said Frederic; “it’s all wet!”

“Oh dear, it’s all wet, it’s all wet!” said Philip.

“Oh poh!” said Cherry; “that’s nothing; _always make the best of it_,

Frederic! We’ll soon be home now: don’t stop to cry about it--come!

come! We’ll be all safe in a few minutes, and then what a laugh we’ll

have! We’ll tell mother all about it--how the rain and the wind came,

and how Fred’s hat ran away, and jumped into the pond, and how I dove

in to get it! Come on! come on!”

Thus cheered and encouraged, the children hurried forward, and were

shortly safe at home. By the time they arrived there they had been put

in good spirits by Cherry, and instead of weeping and wailing about

their adventures and mishaps, they laughed about them very heartily,

and told the story to their mother with the greatest glee.

“Oh mother,” said Frederic; “we have had such a funny time!”

“Oh! mamma, funny time!” said little Philip, determined to have his

share in the glory.

“Oh yes,” said Frederic; “it rained big drops, and it blew a hurricane.”

“Yes,” said Philip, impatient to speak; “a hallycane, a great big

hallycane, as big as a barn!”

“Yes, mother,” continued Frederic; “and the hurrycane took my hat, and

it went whirling along just like a hoop, and then it went a great way

up into the air, and then it went right down into the pond, and ’twould

have drownded if Cherry had not gone into the pond, and got it out.”

“Yes, so ’twas,” said Philip; “Freddy’s hat went right into the pond,

and was all drownded, and Cherry was all drownded, and the hallycane

was all drownded, and the pond was all drownded, and everything was all

drownded, and it was all so funny!”

This eloquent speech of little Philip’s caused a merry laugh in the

party--the mother and Cherry and Frederic all joining in it--and Philip

was so cheered by the applause, that, like an orator of the stump, he

went on in the same strain, raising his voice, and throwing up his

hands, until he was quite out of breath.

Thus the disagreeable adventure of the morning, instead of being a

source of sorrow and vexation, was turned into a pleasant channel,

and it was a long time remembered as the occasion of agreeable

recollections.

Now it will be seen by the reader, that Cherry, through her

cheerfulness, by _making the best of it_, drew pleasure and mirth

out of circumstances, which, in most cases, would have been sources

of trouble and sorrow. Nor was this all: for she taught her little

brothers that even misfortunes, met by gaiety of heart and cheerfulness

of mind, cease to be misfortunes, and are turned into blessings. And

Cherry’s example may teach us all that cheerfulness has a power that

can transform many of the evils, accidents, and adversities of life

into sources of positive pleasure.

If this virtue of cheerfulness, then, have such a wonderful power, why

should we not all cultivate it? It is certainly worth more than silver

and gold, for these cannot insure happiness: we may still, though we

possess riches, be ill-tempered, discontented, malicious, envious, and

consequently miserable. But cheerfulness chases out these bad passions

from the heart, and leaves it peaceful and happy. Cheerfulness is like

sunshine: it clears away clouds and storms and tempests, and brings

fair weather over the soul.

This subject is so important, that I propose to tell my young reader

something more about Cheerful Cherry; thus hoping to impress her

example on the mind, and render the lesson I would teach enduring and

effectual.

Cherry’s father, whose name was Larkin, removed from his home in the

country, and lived in Boston, where he pursued the business of a

merchant. Now, when spring comes, we all know that it is a delightful

thing for city people to get out into the country, where they can see

the green fields, gather wild flowers, and hear the birds sing.

Well, two or three years after the storm I have described, once when

spring had come, Mr. Larkin told his children, on a Friday evening,

that it was his intention to take the whole family in a carryall, the

next day, to Chelsea Beach, about five miles from Boston. This promise

delighted the children very much, for they wanted to go into the

country, and above all they wished to go to Chelsea Beach. Frederic

was in ecstasies, and Philip, as usual, echoed his older brother’s

thoughts, words and feelings.

When it came time to retire to bed, the two boys could not go to sleep

for a long time, so excited were they by their hopes and wishes and

expectations for the morrow. At last they sunk to repose, but they woke

as early as the lark, and talked of their enterprise till the time came

to be dressed, and go down to breakfast.

What was the disappointment of the family, and especially of Frederic

and Philip, to find that the weather was chill, cloudy and rainy, so as

entirely to forbid the idea of taking the proposed excursion! Frederic

pouted, and Philip cried.

“Oh dear, dear, dear!” said Frederic; “I wish this ugly rain would

stop!”

“Oh dear,” said Philip; “wish ugly rain go away!”

“Father,” said Frederic; “why can’t we go to Chelsea Beach?”

“Why, it rains very fast! my son,” was the reply.

“Well, I don’t mind that! we can go as it is.”

“Certainly you wouldn’t go in such a storm?”

“Yes I would: I don’t care for the storm!”

Such was the reply of Frederic, and nothing could be said by his

father or mother, to pacify him or little Philip. They both became

sulky, and were sent out of the room. Cherry now came to them, and

began to talk in her cheerful way with them.

“Why, what’s the matter now?”

“We want to go to Chelsea Beach; father promised to take us there,”

said Frederic.

“Yes,” said Cherry; “he promised to take us, but it was under the idea

that it would be pleasant weather. I am as sorry as you are not to go.

I wished very much to pick up some shells along the beach; and to see

the blue ocean; and to observe the white gulls, skimming and screaming

over the water; and to watch the vessels, with white sails, gliding by

in the distance. I love the ocean, and every time I see it, it makes my

heart beat, as if I had met some dear friend, whom I had not seen for a

long time.”

“And so do I love the ocean, and wish this dirty rain had kept away,”

said Frederic, with a very sour face.

“And so do I love the ocean, and the rain is very naughty!” said

Philip, in the same temper as his brother; for it is to be observed

that one child is very apt to reflect the feelings of another.

“Well, well!” said Cherry; “you may call the rain all the hard names

you please: you cannot mend the matter. The rain does not come or go at

your bidding. Do you know who makes the rain, Frederic?”

“Yes, God makes it,” was the answer.

“Yes, my dear brother,” said Cherry; “God makes it rain, and do you

think it right to bestow hard words upon that which is God’s work? Is

it right to grumble or complain on account of what God is doing?”

“I did not think of that!” said Frederic.

“I know you did not,” said his sister; “if you had thought of it, I

am sure you would not have spoken so: but we ought always to consider

that what God does is right, and instead of grumbling at it, we should

feel cheerful and content; knowing that what he does is not only always

right, but for the best. Now I wish to show you that in this case, it

is for the best that it should rain.

“You know that it is now spring: that is, all the buds of the trees,

and flowers, and seeds, are now springing forth. Well, these things

all need rain, for it is as necessary that they should have drink, as

that little children should. Now God looks down upon the earth, and

he sees millions and millions of buds, lifting up their heads, and

asking for drink. The sun has been shining very warmly for several

days, and all the plants, the grasses of a hundred kinds, the roses,

the dandelions, the lilacs, the daphnes, the leaves of the trees--all,

all are thirsting for water, and these myriad children of God look up

to him and ask him for rain. And God says, ‘Let there be rain!’ and

the rain begins to fall, and the leaves, and grasses, and plants, and

shrubs, and trees are rejoicing; when, lo! Frederic Larkin comes forth,

and calls out, ‘Stop, stop, rain! or I can’t go to Chelsea Beach!’”

Here Frederic smiled, and though he felt the absurdity and

unreasonableness of his conduct, he was silent, and Cherry went on as

follows: “You see, Frederic, how very important it is that we should

have rain; for without it the grass and grain would perish, and we

should perish too for the want of food. The rain that falls to-day,

will probably be the cause of producing food enough for ten thousand

people a whole year: and you, just for the sake of going to Chelsea

Beach, would prevent all this good; you, for a day’s pleasure, would

make ten thousand people starve.”

“But I didn’t think of all this,” said Frederic.

“I know you did not,” said Cherry; “and I am not complaining of you; I

am only telling you these things, so that when the rain comes in the

way of your pleasure or your plans, you may see that it is all for the

best. If, instead of looking out for causes of discontent, we would

always regard the bright side of things, we could never fail of finding

something to make us cheerful.

“Now as it regards this matter of the rain, if any one had the power of

putting it off, we should never have any rain, and therefore all the

living things in the world would starve. You would put it off to-day,

because you want to go to Chelsea Beach: somebody else would put it off

to-morrow, for then he would want to go there, or somewhere else. The

next day some other person would put it off; and so it would be put off

and put off, till all plants would perish, and the earth would become a

scene of desolation.

“Now God, instead of entrusting so important a matter as rain to us

short-sighted human beings, has kept it in his own hands: and now tell

me, Frederic, are you not satisfied, nay, happy that he has done so?”

“Yes, I am,” said Frederic; “I did not mean to complain of God.”

“I know you did not, my dear brother,” said Cherry; “and what I am now

saying is not designed to rebuke you, but to make you take a right view

of this matter; for if you will do this, you will be able, even when

your favorite plans are thwarted by the dispensations of Providence, to

turn the sources of disappointment into sources of peace and content.

When we find our schemes marred, our wishes defeated by the weather,

or some other event of Providence, we can reflect that it is best

that it should be so; it is best, as well for others as ourselves;

and this conviction, if it is sincere, will reconcile us to every

disappointment.”

By such talk as this, Cherry soon put her little brothers in good

humor; partly by making them forget the cause of their vexation, and

partly by making them feel and see that it is right that God should

rule the weather, and that his creatures should cheerfully submit to

his doings. Beside all this, they had now acquired some new ideas, and

these were a source of diversion. Frederic himself went to the window,

and looking across the street, saw there a climbing rose, against the

side of the house, just putting forth its rosy buds; and, for the

first time in his life, it seemed to him one of the children of God,

looking to its heavenly Father for water: and thus it was that the rose

acquired a new interest in his eyes; he now saw that it was an object

for which even God had cared.

He also reflected upon the vastness of God’s works, as compared with

those of man; for while God was sending his clouds to quench the thirst

of myriads of plants, and provide for millions of animated beings, he

was only thinking of himself and his ride to Chelsea Beach.

After Frederic had been standing at the window for some time, Cherry,

who had been out of the room, returned, and sitting down, called

Frederic to her side, and said that she would tell him a story. He

therefore seated himself, and she proceeded as follows:--

“In Europe there is a country called Greece, the people of which, two

or three thousand years ago, believed in a deity whom they called

Jove. The people fancied that he lived up in a tall mountain, called

Olympus, and from this place issued forth his decrees. They believed

that he ruled over the earth; that he made the clouds; and bade them go

forth to water the earth; that he made the thunder and the lightning,

and commanded them to display his power; that he made the sun, and

required it to rise upon the world, giving light and heat to its

inhabitants. Now I will tell you a sort of fancy story, founded upon

these notions of the ancient Greeks. At the foot of mount Olympus,

there was a little village, the people of which were always grumbling

at the weather. It was always too wet or too dry, too hot or too cold.

Even when the weather was appropriate to the season of the year, there

were some persons in the village always finding fault with it. If

Jove sent a shower of rain, it always produced dissatisfaction and

disappointment to some of the people. Some wished to go a fishing, and

the rain interfered. Some wished to proceed on a journey, and they

were disappointed. Some wished to work in their fields--some to go on

excursions of pleasure, and the rain prevented the execution of their

several plans.

“Now the murmurs of this people came to the ears of Jove, and he

determined to show them their folly. Accordingly he sent them a

messenger, called Mercury,--a lively little fellow, with wings at his

shoulders and his heels, which enabled him to fly very swiftly, and

execute his master’s commands with despatch.

“Mercury flew to the village, and told the people that Jove, having

heard their complaints, had concluded to resign his government over the

weather, and give it up to them; that, accordingly, he had commanded

the clouds and the rain, the thunder and the lightning, the sun and the

wind, the heat and the cold to obey the inhabitants of the village.

“This annunciation was received by the people of the village with the

greatest demonstrations of joy. They assembled in the street of the

place, and bade Mercury take back their thanks to Jove, their benignant

master. Mercury promised to do this; ‘but,’ said he, ‘I have one thing

more to communicate: that all may be satisfied, it is Jove’s decree

that you must be unanimous in your proceedings. The sun will not rise

while one individual opposes it: nor will it rain till every one is

ready; and in fact, all the business of making the weather must stop,

until all are prepared.’ The people, considering this as a new evidence

of Jove’s justice and mercy, shouted aloud in their exultation, and

Mercury departed to report the reception of his message to his master.

“It was evening when Mercury went away. The next morning, at the usual

hour, the greater part of the people arose, but the sun did not appear

as before. It was the time of summer, and the hour of sunrise was four

o’clock. But now it was nine, and the sun had not risen. This caused

a good deal of confusion in the village; the farmers wished to be

at work in their fields; the dairy women wished to milk their cows;

the traveller to set out on his journey; the fisherman to go to his

nets; but all were prevented by the total darkness. The fact was that

there were some lazy people in the village, and the sun had always

risen too early for them; so now they determined to snooze it out; and

consequently it was not till twelve o’clock that all could agree to

have the sun rise; so that about half the day was lost.

“This was only the beginning of trouble; for when the sun was up,

it was difficult to get all to agree when it should set; and thus

everything was thrown into confusion. Similar difficulties occurred in

regard to everything else. The people could not all agree to have a

brisk wind for several months; in consequence of which fevers began to

visit the place, and pestilence swept off numbers of the inhabitants.

Nor could they agree upon any particular day when all were ready to

have it rain; so that at last, when they did agree, the rain was too

late, and everything was parched up; and the crops were cut off, and

the cattle died, and the people came near starving to death. Nor could

they agree upon the degree of heat that was required for vegetation;

for many people did not like hot weather, and so it was kept very cold;

and this was another reason why famine came upon the land.

“After having tried the experiment for a year, and finding that more

than one half the people of the village had perished, and that the

rest were very miserable, those that remained signified their wish to

communicate with Jove. Accordingly Mercury came to them, and the people

desired him to take back to his master the power he had placed in their

hands. ‘Tell him,’ said the people, ‘that we are now satisfied that

Jove is wiser than we; and that it is in mercy, and not in judgment,

that he has ruled over the weather. We wish to restore things to their

former condition; for we believe that it is best for man that there

should be a providence, whose ways are above our ways, and whose

thoughts are higher than our thoughts.’”

“This allegory,” continued Cherry, “may teach you, Frederic, what I

have before said, that things are better managed as they are, than if

confided to men: and instead of grumbling at the ways of providence, we

should submit to them in cheerfulness, regarding them as the ways of

a Father, who knows the wants of his creatures, and tenderly regards

their happiness.”

“This is all very well,” said Frederic; “and I thank you for it,

Cherry; but I am afraid I shall never be like you. Pray how is it,

Cherry, that you make yourself so cheerful?”

“By making the best of everything, Fred!”

“But everybody cannot do this,” was the reply.

“Yes they can, my dear Frederic; I know they can. I used to be

whimsical and capricious, myself--sometimes sweet and sometimes sour;

but our good grandmother, who is now dead, used to talk to me, and she

taught me better. She once told me a little story, which made a great

impression on my mind, and I began to practise on the plan suggested by

that story. At first I found it difficult, but after a while it came

more easy; and now it is my custom to be cheerful: it is my habit to

take pleasant views of things. When any disagreeable event occurs, I

repeat the title of the story my grandmother told me--‘_Always make

the best of it_;’ and this puts me in a right frame of mind, and so I

do make the best of it. All this is easy to me now, for it is easy to

do that which habit has rendered familiar. Our habits are of our own

making; so, if a person wishes to render cheerfulness easy, he has only

to cultivate the habit of being cheerful.”

“It must be a good story that can do such wonderful things,” said

Frederic; “pray tell it to me, Cherry.”

“With all my heart,” said Cherry; and so she went on as follows:--

“ALWAYS MAKE THE BEST OF IT;

“A FAIRY TALE.

“In a far-off country a youth set out upon a long journey.

One day, as he was travelling along a dusty road, he became

very hot, and having proceeded a great distance, he grew

fatigued, and at last angry and impatient. ‘Confound this

dust and heat!’ said he; ‘I wonder why it must be so hot and

dusty to-day, just as I am obliged to travel over this road.

Why, it’s enough to melt an ox!’

“Thus complaining of the heat and dust, the youth worked

himself up into a fury, so that he became hotter than ever,

and it seemed as though he would choke from the influence of

dust, heat and passion. Just at this moment, a lively little

woman, with bright blue eyes and flaxen hair, stepped out

from the road-side, and joining the youth unasked, walked

along with him. The two soon fell into conversation, and the

youth’s mind being diverted in some degree from his

troubles, he forgot the evils which had disturbed him

before. Taking counsel of his companion, he walked a little

slower; avoided the deep sand in the path, and chose his way

along the turf by the roadside; amused himself with thinking

of something beside his toil; and thus he forgot his cares,

and mitigated the labors of his journey.

“After a while, the little woman left the youth, and with a

lightened heart he proceeded on his journey. He wished very

much to get to a certain tavern to lodge for the night; so

he travelled late in the evening. At last it grew very dark,

and the youth once more became impatient. ‘I wonder why it

need to be so horrid dark just now!’ said he. ‘Why, it’s

black as Egypt!’ Thus talking to himself, and working his

feelings up to a considerable pitch of discontent, he became

careless, and ran against a post by the road-side. In an

instant he fell to the ground, and as he was getting up he

heard the little woman by his side.

“‘Never mind, never mind!’ said she; ‘it’s pretty dark, but

still we can see well enough if we are careful and patient.

This accident arose from your indulging your passions, which

always tend to make us blind.’ Saying this, the little lady

took the youth’s hand, led him into the middle of the path,

and directing him to be of good cheer, left him to proceed

on his way.

“The youth had not gone far, when he saw something before

him which seemed to be a mighty giant, standing by the road,

and stretching its long arms almost across the sky. He

looked at it steadily for some time: at one moment it seemed

to be a windmill, and then again it seemed to be a giant. He

was a good deal perplexed, and though his reason told him

that it must be a windmill, for there are no such creatures

as giants; still his fears got the better of him, and he

stopt short in the road, afraid to proceed any further.

“While he stood here, his teeth beginning to chatter with

terror, he heard the voice of the little woman, close in his

ear. No sooner did he hear her tones, than his alarm

vanished, and shame for his fears came over him. He

immediately set forward, and the woman keeping along with

him, they soon came close to the place where the occasion of

his terror stood. There it was, an honest old windmill,

standing perfectly still, and as little like a giant as

possible!

“‘You see,’ said the little woman, ‘how we get cheated, when

our fancies get led away by our apprehensions.--Fear is

always an unsafe guide, especially in the dark; for then it

can turn a windmill into a giant, or a bush into a ghost.’

“Having said this, the lively woman departed, and the youth

soon reached the town in which he was to lodge. At the inn

where he put up, he had a poor bed, and this vexed him very

much. While he lay upon it, fretting and keeping himself

awake with his murmurs, he heard the little woman’s voice,

and looking up, there she was before him! ‘Lie down,’ said

she--‘lie down!--and instead of magnifying the evils of your

condition, consider that thousands are worse off than you.

Your bed is small and rather hard, but how many are there

that have no bed at all!’

“Doing as he was bid, the youth lay down, and closed his

eyes, and was soon buried in sweet repose. The next morning,

much refreshed, he arose and proceeded on his way. He

travelled steadily until toward evening; being then much

fatigued, and finding the road exceedingly rough, he became

discouraged. So he sat down by the way-side, and gave

himself up to despair. While he sat here, wailing at his

fate, the lively woman leaped out from some bushes, and

placed herself before him. ‘Courage, courage, my

friend!’--said she, cheerily; ‘you have done a good day’s

work to-day, and the place of rest, for the night, is near

at hand. Then do not give way to despondence! Think not of

the evils that you have suffered, or of those that lie

before you: dwell rather upon the good things in your

condition. Remember how much you have done--and how little

remains to do, before sleep will restore strength to your

limbs and courage to your heart.’

“Saying this, the bright-eyed lady lifted the youth from the

ground, and reanimated him by her voice; he then left her,

and proceeded cheerfully on his way. Soon he reached the

place where he was to sleep for the night, and here he was

soon buried in peaceful dreams.

“The next day the youth proceeded on his journey--and for

several days he continued to pursue it, until at last he had

nearly reached the point to which he was bound. On every

occasion when his courage had failed--when fatigue had

oppressed him, or when difficulties had stared him in the

face--the little lady, of flaxen hair and bright blue eyes,

had come to his aid, and, chasing away his despondence, had

given him new courage to proceed. As the youth came in sight

of the city to which he was travelling, she appeared once

more, and addressed him for the last time.

“As he was about to bid her farewell, his heart smote him at

the idea of parting with her forever. ‘My dear lady,’ said

he, while he kissed her hand tenderly; ‘I owe you much more

than my tongue can speak. You have watched over me in this

long and tedious journey; you have lightened my burthen,

cheered my fatigues, chased away my fears, and given me

courage in the place of despondence. But for you, I had long

since lain down and died in the path; or had lingered in

misery by the way. Would that I could induce you to live

with me forever.’

“‘That may not, cannot be!’ said the lady, as a smile passed

over her face; ‘that may not be. I am not of flesh and,

blood, like you: I am a fairy--my form is but a thing of

hues like the rainbow, that seems a bridge leading from

earth to heaven, and yet is baseless as a dream.’

“‘Lovely fairy,’ said the youth, kneeling; ‘pray tell me

your name; and oh, if it be possible, tell me the art by

which you have taught me to conquer difficulties, to rise

above doubt, to triumph over indolence, murmuring, and

despondency!’ The fairy replied as follows:--

“‘Listen, youth--for I tell you an important secret. My name

is Cheerfulness, and all my art lies in a single sentence:

_Always make the best of it._’ So saying, the fairy

departed, and was seen by the youth no more; but he now

perceived the force of the fairy’s words, and practising

accordingly, he soon possessed the great art of securing

happiness, and of making himself agreeable to others.”

CAUTION.--As you would air a bed carefully, that has been slept in by

one afflicted with an infectious disease, so be very considerate before

you place confidence in a lawyer.

The War in Florida.

At the southeastern extremity of the United States, is a long Peninsula

called Florida. This name was given to it by the Spaniards, because it

seemed to them a land of flowers. It continued to belong to Spain till

about twenty years ago, when it was ceded to the United States.

Florida was occupied by several tribes of Indians, when first

discovered. Among them were the Seminoles, a branch of the Creek

nation, who dwelt in the northern part of the territory. When the

country was ceded to the United States, they held possession of the

vast tract which stretches from the Atlantic ocean to the river

Apalachicola, save only a space around the town of St. Augustine. It

was a fair land, watered with many rivers, inhabited by millions of

brilliant birds, and the dwelling-place of vast herds of deer; it was

a land of almost perpetual summer, where the orange and the lemon, and

the vine, flourished in the open air.

Notwithstanding the beauty of their country, the Seminoles consented

to part with the best portion of it. They made an agreement with the

white people, to give up all their vast territory, save only the

central portion, consisting of pine barrens and deep swamps, covered

with a wild vegetation, and the dwelling-place of alligators, serpents,

lizards, tortoises, gallanippers, and a variety of similar inhabitants.

When the time came to carry this bargain into effect, Neha Matla, a

chief of the tribe, told the Indians that they had been cheated,

overreached and deceived by the cunning whites; and he therefore urged

them to resist the treaty. But while the Indians were holding their

war-council, to deliberate upon the matter, the armed soldiers broke

in upon them, deposed the war leaders, and compelled the poor Seminoles

to retire from their land of fruits and flowers, to the pine barrens and

the swamps. They did this, but they carried the memory of their wrongs

written deep in their bosoms.

[Illustration: Osceola.]

Not long after they had taken possession of their new territory, the

Seminoles made another bargain, by which they engaged to retire from

Florida, give up their lands there, and remove to another territory,

upon the upper-waters of the Arkansas, far to the west. When the time

for removal came, the poor Indians still felt reluctant to leave the

land of their fathers, and go away to unknown and distant regions!

In order to compel them to remove, an officer of the United States

called upon them to deliver up their horses and cattle, as they had

promised to do, and go to their new home. Upon this, they prepared for

resistance. They retired to the deep thickets in the swamps, called

_hammocks_, and taking their wives and children and some of their

horses and cattle, set their enemies at defiance.

After a time Osceola, or Powel, as he was sometimes called, was chosen

as their chief. He was partly of Indian, and partly of white blood--but

a man of great courage, skill and energy. When he became the leader,

the war assumed a serious aspect.

I cannot now tell the whole story of the struggle that has been

maintained by the Seminoles for nearly seven years. They have displayed

a degree of courage, patience, perseverance, and patriotism, scarcely

equalled in the annals of history--considering the smallness of their

number, and the mighty force that has been brought against them.

Osceola was a vagabond child among the Indians, but he became their

chief, and maintained the war with vigor for some time. At last he

was taken, and being removed to a fort on Sullivan’s Island, near

Charleston, S. C., he died in 1838.

The war has been continued since his death, and both the Indians and

the American troops sent against them, have performed wondrous feats

of valor. It is supposed that the Indians are now nearly destroyed or

worn out, and that the few who remain must soon surrender to their more

powerful enemies.

Such is the sad story of the Seminoles. They are savages, but they have

shown many traits of character worthy of our respect. We shall soon

possess their lands, but they have cost our country many millions of

dollars, and far more than they are worth. This piece of history tells

us that even an Indian tribe, small though it be, if it bears hatred in

its bosom, founded upon acts of oppression, may become the instrument

by which that oppression is punished.

Composition.

The following is a letter of an East Indian servant, addressed to a

physician who had been attending his master:

To Dr. ----

Most learned Saib--I am instructed by his excellency, the

noble saib, to make information that his arm alteration

of pain, sensibly diminishing heat of surface. Accounted

for by them Blue Balls which your making master digest. My

honored master his face already seize collour of custard

apple which not desirable. Your honor when will come then,

tell bearer who will show the place of the unfortunate

Budwood Saib, the prey of the vulture ill-luck.

The meaning of this is as follows:

Most learned Sir:--I am instructed by his excellency, my

noble master, to inform you that the pain in his arm has

sensibly decreased. The heat of his skin is accounted for

by the blue pills you gave him, which had a very powerful

effect. My honored master’s face has already become the

color of a custard apple--a bad symptom. When your honor

comes to visit him, the bearer will point out his residence

to you.

[Illustration: _The Cereopsis._]

Natural Curiosities of New Holland.

NEW HOLLAND is the largest island in the world, being as extensive as

Europe. It is considered a continent by some writers on geography: but

its size is not the greatest point of interest. It possesses several

birds, quadrupeds, and even vegetable productions, distinct in kind

from those of any other part of the world. It produces kangaroos,

which are as large as a sheep, and carry their young ones in a natural

pocket. They jump seventy-five feet at a bound; and use their tails as

a jumping-pole.

It produces black swans, and flying opossums; the superb menura, a bird

with a tail shaped like an ancient harp; the platypus, a queer fellow,

with a bill like a duck, fur like a beaver, and claws like a woodchuck!

Among other curiosities found in New Holland, is the _cereopsis_, a

kind of speckled goose. We give a picture of this bird, which will

afford a better idea of its appearance, than words can convey. Who

would not like to go to New Holland?

TOLERANCE.--“In my youth,” says Horace Walpole, “I thought of writing a

satire upon mankind; but now, in my old age, I think I should write an

apology for them.”

Story of Philip Brusque.

CHAPTER X.

_Pacification.--Another attempt to adopt some form of government._

The morning that followed the battle of the tents, and the death of

Rogere, was fair and bright. The sun, at rising, seemed to burst

from the bosom of the briny element, at the same time converting its

boundless surface into a mirror of burnished gold. The light clouds

that hung in the east, in long horizontal lines, were also of a golden

hue, betokening at once the gentleness of the morning breeze, and

the fair weather that was to characterize the day. M. Bonfils, as he

stepped forth from the tent, and felt the fresh air, and looked abroad,

could not but be struck with the beauty of the scene around. “It is

indeed a lovely morning--and this is a heavenly climate,” said he, half

audibly. “Oh, that the human beings upon this lone island, would look

forth upon nature, and take a lesson of peace from its teaching!”

As he said these words, he was met by Brusque, and several other

persons, who had been deliberating as to what course ought to be

pursued. No communication had, as yet, been had with the defeated

party at the cave, and the state of feeling there was a matter of

entire uncertainty. After a little conversation, M. Bonfils offered

himself to go alone to the cave, and propose some amicable adjustment

of difficulties. To this, Brusque as well as others objected; urging

upon the hoary patriot the danger of placing himself in the power of

these violent men, recently defeated, and likely still to be irritated

by the death of their leader. But these reasons did not shake the old

man’s purpose. He replied that he feared no danger; that the Rogere

party would probably be more reasonable now than before; that his very

helplessness would disarm their vengeance; and that even if they took

his life, it was but the remnant of an existence, now near its close,

and which he could well afford to risk for the sake of his friends.

Finding him entirely devoted to the adventure, Brusque withdrew his

objections, and the aged man departed, taking no weapon of defence;

supported, however, by a light bamboo cane, for his step was tottering,

and his frame frail, from extreme age. The people saw him take his way

up the hill, with anxious and admiring eyes, and there was more than

one cheek down which the tears stole, showing that their hearts were

touched by the fortitude and devotion of the patriarch.

In a brief space after the old man had gone, Brusque and François,

unnoticed by the people, wound their way around the trees, and ascended

to a sheltered spot, near the cave, to be in readiness to offer succor,

should any rudeness or insult be threatened to M. Bonfils. From this

cover, they saw him approach the cave, around which about a dozen men

were standing. They were all armed, and appeared to be in expectation

of attack, yet ready for desperate defence. There was a determination

and daring in their looks, which alarmed both François and Brusque: and

it was with a feverish interest that they saw the old man, tottering

indeed, but still with a calm and tranquil aspect, march directly up to

the party, take off his hat, and speak to them as if the emotions of

fear were unknown to his bosom.

“I have come, my friends,” said he, “for I will not call my fellow-men

enemies--I have come to speak to you of peace. I have come in the

name of those who are your countrymen, in behalf of mothers, sisters,

children, to beg you to lay down your weapons, to lay aside all

thoughts of war; to”----

“Down with the old fool!” said a rough voice; “let us hear no more of

his twaddle.” “Nay, nay!” said another; “none but a brute will injure

an old man: let’s hear him out. It can do us no harm.”

This seemed to be acceptable to the party, and M. Bonfils went on.

“I pray you to listen to me for a moment. Look around upon this island;

is it not a little paradise? How beautiful are the skies above; how

glorious the sun that shines upon it; how soft the breezes that fan its

surface; how luxurious the vegetation that clothes its swelling hills

and its gentle vales! Was this spot made for peace or war? Is there a

heart here that can look around, and not feel that nature whispers a

lesson of peace? Does not every bosom whisper peace? Does not common

sense teach us peace? What can we gain by strife, but evil? Can it

promote our happiness to slay each other like wild beasts? If we are

to have war, and blood is to be shed, will the conquering party enjoy

their victory, when they are forever to live in sight of the graves of

their butchered brethren?

“Oh my friends--my countrymen--take an old man’s counsel: no one can

be happy, if others are not happy around him. If one of us become a

despot, and his will is law, he will still be a wretch, because he will

be in the midst of the wretched. Every human bosom reflects the light

or the shadow that falls on other bosoms. Man cannot live for himself

alone. Let us then be wise and live for each other. Let us enter into

a compact to secure each other’s peace. Let us adopt a system of

government, which shall secure equal rights and equal privileges. This

is just, fair, and wise. It is the only course to save the inhabitants

of this island from misery and desolation. This is my errand; I came

to pray you to throw aside your weapons; I came to beg that what is

past may be forgotten. I propose that you reflect upon these things;

and that, as soon as may be, you send a deputation to the party at the

tents, to acquaint them with your decision.”

Saying this, the old man departed.

This mission was not without its effect. The party at the cave took the

subject into serious consideration, and though there was a division of

opinion, yet the majority concluded that it was best to accede to the

offered terms of pacification. They accordingly appointed two of their

number, who went to the tent party, and proposed that another attempt

should be made to establish some form of government.

This proposition was at once accepted; and a committee, consisting of

five persons, was appointed to draw up a constitution. The result will

be given in another chapter.

Beds

Strew then, oh strew,

Our bed of rushes;

Here may we rest,

Till morning blushes!

In the days of Elizabeth, the peasants used logs of wood for pillows.

In the time of the Hebrew kingdom; the bed resembled a divan;

consisting of a low elevation, running round three sides of a small

room, and stuffed with cushions. In the early times, the Romans slept

on leaves: afterwards they used hay and straw. Till the close of the

thirteenth century, straw was common in the chambers of palaces. Rushes

were also sometimes used for beds, as the preceding extract from an old

English song shows. To the English belongs the merit of having brought

improvements in beds to the present state of perfection.

[Illustration]

THE GREAT BUSTARD.

THIS noble bird, being twice as large as a turkey, weighing often

thirty pounds, is found in the northern parts of Europe, and even in

England. Its food is esteemed as a great delicacy, and therefore it is

scarce in countries thickly inhabited by man. It frequents open plains,

runs with rapidity, and if pursued, rises upon the wing, and skims over

the ground with great swiftness. It lives upon grasses, grain, and the

leaves of tender plants. It lays its eggs on the ground, without a

nest. The young ones, when pursued, skulk in the grass or leaves, and

are thus often taken with the hand. The bustard is sometimes tamed, but

even then it is shy, and never seems to place full confidence in man.

AFRICAN RINGS.--Dollars are in great request among the old kings and

chiefs of the interior of Africa. They first drill two holes, about the

centre, into which they insert a circular piece of lead to slip on to

the finger; the surface of the dollar being on the upper part of the

hand, like a seal.

[Illustration]

The Tartar.

Throughout the central parts of Asia are various tribes of Tartars, some

of which pursue the vocation of robbers. We give a picture of one of

these fellows, mounted on his dromedary, and armed with a good supply

of spears.

These Tartar thieves usually roam in small parties over the thinly

settled plains and barren lands of Central Asia, making an occasional

assault upon the poor villagers, or attacking and plundering the

caravans of merchants and travellers that may be met with. They are a

fierce and cruel race, and appear to have pursued this course of life,

from the earliest period to the present time.

Answers to our Puzzles.

One of our correspondents has been so kind as to offer an answer to the

puzzle of 28 letters in our last number, as follows:

The first, instead of a French villa,

I find to be the town _Manilla_.

The second, of presaging ill,

Is that detested scroll, _Rent Bill_.

The third a _Cab_, and by my hat,

The fourth is nothing but a _Cat_.

With Yankee privilege, I’ll try

To guess the fifth; a grain of _Rye_!

Sixthly, we find that people will

Poor master William, nickname _Bill_.

And seventh, all blessings were in vain,

Should heaven withhold her showers of _Rain_.

The eighth discloses man’s worst lot,

A self-degraded, loathsome _Sot_.

The ninth as bright in color glows,

As Sharon’s richest, sweetest _Rose_.

The tenth, if I have not forgotten,

Is that important product, _Cotton_.

The whole, that school of information,

_Mercantile Library Association._

Another correspondent sends us the following:

MR. EDITOR:--Our little circle gathered about the table to

guess out the conundrums in Merry’s Museum; and the result

of our united investigations I send you.

That Man begins with _M_, no one, indeed, can doubt;

A hard _Sum_ is a task, as many school-boys have found out.

A welcome winning sure, is _Yes_ to all who favors seek,

And human creatures often _Err_, for they are frail and weak.

The _Muse_ is often drawn with beauteous face divine,

And like a goddess do her form, her face, and features shine.

With Mr. _Merry_ we shall soon be pretty well acquainted,

And his _Museum_ pleases us, with covers yellow painted.

* * * * *

_Manilla_, a town in East Indies is found,

The _Rent-bill_, to some, maketh sorrow abound.

A _Cab_ is a vehicle, greatly in use,

And a _Cat_ is of value, where rats are profuse.

The _Rye_, when well ripened, is useful for food,

But _Bill_, for a nickname, I think is not good.

That _Rain_ is a blessing, sure no one will doubt,

And a _Sot’s_ to be pitied, whether in doors, or out.

The _Rose_ is a flower admired by all,

And _Cotton_, I think, without commerce, would fall.

Have I found out the puzzle? Surely ’tis great vexation,

To make rhyme with _Mercantile Library Association_.

_Lancaster, Jan. 5, 1842._

We cannot refuse a place to the following, for it is both short and

sweet:

The answers to the puzzles in your magazine, are “_Merry’s

Museum_,” and “_Mercantile Library Association_.”

Yours,

A BLACK-EYED FRIEND.

THE SNOW-STORM.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

[Illustration: music]

Down, down the snow is falling slow,

Powd’ring the bald-pate trees:

Its myriad flakes

A blanket makes,

And wrap the sleeping leaves.

Fierce now the blast!

The snow flies fast,

And whirls in many a spray--

Wreath chases wreath,

O’er hill and heath,

Like spirits in their play.

Jack Frost is out,

And drives about--

The white drift for his sled--

Loud roars the gale--

The child turns pale,

And hugs his trundle-bed!

The storm is past,

Gone, gone the blast!

The moon shines fair and bright--

Come, girl and boy,

With shout of joy--

We’ll have a slide to-night!

* * * * *

APOLOGY.--We owe an apology to the Rev. A. B. Muzzy for the insertion

of several articles in our Museum, on the important subject of _habit_.

We copied them from an English magazine, giving credit for them to

that source. We are now informed that they are from an excellent work,

entitled “_The Moral Teacher_,” by the aforesaid gentleman.

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 3.

[Illustration]

The Siberian Sable-Hunter.

CHAPTER VII.

_Arrival at Yakoutsk.--Letter from home.--Departure._

Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect of the country, as our

travellers approached the town of Yakoutsk. This was situated on a

nearly level plain, which was now covered with snow. There were only a

few stunted trees to be seen, and not a dwelling for miles around the

town. The river, of which a view was afforded, was frozen over, and the

scene bespoke a land of sterility and the stern season of winter.

Yakoutsk contains about 7000 inhabitants, and is built of wood. The

houses are low and mean, and the people, for the most part, live in

poverty and wretchedness. The climate is so severe, that, so late as

June, the frost is not out of the ground; and in September, the Lena,

which is a large river, is frozen over. Of course, the fruits yielded

by the soil are exceedingly few, and the people have hard work, during

the three brief months of summer, to lay up a sufficient store of food,

fuel, and clothing, to save them from perishing during the long and

bitter winter of nine months.

It was now three months since Alexis had parted from his friends at

Tobolsk, and he was separated from them by a space of two thousand

miles. He expected to get letters from home, brought by the post,

and as soon as he and his party had obtained lodgings, he went to the

office, where they were to be left. It was with a beating heart that

he entered the place, and inquired for his letters. So long a time had

elapsed since his departure, and so vast a distance now lay between him

and his friends, that he experienced a sickening sense of anxiety. What

might not have happened to his aged father, or his dear sister?

These were the thoughts in his mind, as the person at the office handed

him a letter, on which he instantly recognised the hand-writing of

Kathinka. He thrust it into his bosom, and, with a rapid step, sought

his lodgings. Here he broke the seal, and read as follows:

“DEAREST ALEXIS:--It is now two months since you left us,

and it seems a year. I have counted the very hours since

your departure, and could I have foreseen the weariness,

anxiety, and longing that your absence has occasioned, I had

never consented to your enterprise. When I think that you

will be two thousand miles from Tobolsk when this reaches

you, I am really sick at heart. And yet nothing has happened

to give us any particular cause of anxiety. Indeed, our

condition has rather improved. The governor’s lady bought

the lace collar which I wrought, and has since taken other

articles, and she has paid me well for them. The governor

himself has noticed me kindly, though there is something

about him I do not like. He smiles when he meets me, and

flatters me very much; but still, his dark brow frightens

me. However, I must not offend him, for he is not only kind

to me, but he has called upon our poor father, and expressed

his desire to make his exile as little painful as possible.

What all this means I cannot say, but I hope it proceeds

from the kindness of his heart.

“Do you remember young Suwarrow, who was at our house, while

the Princess Lodoiska was concealed there? He was somehow

concerned in aiding her escape; and after her departure, I

had never seen him till he came here. He is of Polish birth,

but his family is Russian, and he is now an officer of the

castle in Tobolsk. He arrived about the time you left us. He

soon found us out, and has been to see us frequently. He is

a noble fellow, and, though a Russian soldier, seems to

possess the heart of a Pole. It is a great comfort to find

such a friend, and I think it the more fortunate, that he

and father seem to like each other so much. The only thing

about it that troubles me, is, that he seems to dislike my

going to the governor’s house, and is very careful to

conceal his visits, so that they may not be known to his

commander. What does all this mean?

“You will hardly expect me to tell you any news, for we see

little of society, and in fact we are almost as much lost to

the world, as if Tobolsk were a prison. The only thing of

particular interest that has occurred, is the arrival of

several Polish exiles. Some of them are of noble families,

and father’s heart has been wrung to agony for them. Alas,

that the love of one’s country should be a crime, for which

banishment to this dreary land must atone!

“You will desire to know all about our dear father. He is

now happily relieved from the fear of immediate want; the

products of my needle, so liberally paid for by the

governor’s lady, supply us with the few necessities of life.

He spends a good deal of time in reading; for Suwarrow has

furnished us with books; and occasionally we get the

Petersburgh Gazette from the same source. He seems more

tranquil, but I see that sorrow is gradually weaving its

shadows over his brow. There is a settled sadness in his

face, which sometimes makes me weep. Oh, how changed is his

condition! Once in the possession of wealth and power; once

so active, so energetic, and, by the springs he set in

motion, exerting so great an influence! now, so utterly

helpless, isolated, and lost! How is the light of his life

put out! Dear Alexis, these things move me to tears. I would

that you were here to share, and thus to soften my grief.

But I am thankful that there is one often here who

understands my feelings. Is it not strange that a Russian

should be the depositary of our confidence, and the

alleviator of our sorrow? I think father likes Suwarrow more

than I do. If you were here, I should care less for him; but

what can I do, in my brother’s absence, but find consolation

in the society of one who seems to have a brother’s interest

in my happiness?

“I have had a great deal of anxiety for you. Pray write me a

long letter, and tell me all about your journey. How have

you borne the long and weary march of two thousand miles?

Alas, that Alexis Pultova should have come to this! And yet,

my brother, it may be good for you: I mean, it may promote

your happiness. It may seem strange to you, for it surprises

myself, to find a real pleasure in my toil. I once thought

that labor was a curse, but I now find it a blessing. It is

associated in my mind with the comfort and independence of

our father; there is something soothing and consoling to

think that I, poor I, can be so useful. Do not think me

conceited, but really, Lex, I feel quite important! And you

may find a similar compensation for your exertions and

privations. Only think, now, if you should bring home a

quantity of fine furs, and enable father to live a little

more according to his wont; what a pleasure that would be!

It appears to me that, if I were a young man, I should be

very proud to be able to do something clever. The

consciousness of being able to compel fortune to come at

one’s bidding, is reserved for your sex. We girls can only

admire such things in men; we may not possess the feeling

itself. Still, I now feel a certain degree of confidence in

myself, which is a source of much cheerfulness to my heart.

“I have now written my sheet nearly full, yet I have not

told you a hundredth part of what I think and feel. Oh that

I could see you, dear, dear Alexis! I never loved you so

well as now, in your absence. I am not content with this

cold way of speaking to you. I want to pour out my soul with

the lips to your own ear, and in your real presence. Yet I

must not be impatient. I would not recall you, for I believe

you are in the path of duty. Let the confidence that an arm

more powerful, protects you, nerve your heart for your hardy

enterprise. Write me a long letter. I shall write again in

four months, so that on your return to Yakoutsk, after your

hunting excursion upon the banks of the Lena, you will get

news from us once more. Father sends his blessing, and a

thousand kind prayers and wishes for your safety. Suwarrow

wishes to be kindly mentioned to you. Farewell! farewell!

KATHINKA.”

We need hardly say that this tender epistle drew many tears from

Alexis. For a time he was almost overcome with a yearning for home,

but this feeling subsided, and he was able to direct his attention

to other matters. The streets of Yakoutsk presented many objects of

curiosity. There were parties of Kamtschadales, in the town, muffled in

skins, and drawn on sledges by dogs; and there were Samoiedes--short

copper-colored fellows, dressed in sealskins, and drawn by reindeer.

These, and hunters and trappers of many other tribes, were to be seen

in the streets, all of them seeking a market for their furs. And there

were merchants here to buy them from Russia, and Tartary, and Japan,

and other countries. Nothing could be more curious than the contrasts

furnished by these different people.

Linsk had been here before, and understood the manners and business of

the place. He was a good judge of furs, and having some spare cash,

he bought a few skins, remarkable for their fineness, knowing that he

could make a large profit on them on his return to Tobolsk. These he

deposited, for safekeeping, in the hands of a merchant.

After a few days, having made provision for their wants, the hunters

left Yakoutsk, and taking a northern course along the banks of the

Lena, pursued their way to the hunting-ground, where they hoped to

gather a rich harvest of sable-skins.

It was now mid-winter, and it is hardly possible to conceive of

anything more dreary than the country through which they passed. It

was a rolling plain, covered deep with snow, over which the wind was

driving in its swift and unbroken career. Not a house or hut was

visible for leagues; there was no path; and the travellers were obliged

to guide themselves, as they proceeded on the hard snow-crust, like the

voyager upon the sea, by the heavenly bodies, or occasional landmarks.

Pursuing their weary and lonely way--seeming, in the vast expanse, like

insects creeping slowly on--they reached at night a small uninhabited

hut, situated in a wooded ravine, and designed for the shelter of

travellers.

Here the party made preparations for rest, and soon fell asleep. Early

the next morning, Linsk went forth, leaving Alexis and his sons to

their repose; his object being to see if he could not find some game,

for he was now becoming eager to enter upon business. Scarcely had he

proceeded two hundred yards when a bear sprung suddenly from a thicket

of fur trees, and rearing on his hind legs, was about clasping the old

hunter in his arms! But Linsk was like a weasel--always on the watch.

Quick as thought, he seized the bear by the throat, and drawing his

dirk, plunged it into his bowels. He fell with a fearful growl to the

earth, and Linsk, drawing back, levelled his rifle at his head, and

letting go the ball, killed him in an instant.

FRUITS OF INDUSTRY.--Franklin, the greatest philosopher and statesman

of America, was once a printer’s boy. Simpson, the great mathematician,

and author of many learned works, was at first a poor weaver. Herschel,

one of the most eminent of astronomers, rose from the low station of

a fifer boy in the army. These examples show us the happy effects of

industry and perseverance.

* * * * *

DR. WATTS.--It was so natural for Dr. Watts, when a child, to speak in

rhyme, that even at the very time he wished to avoid it, he could not.

His father was displeased with the propensity, and threatened to whip

him if he did not leave off making verses. One day, when he was about

to put his threat into execution, the child burst into tears, and on

his knees said,--

“Pray, father, do some pity take,

And I will no more verses make.”

* * * * *

SENSIBILITY.--A lady, who made pretensions to the most refined

feelings, went to her butcher to remonstrate with him on his cruel

practices. “How,” said she, “can you be so barbarous as to put little

lambs to death?” “Why not, madam,” said the butcher, “you would not eat

them alive, would you?”

[Illustration:

1. _Bees making wax._

2. _Working bee._

3. _Queen bee._

4. _Drone._

5. _Humble bee._

6. _Mason bee._

7. _Death’s-head moth._

8. _Honey guide._

9. _Honey ratel._]

Bees.

There are several kinds of bees; the most interesting species of which

is the honey bee. Small and insignificant as this little creature

might appear to be, it is one of the most wonderful animals in the

world. Many of them live in a wild state and make their hives in hollow

trees. In America, and other countries, there are persons who devote

themselves to finding these hives for the sake of the honey. One of

the most common methods adopted is to place some bee-bread, in order

to tempt the bees, on a flat board or tile, and draw a circle round

it with white paint. The bee always settles upon the edge of anything

flat, so she must travel through the paint to reach the bee-bread. When

she flies away, the white on her body enables the observer to trace

her flight, and her course is marked down with a pocket compass. The

same thing is done at another spot, some distance from the first, and

by comparing the direction of the two lines, the situation of the nest

is easily found, as it must be at the point, where, if continued, the

lines would meet. In Africa, the bee hunter is aided by a little bird

called the honey guide. In the same country the honey ratel will sit

and hold one of his paws before his eyes, about the time of sunset, in

order to get a distinct view of the objects of his pursuit; and when

he sees any bees flying, he knows that at that hour they are returning

home, and so he follows them.

The domestic bees afford a good opportunity for studying the habits of

this wonderful race of insects. Three kinds of bees are discovered in

the hive; the drone, the queen bee, and working bee. The drones are the

fathers of the young bees, and live an idle life. They are larger than

the rest, and make a louder hum in flying. The queen is the mother of

the young bees, and governs the hive. The subjects are much attached to

her.

If she dies, the whole community is thrown into the greatest agitation,

and those which first find out what is the matter, run about the hive

in a furious manner, touching every companion they meet with their

little horns or feelers, which are called antennæ. These in their turn

run about in the same manner, and inform others of the sad event,

till the whole hive is in confusion. This agitation lasts four or

five hours, after which the bees begin to take measures for repairing

their loss. Nothing can be more extraordinary than the way in which

they proceed. They build several cells, which are much larger than the

common ones, and of a different form. Having removed one of the worker

worms into each of these, they feed it with a particular kind of food,

and in a few days it grows larger, and at length comes out a queen. One

of these becomes the sovereign of the hive.

If the bees lose their queen, and there are no worms or young to supply

her place, they leave off working, and die in a few days. But if in the

midst of their agitation their lost queen should be restored, they are

quiet immediately, for they instantly remember and distinguish her from

all others. If a new queen were to be placed in the hive too soon after

the loss of the other, no attention would be paid her, and she would be

starved or smothered in the crowd. But when four and twenty hours have

passed, and the first grief is over, a stranger queen is well received

and reigns immediately. The bees crowd about her, touch her by turns

with their antennæ, give her honey, range themselves round her in a

circle, and follow her as a guard when she moves.

The offspring of one queen alone is too numerous for a hive to hold.

She will sometimes lay in one season sixty or seventy thousand eggs; so

it would never do to have more than one queen. Some of the eggs turn

to queens, some to drones, and the largest portion to workers. The

swarms that leave the hive are each led by a queen. The drones do not

collect honey, or help to build the cells. People, who like them lead

an idle life, are sometimes called drones. The drones are turned out

of the hive before winter, that they may not eat the honey that the

industrious workers have collected.

A swarm of bees, on entering a new hive, immediately want cells to

store their honey in, and to bring up their young. These cells cannot

be made without wax, which is obtained, not from flowers, as is

supposed, but from the body of the bees. This forms best while they are

quiet; and in order to obtain it, they hang themselves in clusters,

clinging to each other’s legs. Having remained in this situation for

twenty-four hours, they scrape it off, and form it into cells, the

tongue being used as a sort of trowel. Their industry, skill and

contrivance in doing this are admirable.

Bees have many enemies beside man, the honey guide and the honey ratel.

Wasps and hornets attack them while in search of flowers, and moths

steal into the hive, where they sometimes do great mischief. At night,

sentinels are set to watch, and by moonlight you may see them pacing

to and fro, turning in every direction. If an enemy approach, the

sentinels utter a loud hum, and other bees rush to their aid. If the

moth gets in, and escapes being stung to death, it lays its eggs, which

produce grubs, that sometimes oblige the bees to quit the hive. The

death’s-head moth, which is very large, sometimes gets in and produces

a sound, which renders the bees motionless, and then it steals their

honey.

The humble bee is a clumsy looking creature, with which most people

are acquainted. It builds its nest in hayfields, of moss. The way in

which the bees collect this material is curious. One bee settles on a

tuft of moss, with its head turned from the place where the nest is to

be. It then tears off little bits with its teeth and fore legs, and

passes them to the middle pair, and then to its hind legs, when it

holds out the bunch of moss as far as it can, to another bee who is

placed behind. This bee receives it, and in the same way passes it to

the next, and so on till it reaches the nest. This is lined with coarse

wax, and contains a few combs, clumsily made.

The humble bee is tormented by a kind of mite, which sometimes is

found upon them in great numbers. They have recourse to a most amusing

contrivance to get rid of them. A humble bee thus tormented will go to

an ant-hill, and then kick and scratch till the ants come out to see

what is the matter. Before they drive their noisy visiter away, the

ants seize upon these mites and carry them off as a prize, and the bee,

as soon as it is set free from its enemies, flies away contented!

HENRY IV., KING OF FRANCE.--This monarch always made his children call

him papa and father, and not the usual ceremonious title of “sir,” or,

“your majesty.” He used frequently to join in their amusements; and one

day, as he was going on all-four’s, with the dauphin, his son, on his

back, an ambassador entered his apartment suddenly, and surprised him

in that attitude. The monarch, without moving from it, said to him,

“Monsieur l’Ambassadeur, have you any children?” “Yes, sire,” replied

he. “Very well then,” said the king, “I shall finish my race round my

chamber.”

* * * * *

WOMEN.--Fontenelle being asked by a lord in waiting, at Versailles,

what difference there was between a clock and a woman, instantly

replied, “A clock serves to point out the hours, and a woman to make us

forget them.”

[Illustration]

The several varieties of Dogs.

The above engraving represents the most remarkable kinds of dogs. The

following is a description of them, beginning at the left hand of the

top row.

1. Irish Greyhound,--the largest species.

2. Newfoundland, web-footed, fond of the water, and remarkable for his

sagacity.

3. Mastiff, a favorite as a guard.

4. Greyhound, the fleetest of all dogs.

5. Esquimaux, used to draw the sledges of the Esquimaux.

6. Large, rough water dog, used in hunting ducks.

7. Spanish pointer, a favorite with sportsmen.

8. Setter, a fine sporting dog.

9. Old English greyhound, now very scarce.

10. Bandog, a rare species, resembling the mastiff.

11. Shepherd’s dog, used in Europe for tending sheep.

12. Bull-dog, the fiercest of all dogs.

13. Cur-dog, active and sagacious.

14. Lurcher, used for killing hares and rabbits.

15. Fox-hound, used for pursuing foxes.

16. Harrier, strong and active.

17. Beagle, used in pursuing hares.

18. Dalmatian, used as an attendant upon a coach.

19. Large water spaniel, docile and affectionate.

20. Small water spaniel, resembles the former.

21. Springer, used for hunting woodcocks.

22. Terrier, active and strong, used for destroying rats and mice.

23. Turnspit, formerly used in England for turning a spit.

24. Comforter, kept as a lap-dog.

Anecdote of the Indians.

Mr. Catlin, who is a portrait painter, has been a great deal with the

Indians in the far west, in order to paint likenesses of the chiefs and

others. He has met with many curious adventures, and these he has told

in a book, which is just published. The following story is from this

work:

“The sensation I produced amongst the Minatarees, while on the Upper

Missouri, by taking from amongst my painting apparatus an old number

of the New York Commercial Advertiser, edited by my kind and tried

friend, Col. Stone, was extraordinary. The Minatarees thought that I

was mad, when they saw me, for hours together, with my eyes fixed upon

its pages. They had different and various conjectures about it--the

most current of which was, that I was looking at it to cure my sore

eyes, and they called it the ‘medicine-cloth for sore eyes.’ I, at

length, put an end to this and several equally ignorant conjectures,

by reading passages in it, which were interpreted to them, and the

object of the paper fully explained; after which it was looked upon as

a much greater mystery than before, and several liberal offers were

made me for it, which I was obliged to refuse, having already received

a beautifully garnished robe for it from the hands of a young son of

Esculapius, who told me that if he could employ a good interpreter to

explain everything in it, he could travel about amongst the Minatarees,

and Mandans, and Sioux, and exhibit it after I was gone, getting rich

with presents, and adding greatly to the list of his medicines, as

it would make him a great medicine-man. I left with the poor fellow

his painted robe and the newspaper; and just before I departed I saw

him unfold it to show some of his friends, when he took from around

it some eight or ten folds of birch bark and deer skins, all of which

were carefully enclosed in a sack made of the skin of a pole-cat,

and undoubtedly destined to become, and to be called, his mystery or

medicine bag.”

NO DISPUTING ABOUT TASTES.--The hedgehog will eat Spanish flies, which

will kill a dog, and a common hog feasts upon rattlesnakes.

Indians of America.

CHAPTER XIV.

_South America continued.--Recapitulations.--Indians of the

Pampas.--Manner of living.--Employment, war.-- Weapons.--

Manner of fighting.--What effect the use of fire-arms would

produce.--Reflections.--Abipones.--Manners.--Occupation,

and exercises.--Employments of the females.--Polygamy,

and its effects.--Missionaries.--Intemperance of the

Indians.--Number of Indians in South America.--Reflections._

I have, in the preceding chapters, given a sketch of the history,

manners, &c., of the chief Indian nations in South America, which have

been subjected to European power. The influence of the invaders has

operated on all the tribes, even on those who still retain their wild

liberty and savage customs; but in the interior of that vast country,

and amid its rocky fastnesses the red man is yet uncontrolled, and

seems uncontrollable.

The most marked and extraordinary difference of character and customs

among these wild tribes is exhibited by the Indians of the Pampas, or

great plain east of the Cordillera, and the tribe of Abipones, residing

in Paraguay. These Indians always appear on horseback, and their habits

being influenced by this Cossack mode of life, are worth a separate

description.

The Pampas[5] Indians are a handsome race, but wild and fierce as

mountain eagles. They may be said to pass their lives on horseback.

They wear no clothing, not even a covering on the head, either in the

freezing winter or hot summer.

They live together in tribes, each of which is governed by a cacique,

but they have no fixed place of residence. Where the pasture is good,

there they are to be found, until it is consumed by their horses,

and then they instantly remove to a verdant spot. They have neither

bread, fruit, nor vegetables, but they subsist entirely on the flesh of

their mares, which they never ride; and the only luxury in which they

indulge, is that of washing their hair in mare’s blood.

Their whole occupation is war; this they consider the natural and most

noble employment of men; and they declare that the proudest attitude of

the human figure is when, bending over his horse, a man is riding at

his enemy.

Their principal weapon is the spear. It is about eighteen feet long,

and they use it with great dexterity. When they assemble, either to

attack their enemies or to invade the country of the Christians, they

collect large troops of horses and mares, and then, uttering the wild

shriek of war, they start at a gallop. As soon as the horses they ride

are tired, they vault upon the bare backs of fresh ones, keeping the

best until they see their enemies. The whole country affords pasture

for their horses, and they kill the mares for their own provisions. The

ground is their bed, and to that only have they been accustomed, so

that they find no inconvenience in their long marches of thousands of

miles. These Indians, with their red lances, at present are but little

heeded; but, to quote Captain Head, “as soon as fire-arms shall be put

into the hands of these brave, naked men, they will be elevated in the

political scale as suddenly as though they had fallen from the moon.”

It may not suit the politics of the whites to calculate upon such an

event as the union of the Araucanian and the Pampas Indians--but who

can venture to say that the hour may not be decreed, when these men,

mounted upon the descendants of the very horses which were brought over

the Atlantic to oppress their forefathers, shall rush with irresistible

fury on their invaders, till the descendants of the Europeans are, in

their turn, trampled under foot, and in agony and torture, in vain are

asking mercy from the savage Indians?

It was the rude, wild and despised tribes of the old world, that,

rushing from their mountains and forests, broke in pieces the mighty

fabric of Roman power, and overturned and destroyed all their systems

of civilized policy, and the refinements of luxurious taste.

It is only by the introduction of true Christianity, that any permanent

improvement in the character of these Indians can be hoped; and the

Araucanians are the nation which, if rightly instructed in the truths

of the Bible, seem most likely to become the missionaries and teachers

of the red race.

The Abipones,[6] resident in Paraguay, are also a nation of horsemen,

but in many habits, are more like the Araucanians than the Pampas

Indians. They wear clothing, and are very industrious in manufacturing

cloth, and utensils of various kinds.

They are a very healthy race, and long-lived. They are temperate in

eating, and the women never drink intoxicating liquors of any kind.

They are also very modest in their behavior: the girls spend all their

time with their mothers in domestic employments, and the young men,

engrossed with the exercise of arms and horses, never attempt any acts

of gallantry, though they are cheerful and fond of conversation.

Riding, hunting, and swimming are their daily employments. They climb

trees to gather honey, make spears, bows and arrows, weave ropes of

leather, dress saddles, practise everything, in short, fatiguing to

the hands or feet. In the intermission of these employments, they race

their horses for a sword, which is given to him who reaches the goal

first.

The women, debarred from the sports and equestrian contests of the men,

are occupied day and night with the management of domestic affairs.

They are however very active on horseback. They must needs be, as

all their journeyings are made in this manner. They carry all their

household utensils, goods and chattels packed on the horses they ride,

and frequently stow their little children in bags of skins, among the

pots and pans; and there they ride very easily.

The Abipones, like most of the American savages, practised polygamy.

But here, and also among the Araucanians, it is chiefly confined to

the richest men among the tribe, the others not being able to support

more than one wife. But the Abipones were guilty of another horrid

crime, which was never practised in Araucania,--the mothers frequently

destroyed their new-born infants. This awful sin was in consequence of

polygamy being allowed: the mother was fearful that, if she devoted

herself to taking care of her infant, her husband would marry another

wife in the meantime. Here we see how wickedness increases itself, and

thus causes sin to abound more and more.

Since the instruction of the missionaries, however, there has been a

great change in the conduct of the Abipones. They have been taught

that there was a divine law against this cruelty, though their nation

did not punish it, and they now seldom put their infants to death.

And it was wonderful to see the change wrought in the course of a few

years, after polygamy, divorce, and infanticide had been, by Christian

discipline, abolished. The nation seemed filled with happy little

children; for religion makes earth, as well as heaven, a place where

innocence may live in peace. But there is still a great reformation

needed in this tribe. The men are intemperate; even those who profess

to be Christians, and have been baptized, will join in their drunken

frolics. True, neither the women nor the youth drink any intoxicating

draught and the missionary,[7] from whose works we select, says, that

if they did, the whole Abipone nation would soon come to destruction.

Their chief liquor is a kind of mead, made from honey and the

_alforba_, a berry which abounds in the woods during four months of

the year, from December to April. During these months a married man

of the nation used seldom to be sober; but there is a change for the

better. Yet, the missionary says that it is easier to eradicate any

other vice from the minds of the Indians, than this of intemperance.

They will sooner live content with one wife, abstain from slaughter

and rapine, give up their ancient superstitions, or employ themselves

in agriculture and other labors, notwithstanding their indolence. But

it must be done; and if white Christians, or those who bear the name,

would all practise temperance, as well as teach it, the red men might

be made temperate.

There are, according to Humboldt, nearly six millions of Indians in

South America. We think there is reason to believe that they have, on

the whole, decreased in that country since its discovery by Europeans.

In the south they have mingled with the European settlers, which in

North America has never been found practicable. The religious orders

have also founded missions, which, though doubtless encroaching on the

liberties of the natives, have generally been favorable to the increase

of population. As the preachers advance into the interior, the planters

invade their territory; the whites and the castes of mixed breed,

settle among the Indians; the missions become Spanish villages, and

finally the old inhabitants lose their original manners and language.

In this way, civilization advances from the coasts towards the centre

of the continent.[8]

Such was the aspect of affairs while these provinces were under the

Spanish government; since they became independent, the Indians, in most

of the states, are allowed the full benefit of the free institutions

established. As education becomes more diffused, and religion,

divested of its superstitions, becomes more pure and peaceful; we may

confidently hope, that the red man will partake of the blessings of

civilization and Christianity, and, in South America at least, enjoy

those moral and intellectual advantages which shall elevate him to an

equality with his white brethren.

[5] See Head’s Journey over the Pampas and the Andes.

[6] See a history of this people, by Martin Dobrizhoffer,--

eighteen years a missionary in the country.

[7] Martin Dobrizhoffer.

[8] Humboldt.

ABSENCE OF MIND.--Sir Isaac Newton, one evening in winter, feeling it

extremely cold, drew his chair very close to the grate, in which a

fire had been recently kindled. By degrees, the fire being completely

kindled, Sir Isaac felt the heat intolerably intense, and rung his

bell with unusual violence. John was not at hand; he at last made

his appearance, by the time Sir Isaac was almost literally roasted.

“Remove the grate, you lazy rascal!” exclaimed Sir Isaac, in a tone

of irritation very uncommon with that amiable and placid philosopher,

“remove the grate, before I am burned to death.” “Please your honor,

might you not rather _draw back your chair_?” said John, a little

waggishly. “Upon my word,” said Sir Isaac, smiling, “I never thought of

that.”

The Wisdom of God.

The wisdom of the Creator is shown by the relation which the structure

of animals bears to their mode of life.

The instances of this kind are numerous. There is a curious resemblance

between the stomach of a hen and a corn-mill; the crop answering to

the hopper, and the gizzard to the stones which crush the corn. But

the most interesting point of resemblance is this: to prevent too much

corn from going into the stones at once, a receiver is placed between

them and the hopper, so that it may be dribbled out just as fast as is

required. The same process takes place in the hen, for though the crop

may be filled, its food only enters the gizzard gradually, and as fast

as that is able to digest it.

Another instance of obvious fitness and adaptation of one part to

another, is furnished in birds of prey. Owls, hawks, eagles, &c., by

their talons and beaks, are qualified to seize and devour other birds

and quadrupeds; and accordingly the gastric juice in the stomach of

these birds will act upon or digest flesh, but it will not digest seeds

or grasses, or vegetables of any kind. On the other hand, the mouth of

the ox and sheep is suited to the cropping of herbage; and accordingly

we find the gastric juices of their stomachs will digest vegetable

food, and not flesh!

There is another instance of fitness in a provision of nature, which

marks the intelligence of the Creator, and that is, that the eyes of

all animals are placed in front, in the direction in which the legs

move, and the hands work; and therefore where they are most useful. How

awkward would it be for us if our eyes were in the back of the head!

How comparatively useless would the eyes of quadrupeds be, if placed

behind!

Nature is full of such instances as these, all setting forth the

intelligence and wisdom of the Creator; and not only displaying

the marks of a designing and intelligent Mind, but intelligence in

contriving and power in executing, which know no bounds. No obstacle

seems to be presented that is not surmounted, and no contrivance to

accomplish an object seems to be adopted, that is not, all things

considered, the best that could be devised.

Another fertile and interesting source of evidence of the wisdom of God

is found in the contrivances resorted to by the Creator to compensate

his creatures for certain defects in their organization. Thus the

short neck of the elephant is compensated by the admirable device of a

proboscis, one of the most complicated and ingenious, but successful

expedients of nature.

The bat has a clumsy foot and leg, but to compensate for this, he is

supplied with a hook on his wing, by which he suspends himself to a

beam, or to the sides of rocks, and in this way he usually obtains his

sleep. The crane, the heron, the bittern are destined to live upon

fish, yet they cannot swim. To make up for this deficiency they are

provided with long legs for wading, or long bills for groping, and

sometimes with both.

The common parrot would have an inconvenience in the very hooked shape

of its upper jaw, or mandible, if like that of other birds it was

stationary, for in this case it could hardly open its mouth to take its

food. But this hook being wanted by the parrot to climb and suspend

itself with, to remedy the evil above mentioned, this upper mandible is

capable of being elevated or depressed at pleasure.

There is a grub called the glowworm, that gives out a phosphoric light

in the darkness. Why is this? That her mate may find her; for while she

is a worm he is a fly; while she is on the earth he is in the air.

They would not be likely to meet therefore, if some extraordinary means

of uniting them was not resorted to; but this, Nature has foreseen and

provided for.

The spider’s web is a compensating contrivance, of a very ingenious

character. This creature is made to feed on flies; yet how was it

to catch them, for it had no wings? This might seem to be a case of

difficulty, but the web is a net, and the spider is not only taught

how to weave it, but his body furnishes the thread! How ingenious, how

wonderful, how multiplied, are the resources of the God of Nature!

In many species of insects, the eye is fixed, and cannot be turned

in its socket. To supply this great defect, the eye is a multiplying

glass, with a lens looking in every direction, and showing every object

that may be near. Thus, what seemed at first a privation, by this

curious and interesting expedient is made to be an advantage, as an eye

thus constructed, seems better adapted to the wants of these creatures

than any other. The common fly is said to have four thousand lenses in

each eye, and the butterfly thirty thousand!

The neck of the chameleon is stiff, and cannot be turned; how then

is he to look about himself? It would puzzle most of us to contrive

a remedy for this difficulty; but Nature seems never at a loss. The

eye-ball stands out so far that more than half of it projects from the

head; and the muscles operate so curiously that the pupil can be turned

in any direction. Thus the chameleon, who cannot bend his neck, can do

with facility what is difficult for most other animals--he can look

backwards even without turning his body!

The Canary Bird.

A small girl, named Caroline, had a most lovely canary bird. The little

creature sung from morning till night, and was very beautiful. Its

color was yellow, with a black head. And Caroline gave him seed and

cabbage to eat, and occasionally a small piece of sugar, and every day

fresh, clean water to drink.

But suddenly the bird began to be mournful, and one morning, when

Caroline brought him his water, he lay dead in the cage.

And she raised a loud lamentation over the favorite animal, and wept

bitterly. But the mother of the girl went and purchased another, which

was more beautiful than the first in color, and just as lovely in its

song, and put it in the cage.

But the child wept louder than ever when she saw the new bird.

And the mother was greatly astonished, and said, “My dear child, why

are you still weeping and sorrowful? Your tears will not call the dead

bird into life; and here you have one which is not inferior to the

other!”

Then the child said, “O, dear mother, I treated my bird unkindly, and

did not do all for it that I could and should have done.”

“Dear Lina, you have always taken care of it diligently!”

“O, no,” replied the child, “a short time before its death, the bird

being very sick, you gave me a piece of sugar as medicine for it; but I

did not give to him the piece of sugar, but ate it myself.” Thus spake

the girl, with a sorrowful heart.

The mother did not smile at this complaint, for she understood and

revered the holy voice of conscience in the heart of the child.

[Illustration]

The Paper Nautilus.

This little animal is to be found, chiefly, in the Mediterranean sea.

Its shell is very thin and brittle, from which circumstance it is

called the paper nautilus. It is mentioned by Pliny and some other

ancient writers, and it is supposed that the art of navigation owed

its origin to the expert management of this little sailor. Eight arms

it raises for sails, while six hang over the side of the shell, and

are used for oars. While sailing upon the water this animal has the

appearance of a little vessel. On the approach of danger, which it is

quick to perceive, the little mariner absorbs a quantity of water, and

sinks into the depths of the sea. It is seldom taken when sailing.

There is another species of nautilus, which has a thick shell, in which

there are several chambers.

Merry’s Adventures.

CHAPTER XVII.

I cannot easily make my readers, who have always lived in cities or

towns, understand the pleasure of sleeping in the woods, with no roof

but the sky. Perhaps most persons would think this a hardship, and so

it would be, if we had to do it always: but by way of adventure now and

then, and particularly when one is about seventeen, with such a clever

fellow as Mat Olmsted for a companion and a guide, the thing is quite

delightful.

The affair with the panther had excited my fancy, and filled my bosom

with a deep sense of my own importance. It seemed to me that the famous

exploits of Hercules, in Greece, which are told by the old poets, were,

after all, such things as I could myself achieve, if the opportunity

only should offer.

Occupied with these thoughts, I assisted Mat in collecting some fagots

for our night fire--but every moment kept looking around, expecting to

see some wild animal peeping his face between the trunks of the gray

old oaks. In one instance I mistook a stump for a bear’s head, and in

another I thought a bush at a little distance, was some huge monster,

crouching as if to spring upon us.

The night stole on apace, and soon we were surrounded with darkness,

which was rendered deeper by the fire we had kindled. The scene was

now, even more wild than before: the trees that stood around, had the

aspect of giants, lifting their arms to the sky;--and their limbs often

assumed the appearance of serpents, or demons, goggling at us from

the midnight darkness. Around us was a seeming tent, curtained with

blackness, through which not a ray of light could penetrate.

I amused myself for a long time, in looking at these objects, and I

remarked that they assumed different aspects at different times--a

thing which taught me a useful lesson, and which I will give, gratis,

to my young readers. It is this, that fancy, when indulged, has the

power to change objects to suit its own wayward humor. Whoever wishes

to be guided right, ought, therefore, to beware how he takes fancy for

a guide.

When our fire had been burning for about half an hour, Matthew having

unbuckled his pack, took out some dried deer’s flesh, upon which

we made a hearty supper: we then began to talk about one thing and

another, and, finally, I spoke of the Indians, expressing my curiosity

to know more about them. Upon this, Mat said he would tell an Indian

story, and accordingly, he proceeded nearly as follows:

These six nations, you must know, were not originally confined to

this small tract of country, but they were spread far and wide over

the land. Nor were they always united, but in former days they waged

fierce wars with one another. It was the custom among all the tribes

to put captives to death, by burning them, inflicting at the same time

the most fearful tortures upon the victims. Sometimes, however, they

adopted the captive, if he showed extraordinary fortitude, into the

tribe, and gave him all the privileges of the brotherhood.

An instance of this sort occurred with the Senecas. They had been at

war with the Chippewas, who lived to the north. Two small bands of

these rival tribes met, and every one of the Chippewas was slain, save

only a young chief named Hourka. He was taken, and carried to the

village of the victorious Senecas. Expecting nothing but torture and

death, he awaited his fate, without a question, or a murmur. In a day

or two, he saw the preparations making for his sacrifice: a circular

heap of dried fagots was erected, and near it a stake was driven in the

ground.

To this he was tied, and the fagots were set on fire. The scorching

blaze soon flashed near his limbs, but he shrunk not. An Indian then

took a sharp piece of stone, and cut a gash in Hourka’s side, and

inserted in it a blazing knot of pine. This burned down to the flesh,

but still the sufferer showed no signs of distress. The people of the

tribe, came around him, and jeered at him, calling him coward, and

every other offensive name: but they extorted not from him an impatient

word. The boys and the women seemed to be foremost in taunting him;

they caught up blazing pieces of the fagots, and thrust them against

his naked flesh; but yet, he stood unmoved, and his face was serene,

showing, however, a slight look of disdain. There was something in

his air which seemed to say, “I despise all your arts--I am an Indian

chief, and beyond your power.”

Now it chanced that a daughter of an old chief of the Senecas, was

there, and her heart was touched with the courage and manly beauty

of the youthful Chippewa; so she determined to save his life if she

could: and knowing that a crazy person is thought by the Indians to

be inspired, she immediately pretended to be insane. She took a large

fragment of the burning fagot in her hand, and circling around Hourka,

screamed in the most fearful manner. She ran among the woman and boys,

scattering the fire on all sides, and at the same time exclaiming, “Set

the captive free,--it is the will of Manitto, the Great Spirit!”

This manoeuvre of the Indian maiden was so sudden, and her manner was

so striking, that the Indians around were taken by a momentary impulse,

and rushing to the captive, sundered the strings of bark that tied him

to the stake, and, having set him at liberty, greeted him as a brother.

From this time, Hourka became a member of the tribe into which he was

thus adopted, and none treated him otherwise than as a chief, in whose

veins the blood of the Senecas was flowing, save only a huge chief,

called Abomico.

This Indian was of gigantic size, and proportionate power. He had taken

more scalps in fight, than any other young chief, and was, therefore,

the proudest of all the Senecas. He was looked upon by the girls of the

tribe, very much as a young man is among us, who is worth a hundred

thousand dollars. When, therefore, he said to Meena--the daughter of

the chief who saved the life of Hourka--that he wanted her for his

wife, he was greatly amazed to find that she did not fancy him. He

went away wondering that he could be refused, but determining to try

again. Now the long, dangling soaplocks, and filthy patches of beard,

worn by our modern dandies, who desire to dazzle the eyes of silly

girls--were not in vogue among the Senecas: but foppery is a thing

known among savages as well as civilized people.

Accordingly, Abomico, when he had determined to push his suit with

Meena, covered himself entirely over with a thick coat of bear’s

grease; he then painted one side of his face yellow, the other blue;

his arms he painted red; on his breast he drew the figure of a snake;

on one leg he painted a skunk; on the other a bear. Around his neck he

hung a necklace of bears’ claws, and on his arm he bore forty bloody

scalps, which he had taken from the heads of enemies slain in battle;

at his back was a quiver of arrows, and in his left hand was a bow.

In his hair was stuck a bunch of eagles’ feathers; from his right ear

swung the skin of a racoon; in his right hand he bore the wing of a

crow.

Thus attired, Abomico marched toward the tent, where Meena dwelt with

her father. Never was a beau of one of our cities, new from the hands

of the tailor, more delighted with his appearance, than was this

Indian dandy, as he drew near to the tent, and waited at the door for

the maiden to appear. “If she can resist my charms now,”--thought

Abomico,--“she must be bewitched indeed!”

Meena soon appeared--and the chief spoke to her again, begging her

to become his wife. “Come!” said he--“go with me, and be the singing

bird in my nest. I am a great warrior. I have slain forty brave men in

battle. I have feasted on the flesh, and drunk the warm blood, of my

enemies. I have the strongest arm, the truest hand, the swiftest foot,

the keenest eye, of any chief in the mighty tribe of the Senecas.”

“It is not true!” said Meena.

“Not true?” said the chief, in great anger and astonishment. “Who dares

to match himself with Abomico? Who can vie with him in the race? Who

can shoot with him at the mark? Who can leap with him at the bar?”

“Hourka!” said Meena.

“It is a lie,” said Abomico; though I must say, that he meant

no offence--because, among the Indians, such a speech was not a

discourtesy.

“Nay--nay,” said Meena--“I speak the truth; you have come to ask me to

be your wife. Hourka has made the same request. You shall both try your

power in the race and the leap, and at the bow. He who shall be the

master in the trial, may claim Meena for his slave.”

This proposition was gladly accepted, and Hourka being informed of it,

a time for the trial was appointed. The people of the village soon

heard what was going on; and, as the Indians are always fond of shows

and holidays, they rejoiced to hear of the promised sport.

The day of the trial arrived. In a grassy lawn, the sport was to be

held; and here the throng assembled. It was decreed by the chiefs that

the first trial should be with the bow. A large leaf was spread out

upon a forked branch of a tree, and this was set in the ground, at

the distance of about fifty yards. Abomico shot first, and his arrow

pierced the leaf, within half an inch of the centre. Hourka followed,

and his arrow flew wide from the mark, not even touching the leaf. He

seemed indeed careless, and reckless. But, as he turned his eye upon

Meena, he saw a shade of sorrow come over her face.

In an instant the manner of the young chief changed. He said to

himself,--“I have been mistaken: I thought the maiden slighted me and

preferred my rival: but now I know that she loves me, and I can now

beat Abomico.”

There were to be three trials of the bow. In the two which followed

the first, which we have described, Hourka had the advantage and

was pronounced the victor. And now came the leap. A pole was set

horizontally upon stakes, to the height of about five feet, and Hourka,

running a little distance, cleared it easily. Abomico followed, and he

also leaped over it with facility. It was then raised about a foot,

and Hourka, bounding like a deer of the wood, sprang over the pole,

amid the admiring shouts of the multitude. Abomico made a great effort,

and he too went over, but his foot grazed the piece of wood, and the

victory here again was awarded to Hourka.

The face of the haughty Abomico, now grew dark as the thunder-cloud. He

could bear to be rejected by Meena; but to be thus vanquished before

the whole tribe, and that too by one who had not the real blood of a

Seneca, was more than his pride could bear. He was, therefore, plotting

some scheme of revenge, when the race was marked out by the chiefs. It

was decreed that they should run side by side to a broad river which

was near; that they should swim across; ascend on the opposite bank to

a place above a lofty cataract in the river, and recrossing the river

there, return to the point of their departure.

The place occupied by the spectators, was so elevated as to command

a fine view of the entire race-ground; and the interest was intense,

as the two chiefs departed, bounding along, side by side, like two

coursers. The race was long nearly equal. They came to the river, and

at the same moment both plunged into the water. They swam across, and

at the same moment clambered up the rocky bank on the other shore.

Side by side they ran, straining every muscle. They ascended to the

spot above the roaring cataract, and plunged into the river; then

drew near the place where the water broke over the rocks in a mighty

sheet, making the earth tremble with the shock of their fall. Still the

brave swimmers heeded not the swift current that drew them toward the

precipice. Onward they pressed, cutting the element like ducks, and

still side by side.

Intense was the interest of the spectators, as they witnessed the

strife. But what was their amazement, when they saw Abomico rise above

the wave, grapple Hourka and drag him directly toward the edge of the

cataract. There was a shout of horror, through the tribe, and then a

deathlike silence. The struggle of the two rivals was fearful, but in

a short space, clinging to each other, they rolled over the precipice,

and disappeared among the mass of foam, far and deep below!

Killed, by falling on the rocks, and gashed by many a ghastly wound,

the huge form of Abomico was soon seen drifting down the stream; while

Hourka swam to the shore, and claimed his willing bride, amid the

applauses of men, women and children.

[Illustration]

The Zodiac.

The Zodiac consists of a broad belt in the heavens, among which the sun

appears to make his annual circuit. The stars are arranged in groups,

and the ancients, who were fond of astronomy, called these groups or

constellations, by particular names. One group they called ursa major,

or great bear; one they called orion; another, the crown; another, the

dog; another Hercules, &c.

In the month of March, the sun is said to enter aries, that is the

group or constellation called aries, or the ram; in April it enters

taurus, or the bull; in May, gemini, the twins; in June, cancer,

the crab; in July, leo, the lion; in August, virgo, the virgin; in

September, libra, the scales; in October, scorpio, the scorpion; in

November, sagittarius, the archer; in December, capricorn, the goat; in

January, aquarius, the water bearer; in February, pisces, the fishes.

The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences

of Thomas Trotter.

CHAPTER XVI.

_The grotto of Pausilippo.--A dying man.--The Lazzaroni.--Weather

at Naples.--The grotta del cane.--Inhuman sport.--Subterranean

fires.--A Funeral.--Characteristics of the Neapolitans._

I had heard a great deal of the grotto of Pausilippo, which is a great

tunnel through a mountain at one end of the city, and I took a walk

toward that quarter, for the purpose of visiting it.

This is certainly one of the most surprising works of art in the world,

considering its age. It was executed two or three thousand years ago,

and is probably the most permanent artificial work on the face of the

earth. Even the Egyptian pyramids will not last so long as this. To

have some idea of it, you must understand that Naples is separated from

the towns on the northern coast by the hill of Pausilippo, which is a

ridge of solid rock.

Through this rock an immense tunnel is cut, three quarters of a mile

long, and nearly a hundred feet high. It is broad enough for two

carriages to pass, and lighted by lamps. Several air-holes, at proper

distances, serve to ventilate it and keep the air pure. A great deal

of travel is constantly passing through it: and during the heat of

summer, the grotto, has a most refreshing coolness. The rumbling of the

carriages is echoed from the rocky vault overhead in a very remarkable

manner. Altogether, the place struck me with surprise and astonishment;

and when I thought of our railroad tunnels, which we boast of as modern

inventions, I could not help repeating the observation of king Solomon,

that “there is no new thing under the sun.”

While I sat at supper in the evening, I was startled by hearing a bell

tinkling violently under my window. I ran to the balcony and found the

whole street in a blaze of light. A religious procession was going down

the street bearing lighted tapers. I was told that it was a priest

going to administer extreme unction to a dying man.

At the sound of the bell, which was carried by one of the procession,

all the neighbors ran to the windows and balconies with lamps and

candles, and fell upon their knees; for this is the custom on such

occasions. In an instant the whole street was in a blaze of light, and

the prospect of this illumination, with the long procession of persons

dressed in white, chanting a mournful dirge, and the crowds in the

balconies in solemn and devout attitudes, struck me very forcibly. As

the procession passed by each house, the spectators crossed themselves

and uttered a prayer for the soul of the dying man. So sudden are the

transitions of these people from the gayety and merriment of their

daily occupations to the solemnity of their religious observances.

Everybody who has been at Naples, has something to say about

the _Lazzaroni_, which is the name given to the idle fellows and

ragamuffins of this city. Many people imagine them to be a distinct

race of men, like the gipseys in other parts of Europe; but this

is an error. Every city in Europe has its proportion of lazy and

ragged fellows: but in Naples their number is so great that they have

obtained this peculiar name. By some, their numbers are stated at

twenty thousand. I will not vouch for the full number, but they exist

in swarms. Nowhere else did I ever see such comical raggedness as

among these people. The scarecrows, which Yankee farmers set in their

cornfields to frighten away the birds, are genteel figures compared to

these fellows. One has half a pair of trowsers; another half a jacket,

and no trowsers at all; another wears the leg of an old stocking for

a cap; another has a ragged pair of breeches the wrong side upwards

for a shirt. As to the patches and tatters, they surpass all power of

language to describe. How they get their living, one is puzzled to

guess, for they seem to spend all the day basking in the sun; and in

spite of their rags and dirt, they appear to be as happy as lords.

They are constantly in good humor, singing, chattering, grimacing, and

cutting capers from morning to night. In fact, notwithstanding their

want of almost all those things which we call necessaries of life,

they appear to be troubled with very little suffering. Their rags

and nakedness give them little concern, for the climate is so mild

that they hardly feel the want of a covering. Their food is chiefly

macaroni, which is very cheap here: two or three cents worth will

suffice a man for a day. Their manner of eating it makes a stranger

laugh; they hold it up in long strings, at arm’s length, and swallow it

by the yard at a time. As for their homes, the most of them have none:

they sleep in the open air, on the steps of the churches, and wherever

they can find a convenient spot to lie.

It was about the middle of March, which is the most disagreeable month

of the whole year in this country; yet I found the weather very mild

and pleasant. Light showers of rain happened almost every day; but

these lasted commonly but a few minutes and were succeeded by warm

sun-shine. I could discern the Appenines at a distance, covered with

snow, while the hills around the city were decked with green olive

trees. Oranges and lemons were plenty and very cheap: three or four for

a cent.

I set out on a walk to visit the famous _grotta del cane_, or “dog’s

cavern,” which is only a few miles from Naples. The road lay through

the grotto of Pausilippo, and I could not avoid again admiring this

wonderful cavern, the work of men who lived in what we have supposed

to be an age of barbarism. At the further end I emerged into the open

air and found a region of fields and vineyards, separated by walls of

clay. Little children ran along by my side, tumbling head over heels,

clacking their chops, making queer noises and antic gestures by way of

begging for coppers. All along the road were poplar trees, to which the

vines were trained, but they were not in leaf. After a walk of three or

four miles I came to lake Agnaro, a piece of water about the size of

Fresh Pond in Cambridge. On the shore of this lake is the _grotta del

cane_. It is a rocky cavern which enters horizontally a little above

the water, and emits from its mouth a sulphureous steam or vapor, which

will kill a dog if he is put into the cavern. People who live in the

neighborhood keep dogs for the purpose of exhibiting this phenomenon to

strangers. The dogs know the fatal properties of this cave, and refuse

to go in. While I was there, some of these fellows came to me and

offered to exhibit the experiment; but I declined, not wishing to see

an animal treated with cruelty for mere curiosity. They assured me that

the dog need not be killed--that they would only keep him in the cave

long enough to throw him into a swoon, and then bring him to life again

by plunging him into the water. I told them this was as bad as killing

him outright: for the animal could suffer no more by actually dying.

They were very unwilling to lose their expected fee, and answered me

that there was no suffering in the case, but, on the contrary, the dogs

were very fond of the sport! I laughed at this impudent falsehood, and

refused to have anything to do with the exhibition.

A few minutes after, a party of visiters arrived who had no such humane

scruples: they were resolved to see the experiment tried. Accordingly,

a dog was brought forward; and I now had a chance to see how much

truth there was in the assertion that these animals were fond of being

choked to death. The poor dog no sooner perceived his visiters than he

became as perfectly aware of what was going forward as if he had heard

and understood every syllable that had been said. It showed the utmost

unwillingness to proceed towards the cavern, but his master seized him

by the neck and dragged him with main force along till he reached the

mouth of the cave, into which he thrust him howling and making the most

piteous cries. In a few minutes he fell upon the ground motionless, and

lay without any signs of life. The spectators declared that they had

seen enough to satisfy them; on which the fellow took the dog up by

the ears and plunged him into the lake. After two or three dips, the

poor animal began to agitate his limbs and at length came to himself

and ran scampering off. These inhuman exhibitions ought not to be

encouraged by travellers.

Every part of the neighborhood of the city abounds with evidence of the

existence of volcanic fire, under ground. As I walked along the road

I found the smoke issuing from holes and clefts in the ground: and on

placing my hands in these fissures, I found them so hot that one might

roast eggs in them. Yet people build houses and pass their lives upon

these spots, without troubling themselves with the reflection that they

live on a thin crust of soil hanging over a yawning gulf of fire! In my

walk homeward I passed by a hill, about the size of Bunker Hill, which

some time ago rose up suddenly, in a single night, from a level plain.

It is now all overgrown with weeds and bushes. If it were not for Mount

Vesuvius, which affords a breathing-place for these subterranean fires,

it is highly probable that the whole face of the country would be rent

into fragments by earthquakes and volcanic explosions. Vesuvius may be

called the _safety valve_ of the country.

On my way home, I was stopped on the road by an immense crowd. It was

a funeral. A long train of monks and priests attended the hearse, each

one clad in a dress which resembled a loose white sheet thrown over the

head and falling down to the feet, with little round holes cut for the

eyes. They looked like a congregation of spectres from the other world.

The corpse was that of an army officer. He lay not in a coffin, but

exposed in full uniform upon a crimson pall edged with gold. Everything

accompanying the hearse was pompous, showy and dazzling.

This indeed is the characteristic of the people; almost everything in

their manners and mode of life is calculated to strike the senses and

produce effect by dazzling and external display. Nothing can surpass

the splendor of their religious processions, the rich and imposing

decoration of their churches, and the pomp and parade and showy

display which attend the solemnization of all their public festivals.

The population of these countries are exceedingly sensitive to the

effect of all these exhibitions, and their lively and acute feelings

bring them under the influence of whatever is addressed strongly to

their outward senses. They are little guided by sound reason and sober

reflection, but are at the mercy of all the impulses that arise from a

keen sensibility and an excitable imagination.

Story of Philip Brusque.

CHAPTER XI.

_The meeting.--Discussion.--A government adopted.--Conclusion

for the present._

The time for the meeting of the people to take measures for the

establishment of a government for the island of Fredonia, was fixed for

the day which followed the events narrated in the last chapter. This

meeting was looked forward to with intense interest, by all parties.

The men, who knew that there could be no peace or safety in society,

without government, regarded the event as likely to decide whether the

inhabitants of the island were to be happy or miserable.

The women, who were perhaps not apt to reflect upon these things, had

also learned from their experience that a government, establishing and

enforcing laws, was indispensable to the quiet and security of society:

they saw that their own lives, their freedom, their homes, were not

secure, without the protection of law. Even the children had found that

government was necessary, and these as well as the women, were now

rejoicing at the prospect of having this great blessing bestowed upon

the little community of Fredonia.

The day for the meeting arrived, and the men of the island assembled,

agreeably to the appointment. First came the men of the tent party, and

then, those from the Outcast’s cave. The latter were greeted by a shout

of welcome, and mingling with the rest, a kind shaking of hands took

place between those, who so lately were arrayed against each other in

deadly conflict.

After a short time, Mr. Bonfils, being the oldest man of the company,

called the assembly to order, and he being chosen chairman, went on to

state the objects of the assembly, in the following words:

“My dear friends; it has been the will of Providence to cast

us together upon this lonely, but beautiful island. It would

seem that so small a community, regulated by mutual respect

and mutual good will, might dwell together in peace and

amity, without the restraints of law, or the requisitions of

government. But history has told us, that in all lands, and

in all ages, peace, order, justice, are only to be secured

by established laws, and the means of carrying them into

effect. There must be government, even in a family; there

must be some power to check error, to punish crime, to

command obedience to the rule of right. Where there is no

government, there the violent, the unjust, the selfish, have

sway, and become tyrants over the rest of the community. Our

own unhappy experience teaches us this.

“Now we have met together, with a knowledge, a conviction of

these truths. We know, we feel, we see that law is

necessary, and that there must be a government to enforce

it. Without this, there is no peace, no security, no quiet

fireside, no happy home, no pleasant society. Without this,

all is fear, anxiety, and anarchy.

“Let us then enter upon the duties of this occasion, with a

proper sense of the obligation that rests upon us; of the

serious duty which is imposed on every man present. We are

about to decide questions which are of vital interest, not

only to each actor in this scene, but to these wives and

sisters and children, whom we see gathered at a little

distance, watching our proceedings, as if their very lives

were at stake.”

This speech was followed by a burst of applause; but soon a man by

the name of Maurice arose--one who had been a leading supporter of

Rogere--and addressed the assembly as follows:

“Mr. Chairman; it is well known that I am one of the persons

who have followed the opinions of that leader who lost his

life in the battle of the tents. I followed him from a

conviction that his views were right. The fact is, that I

have seen so much selfishness in the officers of the law,

that I have learned to despise the law itself. Perhaps,

however, I have been wrong. I wish to ask two questions--the

first is this: _Is not liberty a good thing?_ You will

answer that it is. It is admitted, all the world over, that

liberty is one of the greatest enjoyments of life. My second

question then is--_Why restrain liberty by laws?_ Every law

is a cord put around the limbs of liberty. If you pass a law

that I shall not steal, it is restraint of my freedom; it

limits my liberty; it takes away a part of that, which all

agree is one of the greatest benefits of life. And thus, as

you proceed to pass one law after another, do you not at

last bind every member of society by such a multiplied web

of restraints, as to make him the slave of law? And is not a

member of a society where you have a system of laws, like a

fly in the hands of the spider, wound round and round by a

bondage that he cannot burst, and which only renders him a

slave of that power which has thus entangled him?”

When Maurice had done, Brusque arose, and spoke as follows:

“Mr. Chairman; I am happy that Mr. Maurice has thus stated a

difficulty which has arisen in my own mind: he has stated it

fairly, and it ought to be fairly answered. Liberty is

certainly a good thing; without it, man cannot enjoy the

highest happiness of which he is capable. All useless

restraints of liberty are therefore wrong; all unnecessary

restraints of liberty are wrong. But the true state of the

case is this: we can enjoy no liberty, but by submitting to

certain restraints. It is true that every law is an

abridgment of liberty; but it is better to have some

abridgment of it, than to lose it all.

“I wish to possess my life in safety; accordingly I submit

to a law which forbids murder: I wish to possess my property

in security; and therefore I submit to a law which forbids

theft and violence: I wish to possess my house without

intrusion; I therefore submit to a law which forbids one man

to trespass upon the premises of another: I wish to go and

come, without hindrance, and without fear; I therefore

submit to a law which forbids highway robbery, and all

interference with a man’s pursuit of his lawful business.

“Now, if we reflect a little, we shall readily see that by

submitting to certain restraints, we do actually increase

the amount of practical, available, useful liberty. By

submitting to laws, therefore, we get more freedom than we

lose. That this is the fact, may be easily tested by

observation. Go to any civilized country, where there is a

settled government and a complete system of laws, and you

will find, in general, that a man enjoys his house, his

home, his lands, his time, his thoughts, his property,

without fear: whereas, if you go to a savage land, where

there is no government and no law, there you will find your

life, property, and liberty, exposed every moment to

destruction. Who, then, can fail to see that the very laws

which abridge liberty in some respects, actually increase

the amount of liberty enjoyed by the community.”

Maurice professed himself satisfied with this solution of his

difficulties; and the meeting proceeded to appoint a committee, to

go out and prepare some plan, to be submitted to the meeting. This

committee returned, and after a short space, brought in a resolution,

that Mr. Bonfils be for one year placed at the head of the little

community, with absolute power; and that, at the end of that period,

such plan of government as the people might decree, should be

established.

This resolution was adopted unanimously. The men threw up their hats in

joy, and the air rang with acclamations. The women and children heard

the cheerful sounds, and ran toward the men, who met them half way. It

was a scene of unmixed joy. Brusque and Emilie met, and the tears of

satisfaction fell down their cheeks. François went to his aged mother,

and even her dimmed eye was lighted with pleasure at the joyful issue

of the meeting.

We must now take leave of the island of Fredonia--at least for a

time--and whether we ever return to it, must depend upon the wishes of

our young readers. If they are anxious to see how the people flourished

under the reign of their aged old chief, and how they proceeded in

after years, perchance we may lift the curtain and show them the scene

that lies behind it. But I hope that our readers have learnt, that not

only men and women, but children, have an interest in government, and

therefore that it is a thing they should try to understand.

[Illustration]

The Tanrec.

This creature resembles the hedgehog, but is larger than that animal,

and is destitute of a tail. It does not roll itself into a ball, for

defence, like the former animal. It passes three of the warmest months

of the year in a state of torpor, differing in this respect from other

animals, which become torpid from extreme cold. Its legs are very

short, and it moves very slowly. It is fond of the water, and loves

to wallow in the mud. It moves about only by night. There are three

species, all found in the island of Madagascar.

Letter from a Correspondent.

_Little Readers of the Museum:_

I sometimes read Mr. Robert Merry’s Museum, and I like it very much,

as I presume all his little “blue-eyed and black-eyed readers” do. He

talks very much like good old Peter Parley. I should think he had heard

him tell many a story while he rested his wooden leg on a chair, with a

parcel of little laughing girls and boys around him. Oh, how many times

I have longed to see him, and crawl up in his lap and hear his stories!

But Mr. Merry says he is dead, and I never can see him. I am very--very

sorry, for I hoped I should sometime visit him, for I loved him very

much, and I guess he would have loved me some, for I like old people,

and always mean to treat them with respect. How cruel it was for

others to write books and pretend that Peter Parley wrote them!--for

it seems that this shortened his life. I am glad, however, that Mr.

Merry has his writings, for I think he loves his little friends so well

that he will frequently publish some of them. I said that I loved Peter

Parley, and I guess you will not think it strange that I should, when

I tell you what a useful little book he once published, and how much

pleasure I took in reading it. He wrote a great many interesting pieces

which I read and studied, and they did me much good, I think. I hope

that the little readers of the Museum will learn a good deal from what

they read.

Peter Parley wrote a piece which told us how to make pens. I read it

over, and over again, and, finally, I thought I would see if I could

not make one. So I went to my little desk and took out a quill, got my

aunt’s knife and laid the book before me and tried to do just as Peter

Parley told me I must. I succeeded very well, and my friends were quite

pleased. This encouraged me very much, and soon I made them so well

that my teachers made me no more pens. By-and-by my little associates

got me to make and mend theirs, and I loved the business very much.

Well, a few years since, I went to a beautiful village to attend

school, where a splendid academy stands, around which, are large green

trees, under whose shade my little readers would love to sit. There I

staid two or three years. Often did I walk out with the teachers, whom

I loved, to botanize, or ramble, with nimble step, over the beautiful

hills of that sweet place, and listen to the constant murmur of its

waterfalls, or gather the delicate flowers that grew so plentifully

there. But to my story. My teachers saw that I made my own pens, and

occasionally, when they were busy, would bring me one to make for them.

The students soon found it out, and I had plenty of business. One day

the principal of the school came to me and offered to compensate me

by giving me my tuition one term, which was six dollars, if I would

make and mend pens. I did not accept the money of course, though I

cheerfully and gladly performed the small service.

So you see, Peter Parley’s instruction has done me a great deal of

good, for how many persons there are who cannot make a good pen,

because they never learned how.

My little readers, I am now almost twenty years old, but I still

remember many other things which I read in Peter Parley’s books when

I was a little girl. Mr. Robert Merry talks and writes just like him,

almost, and I hope you will love to read and study attentively Merry’s

Museum, for it is a good little work, and a pleasant one. Be assured,

my young friends, you can learn a great deal from it, if you read it

carefully. I should like to say much more to you, but I cannot now. I

have been sitting by the fire, in a rocking-chair, writing this on a

large book, with a pussy under it for a desk, but she has just jumped

from my lap, and refuses to be made a table of any longer. So farewell.

Your young friend,

LAURA.

_Springfield, Jan. 6, 1842_

COOKERY BOOK.--“Has that cookery book any pictures?” said Miss C. to

a bookseller. “No, miss, none,” was the answer. “Why,” exclaimed the

witty young lady, “what is the use of telling us how to make a good

dinner, if they give us no _plates_?”

[Illustration: Names of different kinds of Type.]

Names of different kinds of Type.

Great Primer I will now tell you something

English about printing. It may be useful to

Pica spend a few lines in giving you an idea of

Small Pica the names which are applied to the different

sorts

Long Primer of type employed in the printing of books. This

I shall

Bourgeois do by putting against each line of the present

paragraph the

Brevier name of the type in which it is printed. I

shall not attempt to

Minion explain the origin of these odd terms, but

content myself with giving

Nonpareil you a notion of the proportion which one type

bears to another; so as to enable

Pearl you, when you become author, to give instruc-

tions to your printer as to the type you

wish him to use.

Condensed And by way of enlarging your vocabulary of

types, I will

Full-face add a few examples of fancy letters, adapted to

the title-

Antique PAGES OF BOOKS, SHOW BILLS OF VARIOUS

Gothic Condensed KINDS, BUSINESS CARDS, VISITING CARDS, AND MANY

OTHER

Black purposes. If you will go to Mr. Dickinson’s

printing-office,

Script No. 52 Washington Street, Boston, you will see a

Extended GREAT VARIETY

Gothic OF FANCY TYPE; AND YOU WILL

Gothic Outline ALSO SEE HOW THEY ARE SET

Tuscan Shade UP, AND HOW THEY ARE

Full-face (Capitals) PRINTED, WITH WHAT HE CALLS A

Phantom ROTARY PRESS.

Condensed (Capitals) YOU WILL ALSO SEE PRESSES WORKED BY STEAM,

AND EN-

Full-face Italic _gaged in printing books, newspapers,_

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[Illustration]

PETER PARLEY’S NEW STORIES.

No. II.

About the Three Sisters.

There were once three little girls, who went to see a balloon. When

they got to the place, they saw that it was a great bag of silk, with a

netting put over it, and to this netting, a little car was attached.

There were a great many people around the place, anxious to see the

balloon rise and sail away in the air. There were several persons very

busy in filling the balloon with what is called _hydrogen gas_, which

is a kind of air, and so light that it rises upward and carries the

balloon with it.

Pretty soon there was considerable gas in the balloon, and it then

began to ascend a little; in a short time it rose more, and, after a

few minutes, it seemed in such a hurry to get away that several men

were obliged to take hold of the net-work, and restrain it till all was

ready.

Now a man by the name of Lauriat, who had made the balloon, was

going up with it. When all was prepared, he got into the little car,

holding in his lap a cat fastened in a cage, with a thing like an

umbrella, attached to it. In a few moments Mr. Lauriat called out, “all

right!”--and the men let go of the net-work, and up went the balloon,

and up went Mr. Lauriat in the little car hanging beneath it!

It was a beautiful sight, and the people were so delighted, that the

air rang with acclamations. The three little girls, whom we shall call

History, Poetry, and Romance, were as much pleased as anybody, and

shouted, with their little voices, as loud as they could. What made it

all more pleasant, was that the people could see Mr. Lauriat, who waved

a little flag, as he ascended; and though it was almost frightful to

see a man so high in the air, yet he appeared quite at his ease and

very much gratified.

When the balloon had risen to a great height, so as to look only about

as large as my wig, Mr. Lauriat let the cat and the cage fall; but the

thing like an umbrella, called a _parachute_, kept it from coming down

very swiftly. It was a beautiful sight to see! At first the cage and

parachute were hardly visible, but they grew more and more distinct,

and at last they came nearer and nearer, and finally dropped down upon

a distant hill. Some boys ran to the place, and behold, puss was in the

cage, a good deal frightened, but as safe as ever. There are very few

cats that have had such a ride as this!

At last the balloon looked no bigger than a fly, and then it entered

a cloud and was seen no more. The company separated and went to their

homes, all talking of the balloon, and Mr. Lauriat, and puss, and the

parachute. Our three little girls also returned to their homes, and,

rushing to their mother, they were each so anxious to tell the story,

that neither could be understood. At last their mother said to them,

“My dear children, I must hear you, one at a time. Let us all sit down,

and History, who is the oldest; shall tell the story first. Then Poetry

shall tell it, and then Romance shall tell it.”

To this they all agreed, and History began as follows: “We reached the

place about four o’clock in the afternoon. There were already many

people present, but as the time advanced, others came, and soon about

two thousand people were there.

“The balloon was enclosed in a fence, made of boards, and none but the

workmen and Mr. Lauriat were permitted to enter the enclosure. There

were six large casks around, in which they made the hydrogen gas; this

was conducted to the balloon by means of tubes.

“The balloon was a large bag of silk, about forty feet long and

eighty feet in circumference. When full of gas, it was shaped like a

bell-pear, the stem downwards. The silk was oiled, so as to retain the

gas, which is lighter than the air, and floats upward in it, as a piece

of wood does in water. The balloon was enclosed in a net-work, and

beneath, a little car, or boat, was attached to it, and in this, Mr.

Lauriat sat, when he ascended.

“As the gas was conducted to the balloon, the latter gradually swelled

out, and when it was full, the men who held it down, let go; and it

ascended with Mr. Lauriat, into the air. He was cheered by the voices

of the people, and he waved a little flag back and forth, in return. It

was a pleasing scene, in which fear for the airy sailor, and admiration

of his skill and courage, were mingled.

“Mr. Lauriat had taken up with him a cat, enclosed in a cage, and to

this cage a parachute was attached. When he had risen to the height of

about a thousand feet, he let the cage go, and it came gently down like

a snow-flake, falling at last on a distant hill. The cat was taken up

unhurt. The balloon gradually grew less and less to the vision, and

finally it disappeared in a thick cloud, upon which the rays of the

evening sun were now falling.”

Such was the account given of the scene by History; and now Poetry

began:

“Oh mother, it was beautiful! The balloon went up like a soap-bubble,

and it sailed along on the air like a bird. I could hardly believe that

it was not alive, it glided in the air so gently, and so gracefully!

And Mr. Lauriat, he looked so happy! Oh it was wonderful to see a man

so high in the air, and to see him so much at his ease! I felt afraid

for him, and yet the scene pleased me the more. I wished to be with

him, though I knew I should have been frightened. And yet it seemed

so pleasing to go up in the air, and look down upon so many people,

and to know that they were all looking at you, and that so many hearts

were beating for you, and that so many were admiring you! It would be

beautiful!

“And, mother, you know that the balloon glided up and away so softly,

that it seemed like a dream, fading from the memory. And at last, when

it was like a mere insect in the vast blue sky, it stole into a cloud,

and hid itself, and then I had a feeling of sadness. Can you tell me

why, mother?”

Here there was a pause, and the blue-eyed girl, stood for a moment, as

if expecting an answer. But Romance was impatient to begin, and her

dark eye, shaded by the long black lashes, seemed to grow larger and

brighter as she spoke thus:

“History has told you, mother, all the events that occurred, and she

has accurately described them. Poetry has painted the scene, and made

it clear and bright by comparisons. But I must tell you of the thoughts

and feelings it awakened in my breast, and of the fairy world in which

I seemed to be, while I looked on the balloon.

“When the balloon went up, it seemed as if I went with it, into a new

scene. I think I have dreamed something like it, in my sleep, when

my thoughts seemed like wings, and all around was fair and heavenly.

As the balloon ascended, I seemed to ascend also. I did not, at the

moment, think how strange it was, but I went on fancying myself with

the balloon, and riding upon the air, in that little boat. And I

thought of the vast blue space around, and the earth beneath, and the

heaven above, and I felt as if I was something like an angel, gifted

with the power of rising upward, and seeing earth, and sky, and heaven,

as others could not see them. And I felt a sort of happiness I cannot

express.

“Well, as the balloon sailed farther and farther upon the airy sea,

and as it grew less and less to the sight, like a ship that glides

away upon the ocean--I began to think of the realms to which it seemed

hastening. And at last, when it flew into the cloud, I did not dream

that it had disappeared. My eye was still bent upon the spot, and I

still fancied that I was with it, and that I was sailing on and on,

upon the blue deep, and among regions where the happy and the lovely

only dwell.”

When Romance had got to this point of her story, the mother smiled,

and History tittered aloud. Poetry, however, drew nearer, and seemed

entranced with the tale of the dark-eyed girl. But Romance was dashed

at the ridicule she had excited, and was silent.

Now I suppose some of my waggish young readers, some of the roguish

Paul Pries, will laugh at me, as History did at Romance; and think me

not a little ridiculous, for telling such a rigmarole tale as this. But

old Peter knows what he is about! He has an object in view; and now, as

Mr. Lauriat let the cat out of the car, he will “let the cat out of the

bag.”

My purpose is to teach the meaning of the three words, History, Poetry,

and Romance. History is a true record of events; and, accordingly, the

little girl whom we call History, tells the exact story of the balloon.

Poetry is a display of fanciful thoughts, and deals much in comparison;

and so, our little Poetry gives a fanciful description of the scene,

embellishing her tale by many illustrations. Romance is a picture of

fantastic and extraordinary scenes and feelings; and our dark-haired

maiden, who deals in it, sets forth the fairy world of visions and

sentiments that is reflected in her own breast.

I suppose all my readers have heard of the Nine Muses, goddesses of

ancient Greece. One was called Clio, the muse of history; one was

Erato, the muse of poetry. And I have sometimes fancied that the idea

of these goddesses, might have originated among the fanciful Greeks,

from perceiving the different ways in which different persons notice

the same scenes; one being apt to remark things soberly and accurately,

like our Miss History; another being apt to see them fancifully, like

our Miss Poetry; and another apt to weave a world of fiction out of

them, like our Miss Romance.

The Zephyr.

I must tell my young reader, in order to explain these lines, that in

ancient times, the Greeks used to think that the light summer wind was

a sort of goddess, whom they called _Zephyr_.

“Where have you been to-day?” said I

To a zephyr, as it flew by;

And thus it made reply.

“I have been upon the sea,

Where the waves were full of glee,

And they lov’d to dance with me.

“On the mountain I have strayed,

And with its green leaves played,

’Mid the sunshine and shade.

“I have been in the dell,

Where the wild flowers dwell,

And oh, I loved them well!

“I have been with the brook,

And its laughing ripples shook,

As my kisses they took.

“I have been with the flowers,

In their sweet-scented bowers,

And forgot the flight of hours.

“I have played with the hair

Of a girl, wild and fair--

And I loved to linger there!

“I have been with clouds on high,

As with pinions they do fly,

In many a glorious dye!”

To my Correspondents.

I am gratified to find, although it is now but about a year since I

began to be known to the public, that already I have some thousands

of black-eyed and blue-eyed acquaintances, in different parts of the

country. I receive many letters from young persons, and they give me

great pleasure, for they show that poor Bob Merry, though he has a

“timber toe,” is not destitute of friends. I was much pleased with

a bear story about his great-great-grandfather, sent me by J. W. L.

Cheseborough, of New London. I intend to make something of it, one of

these days. Two puzzles, received from other correspondents, are given

below. I must beg those who are anxious to hear how I lost my leg--to

wait a little while. It will all come out in due season. Perhaps the

leg will turn out as interesting as Peter Parley’s great toe, that used

to tickle the boys so! I have only one thing to add, which is, that I

desire all my friends to address their letters to care of Bradbury &

Soden.

Puzzles.

_Portsmouth, Feb. 4, 1842._

MR. MERRY,--Sir: if you think the following worthy a place in your

valuable magazine, by inserting the same you will oblige a CONSTANT

READER.

I am a word of 18 letters.

My 1, 12, 17, 13, 5, 18, is an article of ladies’ dress.

My 18, 7, 6, 16, 5, is a number.

My 6, 2, 15, has been the ruination of many.

My 12, 3, 8, 12, 17, is a vegetable.

My 11, 8, 10, 4, is an article of food.

My 7, 12, 5, is much used by farmers.

My 18, 6, 12, 14, 18, is a kind of fish.

My 18, 8, 3, is a valuable ore.

My 9, 8, 15, 5, is a foreign fruit.

My whole is a great ornament to the country.

* * * * *

I am composed of 16 letters.

My 2, 1, 8, is a portion of water.

My 2, 12, 4, 15, 16, 8, has been the ruin of thousands.

My 16, 1, 15, 10, 8, is the most contemptible of all animals.

My 6, 14, 4, 15, is the name of a once celebrated tragedian.

My 3, 8, 15, 15, is the name of a town not far from Boston.

My 11, 12, 1, 15, 5, 9, is the name of a great country.

My 3, 4, 6, 7, is a sheet of water.

My 11, 13, 12, 9, is one of the elements.

My 1, 13, 12, is another.

My 11, 3, 8, is an insect.

My 15, 13, 3, 7, is the name of a river justly

celebrated in ancient and modern history.

C. B. F.

_Boston, February 1, 1842._

MARCH--A SONG.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

[Illustration: music]

March is like a child,

Now gentle and now wild;

March is like a child,

Now gentle and now wild;

To-day, the soft winds blow,

To-morrow it doth snow,

To-day the soft winds blow,

To-morrow it doth snow.

March is like a rill,

Now roaring, and now still;

Today the blast is stinging,

To-morrow birds are singing.

March is like a cloud,

Now bright, and now a shroud;

To-day the warm rain falls,

To-morrow we have squalls.

March is like a bear,

With sharp claws and soft hair;

To-day ’tis rough and wild,

To-morrow, all is mild.

[Illustration: THE HARPY EAGLE.]

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 4.

[Illustration: _Montezuma._]

Sketches of the Manners, Customs, &c., of the Indians of America.

CHAPTER XV.

_Description of Mexico.--Montezuma.--Landing of Cortez.--His

reception.--Advances towards the Capitol.--War with the

Tlascalans._

In the first part I have related, briefly, but with as much clearness

as possible, the history of the Indians of the West Indian Islands,

and of South America. I have described their customs and manners, and

traced the progress of the Spaniards and other Europeans from the

“Landing of Columbus,” till all the islands, and the greater part of

the southern continent were subjected to the invaders. We will now

turn to North America, and pursue the fortunes of the Red Man from the

burning clime of Darien to the cold regions of the Arctic sea.

At the time of the discovery of the New World, the region which is at

present known by the name of the Republic of Mexico, extending from the

Pacific to the Gulf of Mexico, and from the United States to Guatemala,

was called _Anahuac_. This vast country was inhabited by several

independent nations, of which the Mexicans were by far the greatest and

most civilized. Their capital city, Mexico, was situated on a group of

islands in the Lake of Texcuco, partly natural and partly formed by

the labor of the inhabitants. The lake of Texcuco lay in a large and

beautiful valley, called the Vale of Mexico, in the central part of the

country of Anahuac. From the shore, three great dykes or causeways,

formed of stone and earth, led to the city, the appearance of which

must have been magnificent, even to men of enlightened Europe.

The houses of the common people were mostly low wooden buildings,

arranged with the greatest regularity. But the dwellings of the

nobility were of stone, and some of them spacious and magnificent. The

city was adorned with numerous temples, the principal of which was the

great temple of their god Mexitli, the Mars of the Mexicans. This was

an enormous four-sided pyramid, one hundred and twenty feet high; on

one side were steps to ascend to the top, which was a square platform.

On this were two small temples, containing images of their gods and

altars, on which, (horrible to relate!) great numbers of human victims

were sacrificed every year, by this inhuman people.

The lake around was covered with vessels of all descriptions, and

numbers of floating gardens, filled with the most beautiful flowers.

Numerous canals were cut through the city, in which the boats of the

natives were constantly passing, as in the great towns of Holland.

But all this greatness and splendor was not, as might be supposed, the

growth of many ages of prosperity; from the foundation of the city,

according to the account of the natives, to its capture by Cortez, in

1520, had elapsed a period of only one hundred and ninety-five years.

The ancient history of the Aztec or Mexican nations, as given in their

own annals, is as follows:--

“During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries after Christ, a great

number of nations or tribes arrived at Anahuac, from some country to

the north; they are supposed by many to have come, originally, from

Tartary, crossing over to America at Bhering’s straits; but of this

we have no certain proof. The first who arrived, found the country

entirely unoccupied, except by a few stragglers, the remnant of a great

and highly cultivated people, called Saltees, who formerly possessed

the country, and had been destroyed, or driven away by famine and

pestilence. To them are ascribed the pyramid of Cholula, and many other

works of power and skill; and to them the new comers were indebted for

their knowledge of many of the arts of civilized life.

“The Aztecs or Mexicans were the last of the emigrating nations who

arrived in this country. For a long time they remained an insignificant

tribe, living in the most wretched condition, on the borders of the

lake of Tezcuco, often in a state of slavery to the neighboring kings.

At last, having regained their freedom, they settled, in the year 1325,

on a group of islands in the lake, and here founded the city of Mexico.

“This city, after remaining for about twenty years a mere collection of

wretched huts, suddenly began to increase with wonderful rapidity. By a

long series of wars, undertaken partly through desire of conquest and

partly for the horrid purpose of obtaining victims for their human, or,

rather, inhuman sacrifices, the Mexicans rendered themselves masters

of nearly all the country of Anahuac. A few states, however, among

which was the brave little republic of Tlascala, still maintained their

independence, almost at the gates of the capital.”

Such was the state of affairs at the time when Montezuma II. mounted

the throne, in the year 1502. Before, and for a short time after his

accession, he was esteemed a prince of a mild and humble disposition,

and of the greatest wisdom. But his real character soon began to

appear. He showed himself haughty, arrogant, and cruel, and a merciless

oppressor of the common people. At the same time, he was liberal

to those who faithfully served him, and a brave, and successful

warrior. He founded a hospital for his disabled soldiers, built many

magnificent edifices, and added much, by his conquests, to the extent

of his dominions.

In a war, however, with the brave republicans of Tlascala, he did not

meet with his usual success. The Tlascalans having sent an embassy to

the Mexican court, to complain of grievances which they suffered from

their neighbors, received for answer, that the king of Mexico was lord

of all the world, and all mortals were his vassals; and that, as such,

the Tlascalans should render him due obedience, and acknowledge him by

tribute; if they refused, they were to be utterly destroyed, and their

country given to another people.

To this arrogant demand, the Tlascalans returned a brave and spirited

refusal, and both nations immediately prepared for war. The Mexicans

were, by far, the most numerous, but they wanted the courage which

their enemies derived from the feeling that they fought for life

and liberty, for their homes and their country. The Tlascalans were

victorious in two pitched battles, and their opponents were compelled

to retire from the contest in disgrace.

With this exception, the first years of Montezuma’s reign were in

every respect prosperous. But suddenly a great reverse took place; a

large army of Mexicans, on an expedition to a distant country, after

suffering severely from a storm, were utterly destroyed by their

enemies. At the same time, a comet made its appearance, spreading the

greatest consternation throughout the nation; for, according to their

diviners, it portended the downfall of the empire.

While the king and his subjects were in this state of anxiety and

dread, news arrived, that a number of huge vessels, bearing men

speaking an unknown tongue, and clothed in glittering armor, had

arrived on the coast of his empire. These strangers, who so naturally

excited the admiration and awe of the natives, were no other than

Cortez and his companions.

On the second of April, 1519, this bold and enterprising Spaniard

entered the harbor of Saint Juan de Ulua, on the eastern coast of

Mexico, with eleven small vessels, containing only about six hundred

men; and of these, more than a hundred were sailors. With this small

force was he about to make war upon a monarch, whose dominions were

more extensive than all the kingdoms subject to the Spanish crown. On

the following day he landed his troops, and having selected a suitable

place for a camp, began to fortify it; in which he was zealously

assisted by the unsuspecting natives. Here he was soon visited by the

governors of the district. He received them with many demonstrations

of respect, and informed them that he had come as ambassador from Don

Carlos, of Spain, the greatest king of the East, with proposals which

he could only declare to their monarch himself. He therefore demanded

to be led immediately to his presence.

The governors attempted to dissuade him from visiting the capital,

but at the same time laid before him a rich present of gold and

silver articles, which had only the effect of increasing his desire

to proceed. He therefore repeated his demand in a determined tone.

Seeing among his visiters several painters, who were busily engaged

in taking down, for the information of their sovereign, everything

remarkable in the appearance of the strangers, he resolved to give them

a specimen of his warlike power. He ordered his troops to be drawn up

in battle-array, and to go through the evolutions of a mock battle.

While the natives were gazing in astonishment at the spectacle, the

cannon, pointed towards the thick woods which surrounded the camp,

were suddenly fired, and made terrible havoc among the trees. At

the dreadful sound, some fled, others fell to the ground, overcome

by amazement and terror; and the painters had now to exercise their

ingenuity to invent figures and symbols by which to represent the new

and surprising things they had seen.

In a few days an answer was received from the emperor, refusing an

audience, and commanding the Spaniards to leave the country; but,

at the same time, directing that they should be supplied with all

things requisite for their voyage. Notwithstanding this prohibition,

Cortez resolved to proceed, and his followers eagerly joined in

the determination. They first set about founding a colony on the

place where they had landed, as this was one of the objects of the

expedition. The whole army labored with the utmost diligence; a number

of houses, or rather huts, were soon erected, and the whole strongly

fortified. The infant settlement received the name of “_Villa rica de

la Vera Cruz_;” “the rich town of the true cross.”

The next act of the troops appears deserving of mention as a display

of heroic and determined courage almost without a parallel. Cortez,

fearing lest, when their enthusiasm should subside, the soldiers should

be seized with a desire to return, by his arguments and representations

so wrought upon them, that, of their own accord, to cut off all

opportunity for retreat, they dragged the vessels upon the beach, and

burnt them to ashes.

They had now no choice but to proceed; and, accordingly, much to the

dismay and dissatisfaction of the Indians, who did not, however,

dare to oppose them by force, they set out on their march towards

the capital. On their way, they passed through the territories of

several _caziques_ or chiefs, who bore with impatience the yoke of

their Mexican conquerors, and were glad to free themselves from it, by

transferring their allegiance to the king of Spain. Cortez eagerly

accepted their services, and artfully represented that he had been

deputed, by his sovereign, to redress the grievances which they had

suffered at the hands of the Mexicans. These new allies afterwards

proved extremely useful.

After proceeding for several days without obstruction, the Spaniards

arrived at the confines of Tlascala. Knowing the implacable enmity

of the inhabitants to the Mexicans, he expected that he should meet

from them a friendly reception. The Tlascalans, however, were far

differently disposed. Having heard that he was on his way to visit the

Mexican king, they probably suspected, that, notwithstanding all his

professions, he courted the friendship of a monarch whom they both

hated and feared. The ambassadors whom he sent to them with proposals

of alliance, they seized, and, regardless of their sacred character,

prepared to sacrifice them to their gods. At the same time they

collected their forces in order to prevent their unknown invaders from

making good a passage by force of arms.

This, however, was the only way by which the Spaniards could hope

to attain the object of their expedition. Accordingly, they entered

the Tlascalan territories, prepared to fight their way through all

opposition. They were immediately attacked by the troops of the

enemy with great intrepidity; but courage and numbers availed little

against the arms and discipline of the Spaniards, who were everywhere

victorious, without the loss of a man. The horses of the invaders

contributed much to their success. For a long time the horse and

his rider were considered as one animal; and terrible stories were

circulated of his power and ferocity. Even when they discovered their

mistake, they still believed that the horse fought with his teeth,

and devoured the bodies of the slain. Hence, when they had the good

fortune to slay one of these terrible animals, they cut off his head

and carried it in triumph as the greatest trophy of victory.

But notwithstanding their constant success, the Spaniards, at length,

worn out by their continual exertions, and the unceasing attacks

of their determined foes, were almost ready to despair. But the

Tlascalans, on a sudden, began to relax their exertions; they were

convinced that the small force, on which all their numbers and boldness

could make no impression, must be composed of beings of a superior

order; and concluding that it would be in vain to contend longer

with the children of the Sun, as they supposed them to be, they made

proposals of peace, which were joyfully accepted by Cortez and his

troops. They were hospitably received into the capital of their former

enemies, who ever after remained their most faithful allies.

[Illustration]

Butterflies.

Who has not watched with interest these little insects of the spring

and summer? Who has not been struck with the elegant beauty of these

creatures--

Which flutter round the jasmine stems,

Like winged flowers, or flying gems?

Who has not watched them, hovering over the flowers, more than

rivalling these lovely creations of the garden and the meadow, in the

splendor of their colors? And who has not seen them resting on the

flower, with a touch so light as not to make even the slenderest stalk

bend? Who has not seen them reposing on the bosom of a flower, opening

and shutting their gaudy wings to the summer dew, and alternately

raising and lowering their long, and slender antennæ or feelers? And

who has not stopped to see them unroll their long tube, coiled up like

a French horn, and apply it to the sucking up of the nectar of the

flowers? How beautiful are these creatures, and how beautifully did old

Spenser describe one of them almost three hundred years ago!

“The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,

The silken down with which his back is dight--

His broad and outstretched horns, his airy thigh--

His glorious colors and his glistening eye!”

[Illustration: _Distant view of Vesuvius._]

The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter.

Chapter XVII.

_Naples and the neighborhood.--The palace of

Portici.--Herculaneum.--Comical scene at Resina.--Ascent

of Vesuvius.--Fields of lava.--Meeting with a party of

travellers.--Reach the top of the mountain._

The country all round Naples is full of strange and interesting objects

for the curiosity of a traveller. Vesuvius is commonly the first

among these to entice him upon an excursion. One fine morning I took

my trusty stick in hand, and set out on a pedestrian jaunt towards

the mountain. The roads were crowded with country people driving

their little donkeys to the city, with panniers of greens, oranges,

lemons, and all sorts of fresh eatables for the market. The beautiful

country-seats of the rich Neapolitans excited my admiration, with their

finely ornamented gardens, lawns, and pleasure-grounds. But all these

delightful spots are surrounded by stone walls, ten or fifteen feet

high, often bristling at the top with sharp iron spikes, broken glass,

and such formidable defences. These things reminded me, perpetually,

that I was in a country where a wide distinction existed between

the poor and the rich, and where property has little security from

public opinion, or the moral habits of the common people, but must be

maintained by force. In fact, the owners of these beautiful dwellings,

have far less comfort in their possession than one would imagine. They

are surrounded by a poor, ignorant, immoral, and degraded population,

against whom they must be constantly on their guard, for nothing but

walls and watchmen can insure the rich man against depredation and

robbery.

A few miles from the city, my course brought me in front of a splendid

palace where the road appeared to terminate. I thought I must have

mistaken my route, but on inquiring of an old friar, who happened to be

passing, I was told to go straight on. I now found the road to pass

directly under the palace, which hung over it upon lofty arches, wide

enough for several carriages to pass abreast. This was the royal palace

of Portici, the place where the antiquities of Pompeii were formerly

kept; but they are now removed to Naples. At a little distance beyond

this town I came to a village called Resina, under which, at the depth

of seventy or one hundred feet, lies the ancient city of Herculaneum.

Nothing of it is to be seen but by going down a dark pit, like the

shaft of a mine; and as I meant to devote this day to Vesuvius, I

deferred my visit to these subterranean regions till another time.

Resina is the point where all travellers stop to take their start for

the mountain. The people of the village live by letting donkeys and

acting as guides. Beyond the village, the roads become rugged and

steep. Most travellers hire these animals, but I preferred walking.

While I was stopping a few moments to rest, I heard whips cracking and

the sound of wheels; and presently a couple of carriages drove into

the village, full of English travellers, going up the mountain. The

street was already crowded with villagers, each with his donkey saddled

and bridled, ready for the journey. The moment the carriages stopped,

they all crowded round them and began pushing, struggling, pulling,

hauling, tugging, and scratching one another; bawling and screaming all

the time like a pack of bedlamites. Never in my life did I witness so

comical a hurly-burly. Each man scrambled and pressed for the carriage

door, thrusting his donkey forward through the crowd, by main force,

hoping to catch an Englishman on his back as he stepped out of the

carriage. The first comer was thrust away by the second, and this one

by the third; the whole crowd of them were jammed so hard against the

carriages that the doors could not be opened, and the astonished and

affrighted travellers remained fast penned up and unable to stir. The

tumult and clamor increased; the poor little donkeys, squeezed up

in the crowd, whisked their long ears about, and bobbed their noses

against everybody around them; presently they began kicking and rearing

up, and now the scramble and uproar rose to a pitch that surpasses all

description! Down tumbles one of the donkeys, upsetting two or three

fellows in his fall; another animal pitches head-foremost over him;

the crowd scramble and push forward; whoever tries to get up catches

hold of another’s leg and lays him sprawling too; donkeys and men lay

scrambling and floundering, pell-mell, with a roaring and braying, such

as never was heard before under the sun! I laughed till the tears ran

down my cheeks, and even to this day, I never can think of the scene

without laughing for the hundredth time! At length the carriages made

a start forward, leaving the whole ragged regiment behind in the most

woful plight. How they settled the matter among themselves I never

knew, but jogged on my way up the mountain.

The road now began to be pretty steep, and the country looked broken

and rugged, yet I passed a great many vineyards on the way, which

shows that the ashes and volcanic matter of Vesuvius can make the

rocky soil of this region very productive. After going two or three

miles, I reached the station called the Hermitage, which is another

stopping-place for travellers. It is a kind of rustic hotel standing in

a lonely place, where the vineyards yield a species of wine which is in

high repute. I found half a dozen travellers stopping here to refresh,

and joined them. The keeper of this house goes by the name of the

Hermit, but always expects pay for giving you a luncheon. This is fair

enough, for, otherwise, he would soon be eaten out of house and home

by his visiters. After taking some refreshment we all started together,

taking a soldier with us for a guide and defence, being told this

was indispensable, for fear of robbery. These people have a thousand

cunning practices by which they obtrude their services upon you for a

small compensation; and travellers generally put up with their tricks,

to save themselves the trouble and delay of a dispute. My companions

were all mounted on donkeys, but on this steep road, they never go

faster than a common walk, so that I had no difficulty in keeping up

with them. One of our number was a lady, who rode her gallant dapple in

a queer, snug little sort of a pannier, or side-saddle, by the help of

which she maintained her seat in safety, while the animal tottered and

scrambled over the crags and gullies.

In a short time the vineyards disappeared, and the road passed over

broken heaps of lava. The great cone of Vesuvius lay before us,

towering over our heads. On the left we looked down into a deep, rocky

gulf, beyond which rose the long, craggy, red ridge of Monte Somma, the

twin peak of Vesuvius. On our right, the eye wandered over an immense

field of black lava, which darkened the sides of the mountain up to the

very top of the cone. The road now grew every moment steeper, and wound

through a wild region, among craggy and ponderous masses of lava which

covered the ground in every direction. All this tract was impassable

for a long time, after the last eruption; the lava being as hard as the

firmest rock, and rent into abrupt chasms and crags like a field of

broken ice. A path was at length made by cutting through these masses

and beating the lava up into a sort of Mac Adam. We passed a mile or

two on this wild road, and at length reached the foot of the cone.

This rests upon the main body of the mountain, like a dome upon a

gigantic edifice. It is too steep to be climbed, even by donkeys or

mules, besides, being of too loose materials to afford a footing

for these animals. It consists of coarse gravel, loose stones and

cinders, thrown out by the mountain with as steep a slope as such loose

materials can possibly lie in. Here we found a large number of the

above mentioned animals waiting for their riders, who had gone up. Our

party dismounted and began the ascent. I found it exceedingly toilsome.

What with the steepness of the surface and the treacherous footing to

my steps, I was constantly slipping backward, and losing by one step

what I had gained in a dozen.

But what was done with our fair companion? Ladies without number had

gone to the top of the mountain, and she was resolved not to be outdone

by any one of them. Ladies have never been considered deficient in

curiosity; and the mountaineers have a contrivance by which they can

be gratified in their desire to visit the summit of Vesuvius. Three

or four stout fellows harness themselves with a strong leather strap,

which they pass around the lady’s waist and then march onward, drawing

her after them. In this manner our fair attendant managed to ascend

the steep and slippery road up to the crater. About half way up we

met another party, likewise with a lady. She had less strength or

resolution than our friend, for she had given out, and was on the point

of returning.

This great cone, when viewed from a distance, seems to taper off almost

to a point; yet, on reaching the top, we found ourselves among heaps

of enormous lava crags extending widely around, with columns and jets

of white smoke streaming up from the clefts and spiracles here and

there. We groped our way among these black and threatening masses, and

presently came upon a party of travellers, seated upon a crag, eating

their dinner. The air was cool on the mountain top, and they had fixed

themselves in a comfortable spot, where they were roasting eggs in a

hot crack of the lava! It costs nothing for fire here. The mountaineers

came round us with baskets of fruit, bottles of wine, &c., to sell.

They drive a profitable trade with hungry travellers at the top of

Vesuvius. People whose heads are full of curiosity, are not apt to

higgle about prices, when they can purchase a comfortable mouthful in

so strange a place as the summit of a volcano.

CHAPTER XVIII.

_Description of the crater.--Prospect from the top.--Accident

in the descent of the mountain.--Visit to Torre del

Greco.--Singular life led by the inhabitants.--Remarkable

situation of a powder-house._

Although we were now on the top of the mountain, yet the crater was

still at some distance, and we followed a rude pathway which ran for

nearly a quarter of a mile among the lava crags. Everywhere the rents

and fissures sent up streams of white smoke from beneath our feet, and

the smell of sulphur loaded the air. The masses of lava were heaped

confusedly around us. The surface had evidently been once a smooth bed

of this hard material, which had cooled on the spot after its ejection

from the bowels of the mountain, and subsequently had been split up and

blown into fragments by another convulsion. There would be no passing

here had not a pathway been made by levelling the crags and filling up

the gaps which yawn at every step. The traveller is reminded at each

moment that he is walking over terrible fires which are at no great

distance beneath his feet. For all this, no one need be afraid to go to

the top of Vesuvius. Eruptions never break out so suddenly but that a

man may escape from the top of the mountain to the foot, in season for

his safety. Generally, some days before the mountain begins to burn, it

gives warning by subterranean noises, slight shakings, and increased

volumes of smoke. Whenever lives have been lost, it has been owing to

the disregard of these symptoms, and the presumptuous curiosity of

those who dare to ascend the mountain when on fire.

Heavy columns of smoke now rose before us, pouring off horizontally

through the air over an abrupt and long ridge of lava. On climbing

this last ascent, the view of the great crater burst upon us, with

its yawning depths, puffing out smoke and steam. Here we stopped to

contemplate the spectacle. We stood on the edge of the crater, which

was wide enough to enable us to walk along with safety. The smoke

concealed one side of it from our view. We judged it about half a mile

across; but in this lofty region, with no neighboring objects for

the eye to light upon and form a comparison, the measurement cannot

be depended on. It goes shelving down on all sides, with a fearful

steepness, showing great bright crags of brimstone and red fire-stones

jutting out from the black lava surface. The great spiracle in the

centre appeared to be choked up; the smoke rising through minor clefts

and chinks all round the sides and bottom of the crater. The edge on

which we stood, and along which we walked for a quarter of a mile, was

full of holes and cracks sending out smoke; and on thrusting our sticks

into them, they took fire and were drawn out blazing. The windward side

of the crater only, is accessible; there is no going quite round, on

account of the suffocating smoke. All the inner surface of the crater

appeared to be firm and solid, and we judged, by throwing stones down,

that a person might descend to the bottom in safety, were it not for

the fumes of sulphur with which it is constantly filled. I tried it for

some distance, letting myself carefully down upon my hands and feet

from crag to crag, until I became half stifled, when, being convinced

that no wise man would go any further, I seized a fragment of the rock

as a trophy of my exploit, and clambered up again. The performance cost

me the best part of a pair of boots, which were pretty well crisped

among the hot rocks.

The distant prospect from the top of Vesuvius is most superb. The

great, craggy red head of Monte Somma frowns wildly opposite, while far

beneath are the blue waters of the bay, the white clustering houses of

Naples, the mountainous coast of Torrento, dotted with white houses,

and the sweet blue islands of Capri, Ischia, and Procida, resting on

the distant ocean. All around, on the land side, the eye wanders over

green fields, orchards, and gardens, fresh with flowers and herbage,

even at this early season. Away in the east the long mountainous ridge

of the Apennines is seen skirting the horizon with their dark sides and

snow-capped peaks. The view is sublime, and worth, of itself, a voyage

across the Atlantic.

We spent nearly an hour about the crater, admiring the beauty and

grandeur of the scenery, and picking up curious bits of lava and

other minerals, which arrest the traveller’s curiosity at every step.

I found, among other things, a lump of salt, about the size of my

fist, most beautifully crystallized into the shape of a tree. As we

were preparing to descend, I cast my eyes downward and discovered

our donkeys at the foot of the cone, standing huddled together in

a cluster. They were almost directly under our feet, but at such a

distance that they were diminished to the size of young rabbits. To

descend the cone is quite as toilsome as to climb up, and a great

deal more dangerous. In the loose soil one is apt to move downward too

fast, and between walking and sliding, a great deal of care must be

taken lest you go heels over head. I had got about half way down, when

I heard a loud cry above; I looked up and saw a great stone coming down

upon me. One of the party above had loosened it, while floundering and

scrambling his way through the loose earth, and now gathering speed in

its progress, it was rolling down directly over my head, bouncing from

heap to heap, and ploughing up the soil in a most fearful manner. I

scrambled down hill much faster than before, but again casting my eyes

upward, found that the stone was overtaking me. I now began to feel

seriously alarmed, for I was in imminent danger of being crushed to

death. The stone came thundering onward, but fortunately, just before

it reached me, it struck a little knoll and bounded off obliquely,

dashing the gravel and pebbles to the right and left and ploughing the

ground into a furrow, till it reached the bottom. A great avalanche of

earth and stones came pouring after it, by which I was nearly carried

off my legs and swept away; but by fixing my staff firmly into the

ground and resisting with main force, I checked my slide till the

danger was over. I reached the foot of the cone with no other mishap

than to find myself completely out of breath.

The guides told me that many accidents had happened and much injury

been occasioned to travellers by the tricks of frolicsome and imprudent

people, who frequently set the stones rolling down hill for their own

amusement. These are always the travellers themselves, for the natives

are too well acquainted with the dangerous nature of such sport to

allow themselves to practise it.

On our way homeward we went to see the little town of Torre del Greco,

which stands at some distance up the mountain. In the neighborhood are

immense fields of lava and every mark of the fearful ravages of the

volcano. Whenever a great eruption takes place, this town is almost

sure to suffer. Earthquakes shake it, ashes and cinders overwhelm

it, and rivers of burning lava scorch its fields and sweep away its

houses. How many times it has been destroyed I do not remember; but

the inhabitants always go back and rebuild it when the lava cools.

They live a strange life, constantly in the jaws of destruction; yet

the vicinity of so much danger gives them no more concern, on common

occasions, than the dangers of the sea cause to a sailor. When the

mountain shakes and bellows, and the flames begin to issue from the

top, they prepare for a start; but it is not till the streams of lava

pour down upon the back of the town, that they consider it time to

run. Then they snatch up their bundles and scamper for life. It is

remarkable that the only powder magazine about Naples used to be here,

and, for aught I know, may be so still!

[Illustration: _Herschel’s Telescope._]

Herschel the Astronomer.

Sir William Herschel was born at Hanover, in Germany, in 1738. At

the age of fourteen he entered the Hanoverian Guards, as a musician,

and in 1757, proceeded to England in that capacity. Here he became a

teacher of music. In 1770, he began to devote himself to the study of

astronomy. In 1781, he discovered the planet now called _Herschel_,

but which he called _Georgium sidus_, or George’s star, in compliment

to George III., then king of England. In 1787, he completed his great

telescope, the tube of which was forty feet in length, and which

was surrounded with machines for turning it in all directions. When

observing a heavenly body, he sat at the top of the tube, and looked

down to the bottom, where, in a measure, he saw the reflection of

the object he wished to notice. In 1789, he discovered the sixth and

seventh moons of Saturn. He died in 1822, in the eighty-fourth year of

his age. His son is now one of the most famous of living astronomers.

PETER PARLEY’S NEW STORIES.

No. III.

Truth and Falsehood--an Allegory.

In ancient days, there lived in Damascus, a city of Syria, a youth

whose name was Myron. His father, who was very rich, died suddenly,

leaving him a vast estate. He had a great deal of money, and a

beautiful house, to which a fine garden was attached. One day he was

walking in this garden, and the air being warm and pleasant, he sat

down by a fountain, sheltered from the sun by the overhanging branches

of the cedar trees. The scene was tranquil and soothing, and such was

its effect upon Myron, that he fell into a dream or reverie, in which

the following events seemed actually to come to pass.

He fancied that he was walking in one of the paths of the garden,

thinking upon the death of his father, and the situation in which

he was now placed. His mother had been dead for some years: he was

therefore an orphan, and must depend upon himself to mark out his

course of conduct. His wealth, indeed, brought around him a host of

friends, real or pretended--but could he confide in them? Some of them

spoke smooth words to him, and flattered him, and made themselves

very agreeable; while others were less pleasing, but apparently more

sincere. But which, of all these persons, could he confide in? This

question often occurred to him, and he felt anxious to decide and act

according to the dictates of wisdom. While he was thinking on this

subject, the scene changed, and he appeared to be on a journey alone,

and travelling a road which was new and strange to him.

The path before him seemed plain enough for a time, but soon it became

less defined, and several other roads branched off to the right and

left. He, however, proceeded--but at length the road entered a forest,

which grew deeper as he advanced, while the track became more obscure.

At last he came to a point where he was entirely in doubt as to the

road he was to take; and this doubt was mingled with anxiety, for night

was now at hand, and a thunder-storm was approaching. Already the ruddy

lightning was flashing among the dark shadows of the pines, and the

thunder was growling over the distant hills.

While the youth was looking anxiously around for some one to be his

guide in this dilemma, he was surprised as well as pleased to see

a comely youth approaching him. Scarcely had he greeted the young

stranger, when an aged and reverend man also joined the party.

Myron looked at them both attentively, for their appearance was

remarkable; beside, he was now in a situation to need counsel and

direction, and he wished, if possible, to learn from the aspect of

these persons, which he might most safely trust. He was, however,

unable to decide between them, and at last he spoke to them as follows:

“I am travelling, my friends, to a distant city, and having lost my

way, I beg you to tell me which road I am to follow.”

The youth replied, with a bland smile, “Fair friend, I know the way to

the city you seek, and as it is my pleasure to aid the unfortunate,

I will lead you to the end of your journey, if you will put yourself

under my care.”

Myron noticed, that as the youth spoke, his face grew more lovely,

and the tones of his voice were sweet and musical, like the notes

of a lute. He was captivated with the young stranger, and was about

to express both his thanks and his assent to the proposal, when he

observed a frown upon the brow of the old man, at their side. At the

same time this grave stranger said, “Do you know, young man, the name

of this person under whose guidance you are about to place yourself?”

“I do not,” said Myron, “nor do I care to know it. The fair face and

soft speech of the young man, assure me of his kindness and fidelity;

and I am willing to place my happiness in his hands. Come,” said he,

“let us depart on our journey, and leave this haughty old man to his

musings.”

With this rude speech, Myron turned on his heel, and taking the arm of

the youth, they were about to depart, when the sage spoke to Myron,

saying,--“The time may come, young man, when you will need a friend:

when such an occasion arrives, and you are ready to abide by safe

counsel, call for me, and I will obey your summons. My name is Truth!”

The two youths now departed, laughing heartily at the old codger, as

they called him, whom they left behind. After a short space Myron asked

the name of his companion--as a mere matter of curiosity. “Oh,” said

the young man, “that old fellow, Truth, calls me Falsehood, but I pass

under the various titles of Pleasure, Fancy, and Folly--according to

the humor I am in. One day, when I sport with the flowers, they name me

_pleasure_; and at another time, when I play with the sunbeams, they

call me _fancy_; and again, when I give myself up to mirth or wine,

they call me _folly_.”

“But do you do all these things?” asked Myron, in some wonder.

“To be sure I do, and many others,” said the youth, “as you shall see

before our acquaintance ends. But remember that I am now your guide;

and it is my duty to make your journey pleasant. Let us take this path

to the left, for it will conduct us through the most charming scenes.”

The two companions took the left hand path as suggested, and for some

time it led them among pleasant valleys, and sweet lawns, and the most

enchanting landscapes. At last they came to a scene more beautiful

than any they had met. Groups of lofty trees were scattered here and

there over a grassy slope, the verdure of which was like velvet. In the

middle of this spot was a fountain, and the waters being thrown into

the air, fell in glittering showers, making at the same time a sound

of entrancing music. Amid the forest bowers, were birds of gorgeous

plumage, and their song was more lovely than that of the nightingale.

Myron was delighted. He had never before seen anything so beautiful.

Again and again he thanked his guide for the pleasure he had bestowed

upon him. So absorbed was he in the scene, that he forgot his journey,

and it was not till the sun began to set behind the hills that he was

called to reflection. He then asked his guide where they were to spend

the night. The reply was evasive, and Myron did not fail to remark that

a sinister smile came over the face of his friend, as he said--“Let us

go forward, we shall find a lodging in due time.”

The two proceeded, but they had not gone far before the clouds began

to thicken, and in a short space it was intensely dark. The road grew

rough and thorny, and at last Myron fell over a stone of considerable

size. He rose with difficulty, and when he called for his companion,

he was not to be found. Nothing could exceed the amazement and terror

of the young traveller; for now he began to hear the cries of wild

animals, and in a short space he could make out the form of a lion,

stealing upon him, through the darkness.

The words of the old man whom he had treated so rudely, now flashed

upon his memory--and in the agony of the moment he called out,

“Truth--Truth--come to my aid, and be my guide!” These words were

uttered aloud, and with such energy, that Myron awoke from his dream,

his heart beating, and his body covered with a cold perspiration. But

the vision seemed to bear a wholesome meaning, and the words, which

broke from his lips in the moment of his fancied peril, became the rule

of his after life. He rejected falsehood, which promises fair, and for

a time tempts us with darling pleasures, but leads us into scenes of

terror and distress, and leaves us helpless at the hour of our utmost

need. He made Truth his friend and guide, and was both successful and

happy in the great journey of life.

The Chimpansé.

This is a species of ape, found on the western coast of Africa. He is

more like a man than any other of the four-handed race, and is the only

one that can easily walk erect. He is often seen walking with a cane in

the woods. The negroes say that he is a kind of man, and only refuses

to talk because he is afraid of being made to work.

These creatures live in the woods, and sometimes attack the natives

with clubs and stones. The Europeans, who live in the settlements along

the coast, have trained some of these creatures so that they perform

various kinds of labor, such as bringing water in jugs, rinsing out

glasses, turning spits, and handing liquor round to company at table.

[Illustration]

M. Grandpry, a French gentleman describes one that he had on board a

vessel. She had learnt to heat the oven; she took great care not to

let any of the coals fall out, which might have done mischief in the

ship; and she was very accurate in observing when the oven was heated

to the proper degree, of which she immediately apprized the baker, who,

relying with perfect confidence upon her information, carried his dough

to the oven as soon as the chimpansé came to fetch him. This animal

performed all the business of a sailor; spliced ropes, handed the

sails, and assisted at unfurling them; and she was, in fact, considered

by the sailors as one of themselves. The vessel was bound for America,

but the poor animal did not live to see that country, having fallen a

victim to the brutality of the first mate, who inflicted very cruel

chastisement upon her, which she had not deserved. She endured it with

the greatest patience, only holding out her hands in a suppliant

attitude, in order to break the force of the blows she received. But

from that moment she steadily refused to take any food, and died on

the fifth day, from grief and hunger. She was lamented by every one

on board, not insensible to the feelings of humanity, who knew the

circumstances of her fate.

[Illustration]

The Sugar-Cane.

Sugar is found in a great many vegetables, particularly in beets,

carrots, parsnips, sugar-cane, Indian corn, the sugar-maple tree, &c.

Sugar is manufactured from beets, in large quantities, in France, and

in this country it is made from beets also, to some extent. It is also

made from the juice of the maple tree, particularly in the western

states. In March the trees are tapped in the sides, and little reeds

are inserted, in which the sap, as it ascends from the earth to the

extremities, is caught and conducted into wooden troughs. It is then

boiled down, and becomes first molasses and then sugar. Many millions

of pounds are made in this way each year.

But this is a very small quantity, compared with what is made from

the sugarcane, in the West Indies, Louisiana, and South America. The

sugar-cane is a jointed reed, of a fine straw color, growing from eight

to fourteen feet high. It terminates at the top in blade-shaped leaves,

the edges of which are finely notched. Its flowers form a delicate

silver-colored cluster.

When the cane is about a year old, it is cut and crushed between iron

rollers, which press out the juice. This is then conducted into large

copper boilers, and by various processes, of boiling and cooling, it is

at last made into sugar, and molasses, the latter being the liquid part

that drips from the sugar. In the process of manufacture, a good deal

of lime and bullocks’ blood are mixed with the juice of the cane, and

these assist in refining the sugar.

A very interesting discovery has lately been made in this country,

which is, that the stalks of Indian corn, if the ears are cropped

just after they begin to set, will produce more sugar than the

cane. Accordingly a machine for the crushing of the stalks has been

contrived, and a model of it may be seen at the patent office at

Washington. It is said that a single acre of ground will yearly produce

a ton of sugar, and it is believed that sugar will soon be raised in

abundance in all the western states, in this way. The stalks make

excellent fodder for cattle, after the juice is crushed out.

Sugar is now regarded as one of the necessaries of life, and about

600,000 tons, or 120,000,000 of pounds are annually produced. Yet it

seems that sugar was not known to the Greeks or Romans, and it is never

mentioned in the Bible. It was, in fact, only known as a medicine, till

modern times. In the tenth century it took the place of honey in the

druggist’s shop, and was chiefly used in fevers, to relieve them.

The sugar-cane was found growing wild in the West Indies, by

Christopher Columbus. The art of refining sugar so as to make it

white, was discovered in the sixteenth century, by a Venetian, who made

a vast fortune by it.

Dialogue on Politeness.

_Louisa._ Good morning, mother. I have been in search of you for the

last half hour. Julia and I have been talking very earnestly on a

certain subject, but we do not agree at all in our opinions; so I have

come to you to get yours. I rather think you will be “on my side,” as I

suppose I have learnt to judge a little as you do; as is very natural I

should, mother.

_Mother._ I should certainly be very sorry, my dear, if your mind and

opinions were not influenced by mine. But what is the question which

has excited such animated discussion? Some new style of bonnet, or the

manner of singing the last new song?

_L._ Neither, mother; but something much more important. We have

been talking of the manners of two of our schoolmates, Matilda Hervy

and Caroline Perkins. Julia prefers Caroline’s manners, and I prefer

Matilda’s. Julia thinks Caroline a perfect pattern of politeness.

_M._ Ah! for what reason, my dear?

_L._ O, because she smiles so sweetly when she speaks; always shakes

hands with people; flatters them, and repeats compliments she has heard

of them, and all that sort of thing.

_M._ Is Caroline the same to all, my dear?

_L._ O, no, mother; she is polite only to a certain set of people.

Matilda is the same to all, both rich and poor. Caroline evidently has

an object in her attentions, which is, to get the favor of those who

can do her kindnesses in return. Can a person be truly polite, mother,

without a kind heart and a well-principled mind?

_M._ I think not, Louisa. I have myself to-day been the witness of

something quite _apropos_ to our subject. In riding in the omnibus from

Cambridge, this morning, I observed among the passengers two young

men, about the age of your brother Albert, apparently collegians, who,

from their intercourse, I judged to be intimate friends--probably

classmates; but there was a marked difference in their manners and

appearance. One of them, to some personal advantages added elegance

of dress, and a voice the tones of which were particularly musical

when he addressed a pretty and fashionable lady opposite him. If, by

the jolting of the carriage, he accidentally touched the hem of her

garment, he apologized most gracefully; and he was evidently regarded

by the whole party as a most polite young man. The classmate had

nothing remarkable in his appearance, bearing none of the externals

of polite life. Suddenly the bell rang, and we stopped to take up a

woman, who had with her a large bundle, which, as we were already

crowded uncomfortably, she retained in her arms. The last-mentioned

young man, seeing that she was heavily burdened, and looked weak and

sickly, kindly told her to allow him to hold the bundle for her. There

was instantly a smile exchanged between the lady and the well-dressed

collegian, with unrepressed glances of contempt at the bundle,

accompanied with loud hints about vulgarity, &c. This conduct was

observed by the woman, and seemed to hurt her feelings much. However,

she did not ride far, and when the coach stopped, her kind young friend

assisted her out with as much consideration as if she were a princess.

This little incident pleased me much.

_L._ Really, mother, I should think there was precisely the difference

between Matilda and Caroline, as between the two collegians. Caroline’s

kind acts and polite words are always for the rich, the high-born, or

the fashionable. Matilda delights in doing favors to those who can

make her no return. She looks upon all as her fellow-creatures--never

seeming to think of their station in life. She treats the poor,

wherever she finds them, as her “neighbors,” in the Bible sense of the

word. She has made many a widow’s heart to sing for joy, and she is

truly a good Samaritan.

_M._ You are enthusiastic, my dear, in praise of your friend. I shall

certainly give my opinion in favor of Matilda, whose politeness

is evidently the politeness of the heart; and though a person may

sometimes be sneered at for practising it toward the poor and humble,

he will generally be respected, and always have more influence than he

who is only polite to a few for interest’s sake. I hope, my dear, as

you appreciate Matilda’s worth, you will make her your model. I am very

glad my daughter loves such a character, as we almost always imitate

what we admire. A person who is polite and kind to all, enjoys the

highest kind of satisfaction; for he knows that in loving his neighbor,

he also obeys God.--[_Young Ladies’ Friend._]

MISTRESS AND SERVANT.--A lady, the other day, meeting a girl, who had

lately left her service, enquired, “Well, Mary, where do you live now?”

“Please, madam, I don’t live nowhere now,” rejoined the girl; “I am

married.”

[Illustration]

The Date Tree.

This is a species of palm, which produces the sweet fruit which is

brought to us from Smyrna, and other ports in the Mediterranean, and

which is well known under the name of _date_.

In the regions between Barbary and the Great Desert, the soil, which is

of a sandy nature, is so much parched by the intense heat of the sun’s

rays, that none of the corn plants will grow; and in the arid district,

called _the land of dates_, the few vegetables that can be found are

of the most dwarfish description. No plants arise to form the variety

of food to which we are accustomed; and the natives of these districts

live almost exclusively upon the fruit of the date tree. A paste is

made of this fruit by pressing it in large baskets. This paste is not

used for present supply, but is intended for a provision in case of a

failure in the crops of dates, which sometimes occurs, owing to the

ravages committed by locusts.

The date in its natural state forms the usual food; and the juice

yielded by it when fresh, contains so much nutriment as to render

those who live upon it so extremely fat. As, by the Moors, corpulence

is esteemed an indispensable requisite of beauty, the ladies belonging

to the families of distinction among them, nourish themselves, during

the season, solely with the fresh fruit, and by continuing this regimen

during two or three months, they become of an enormous size.

The date palm flourishes very generally on sandy soils in the hot

countries of Asia and Africa. Not always, however, is the soil that

supports it, barren as the one I have described. It is frequently found

by streams, and as the tired traveller sees its foliage waving afar,

he hastens towards it, hoping to find a stream of water. Sometimes its

tall stem is surrounded by beautiful climbing plants, and the most

brilliant flowers flourish beneath its shadow.

This palm frequently attains the height of sixty feet, and stands

perfectly upright, unlike, in this respect, some other species of palm,

whose slight forms yield to the winds. It was to this tree that the

Psalmist alluded when he said, “The righteous shall grow as the palm

tree,”--firm and unmoved by the shocks of temptation and the storms of

adversity. The clusters of dates are sometimes five feet in length,

and, when ripe, are of a bright gold color, over which the summit of

the tree is crowned with a beautiful foliage.

[Illustration]

Dress.

There is nothing in which mankind display more caprice, than in dress;

and it is curious to remark, that this caprice is most conspicuous in

the more civilized countries. In London and Paris, the fashions of

dress change every year, and in some things, every few weeks. There is

a new style of bonnet in Paris at least every three months.

But in China and India, and indeed over all Asia, the fashions of

dress are unchangeable. The people now wear almost exactly the same

garments, of the same colors and the same forms, as a thousand years

ago.

The country people of Europe, generally, have a fixed costume, which

continues, with little change, from generation to generation; but in

the great cities, all is variety and vicissitude. In this country we

copy European fashions, and there are some silly people whose greatest

desire is to be dressed in the Parisian style.

Now when we are told of the Chinese ladies, who have their feet

bandaged in order to make them small, until they can hardly walk--thus

rendering themselves miserable and useless, and all this to be thought

genteel--we think them very absurd. But look at the picture, on the

preceding page, and tell me if these ladies are not about as foolish.

They are dressed in the fashion of Queen Elizabeth’s time, and it has

been much imitated by the ladies of modern days.

But we must not laugh at the ladies only, for the other sex deserve a

share of our notice. Foppery is not confined to any country. A young

savage of the western woods, has often the ambition to figure as a gay

fellow, as well as the New York or Boston dandy. He does not go to

the tailor, to be made a man of, but he relies upon his own skill. He

paints himself over with clay, of various colors, mixed with bears’

grease. One side of his face is made blue, and another yellow. On his

breast a serpent is figured; on his back, a buffalo or a wolf. On his

head he wears the feathers of an eagle; around his neck, the claws of

the grisly bear; on his back is a bundle of scalps, and on his arms the

skin of a skunk. Over his shoulder is a buffalo-robe decorated with

a frill of quills, and ornamented with beads. Such is your dandy of

savage life.

And now for the dandy of our cities. The great thing is to have

abundance of hair; and the more it hangs over the eyes, and obtrudes

itself around the nose and mouth and neck, and in every other place

that may suggest the idea of discomfort or filthiness, so much the

better, thinks the dandy. For my own part, I lay it down as an

invariable rule, that if a youth displays an unusual quantity of hair

or beard, he is deficient, to the same extent, in brains. I believe

this is a safe ground of judgment. But still, it is the fashion, just

now, to run to hair, and thus it seems our young men have an ambition

to excel in that, in which, after all their efforts, the bear, the

buffalo, and indeed most beasts, will always surpass them. When I see

one of these whiskered, soap-locked fellows, I always think of the

description that an Irish girl gave of a skunk that was rude to her,

upon a certain occasion. As she went home, she carried evidence of the

fact, and when the people asked what it meant--“Faith!” said she, “and

it was a little hairy beast that did it!”

SPANISH NAMES.--The love of long Christian names by the Spaniards

has frequently been a subject of ridicule. A Spaniard on his travel,

arrived in the night at a little village in France, in which there was

but one hotel. As it was almost midnight, he knocked at the door a long

time without hearing any one stir. At length the host, putting his head

out of the chamber window, asked who was there. The Spaniard replied,

“Don Juan Pedro, Hernandez, Rodriguez, Alvarez de Villanova, Count de

Malafra, Cavellero de Santiago d’Alcantara.” “Mercy on me,” said the

host, as he shut the window, “I have but two spare beds, and you ask me

lodging for a score.”

Eagles, and some other Matters.

The eagle is considered the king of birds, as the lion is called

the king of beasts. Now both the lion and eagle are strong, and

they readily sacrifice all other creatures to their own gluttonous

appetites. At the same time, they are both cowardly creatures. The lion

is a skulking beast, and steals upon his prey like a thieving cat; and

he readily flies from danger, except when hunger impels him to bold

deeds. The eagle too, when his crop is well filled, is a lazy creature,

and at any time a much smaller bird may drive him away.

Now, the title of king was given to the lion and the eagle, in ancient

days, and it shows what the people then thought of kings. It is obvious

that they supposed a king to be a powerful, but selfish creature,

sacrificing everybody to himself, as do the lion and the eagle. They

did not suppose it necessary for the king to be noble, generous, and

courageous, for they would not, in that case, have given the title of

king, to sly, thieving, cowardly animals.

The opinion of mankind, in early days, being that kings were like lions

and eagles, feeding and feasting upon others whom they could master,

was no doubt just; and, with few exceptions, this is a true view of

the character of kings, in all ages. They have ever cared much for

themselves, and very little for the people at large.

But there is one thing more to be remarked in respect to the characters

given to animals by the ancients. They called the lion noble, because

he was powerful; and for the same reason they called the eagle the

bird of Jove--thus making it the associate of one of their gods! At

the same time that the ancients thus gave such sounding titles to

rapacious and savage animals, they considered a dog as one of the

meanest of quadrupeds, and to call a man a dog, was to insult with a

very opprobrious epithet. The ancients also called the ass stupid, and

a goose was the very emblem of folly.

Now we should reflect a little upon these matters. The dog is a

faithful creature, fond of his master, and choosing to live with him,

whether in wealth or poverty, rather than to live anywhere else. He

prefers remaining in the humble log-cabin, or poor cottage, with only

a bone to eat, provided his master and his friend is there, rather

than to live in the lordly mansion upon sausages and beef steak, among

strangers. The characteristic of the dog, then, is _attachment to his

friend_; and yet, in ancient days, the people called the butchering

lion noble, and the faithful dog mean.

And as to the ass, he is in fact one of the most sagacious of all

quadrupeds. Old Æsop, who made fables, seems to have done justice

to this long-eared, four-legged sage, for, he makes him say a vast

many wise things. But not to insist upon the ass’s gift of speech,

he is not only an intelligent creature, but he is patient, enduring,

hard-working, temperate, and unoffending; at the same time he is

more free from vice than almost any other quadruped, even though he

is often in the hands of persons who do not set good examples, and

abuse him most shamefully. Now as this good beast was called stupid

by the ancients, it is fair to infer, that they considered patience,

temperance, diligence, and freedom from vice, as mean.

And now a word as to the goose. My young readers may titter as much

as they please--for in spite of all their mirth, I am going to stand

up for this poor, abused bird. The goose is not _silly_--but, as

compared with other birds, it is in fact _wise_. There is no creature

so watchful as a goose. In a wild state, when in danger of being shot

down by the huntsman, they set sentinels to keep guard while the flock

is feeding; and on his giving notice of danger, they take wing and fly

away. In a domestic state, they give notice by their cackle of every

disturbance, and any noise that may happen about the house at night.

Geese are also very courageous in defence of their young; and, beside

this, they are capable of attachment, beyond any other bird. The

celebrated writer, Buffon, tells a most interesting story of a goose,

called Jacquot, that became fond of him because he helped the poor

fellow when he was beaten almost to death by a rival gander. Every time

Buffon came near, the grateful bird would sing out to him in the most

cheerful manner, and would run to him, and put his head up to be patted.

“One day,” says Buffon, “having followed me as far as the ice-house at

the top of the park, the spot where I must necessarily part with him

in pursuing my path to a wood at half a league distance, I shut him in

the park. He no sooner saw himself separated from me, than he vented

strange cries. However, I went on my road; and had advanced about a

third of the distance, when the noise of a heavy flight made me turn my

head; I saw my Jacquot only four paces from me. He followed me all the

way, partly on foot, partly on wing; getting before me and stopping at

the cross-paths to see which way I should take.

“Our journey lasted from ten o’clock in the morning till eight in

the evening; and my companion followed me through all the windings

of the wood, without seeming to be tired. After this he attended me

everywhere, so as to become troublesome; for I was not able to go to

any place without his tracing my steps, so that one day he came to

find me in the church! Another time, as he was passing by the rector’s

window, he heard me talking in the room; and, as he found the door

open, he entered, climbed up stairs, and, marching in, gave a loud

exclamation of joy, to the no small affright of the family!

“I am sorry in relating such traits of my interesting and faithful

friend Jacquot, when I reflect that it was myself that first dissolved

the pleasing connection; but it was necessary for me to separate him

from me by force. Poor Jacquot found himself as free in the best

apartments as in his own; and after several accidents of this kind,

he was shut up and I saw him no more. His inquietude lasted about a

year, and he died from vexation. He was become as dry as a bit of

wood, I am told; for I would not see him; and his death was concealed

from me for more than two months after the event. Were I to recount

all the friendly incidents between me and poor Jacquot, I should not

for several days have done writing. He died in the third year of our

friendship, aged seven years and two months.”

This is a very pleasing story, and sets forth the goose as capable of

attachment, and, also, as gifted with much more intelligence than most

animals display. But I have another pleasant story for my readers.

At East Barnet, in Hertfordshire, England, some years ago, a gentleman

had a Canadian goose, which attached itself in the most affectionate

manner to the house dog, but never attempted to enter his kennel,

except in rainy weather. Whenever the dog barked, the goose set up a

loud cackling, and ran at the person she supposed the dog barked at,

and would bite at his heels. She was exceedingly anxious to be on the

most familiar terms with her canine friend, and sometimes attempted to

eat along with him, which, however, he would not suffer, nor indeed did

he manifest the same friendship towards the goose, which it did towards

him, treating it rather with indifference. This creature would never

go to roost with the others at night, unless driven by main force; and

when in the morning they were turned into the field, she refused to go

thither, and bent her course towards the yard gate, where she sat all

day watching the dog.

The proprietor at length finding it in vain to attempt keeping

these animals apart, gave orders that the goose should be no longer

interfered with, but left entirely to the freedom of her own will.

Being thus left at liberty to pursue her own inclinations, she ran

about the yard with him all night, and when the dog went to the

village, she never failed to accompany him, and contrived to keep pace

with his more rapid movements by the assistance of her wings, and in

this way, betwixt running and flying, accompanied him all over the

parish. This extraordinary affection is supposed to have originated in

the dog having rescued her from a fox in the very moment of distress.

It continued for two years, and only terminated with the death of the

goose.

Now is not this a good story? and it is all about a goose, that people

call a foolish bird. But here is another story, quite as good as any I

have told.

“An old goose,” says an English writer, “that had been for a fortnight

hatching in a farmer’s kitchen, was perceived on a sudden to be taken

violently ill. She soon after left the nest, and repaired to an

outhouse where there was a young goose of the first year, which she

brought with her into the kitchen. The young one immediately scrambled

into the old one’s nest, sat, hatched, and afterwards brought up the

brood. The old goose, as soon as the young one had taken her place,

sat down by the side of the nest, and shortly after died. As the young

goose had never been in the habit of entering the kitchen before, I

know of no way of accounting for this fact, but by supposing that the

old one had some way of communicating her thoughts and anxieties,

which the other was perfectly able to understand. A sister of mine, who

witnessed the transaction, gave me the information in the evening of

the day it happened.”

Now I begun this chapter by talking about eagles, and I have been

rambling on about geese--but I have an object in all this. I wish

to show my readers that we have taken certain notions, in regard to

animals, from the ancients, which are erroneous; and which have a bad

influence upon us. Many a time has a poor ass got a kick, just because

of a prejudice that has been handed down from age to age. People

scarcely think it wrong to abuse a creature that is called _stupid_!

Now the ass is not stupid; and it is too bad, wrongfully to give him a

hard name, and then to kick him for it!

And it is much the same with dogs. How much have these poor creatures

suffered, in their day and generation, just because the ancients called

them hard names, and thus transmitted, even to our time, a prejudice!

And the tranquil, quiet, harmless, goose--how often has a boy hurled a

stone at one, and scarcely thought it wrong to wound a creature that is

regarded as the emblem of folly!

Now, as I said, we ought to reflect upon these things; we ought not to

allow such prejudices to influence us, and to make us really cruel to

brute beasts, who are but as God made them, and who fulfil His design

in their creation, more perfectly, I suspect, than some other beings I

could name, who think pretty well of themselves!

And one observation more is to be made here. The facts we have stated

show what erroneous notions the ancients had of virtue. They called

the lion and eagle noble, only because they are powerful; they called

the dog mean, though he is a pattern of fidelity; they called the ass

stupid, though he is patient and frugal; they called the goose silly,

because of its great mildness. All these things prove that in the olden

time, people thought much of power, and almost worshipped it, even

when it was selfish and savage, as is the king of beasts or of birds;

while they rather despised the noble virtues of patience, fidelity,

friendship, frugality and mildness.

I might go on to tell you of the eagles, with which subject I began

this chapter; and especially of the harpy eagle, of which a fine

portrait accompanies this number. But in Volume I., page 5, I have said

so much on the subject, that I must cut the matter short, only saying

that the harpy eagle is a native of South America, and is the most

powerful of birds, it being able, by the stroke of its wings, to break

a man’s skull.

[Illustration]

April.

This month derives its name from the Latin word _Aperio_, to open,

because at this period the earth is opened by the sower and the

planter, to receive the seed. In the southern parts of the United

States, it is a very warm, pleasant season, and so it is in Italy, and

Spain. In Carolina, the weather is so warm in April, that the people

put on their thin clothes, the forests are in leaf, the apple-trees are

in bloom, or perchance already the blossoms are past.

But with us at the north, April is still a windy, chilly, capricious

season. Not a green leaf, not an opening flower is to be seen. A few

solitary birds are with us, and now and then we have a warm day. The

grass begins to look a little green, where the soil is rich and the

land slopes to the south.

But still, April is a month in which we all take delight, for, at this

time we begin to work in the garden, and there is a promise of spring

around us. The snow is gone, the ice has fled, jack-frost comes not,

the hens in the barn-yard make a cheerful cackle, the geese at the

brook keep up a jolly gobble, the boys play at ball on the green, the

lambs frisk on the hill-sides, the plough is in the furrow; winter is

gone--summer is coming!

[Illustration: _Jeremiah foretelling the downfall of Jerusalem._]

The Prophet Jeremiah.

Jeremiah was one of the most celebrated of the Jewish prophets. He

lived about six hundred years before Christ, and prophesied about

seventy years after Isaiah. He began his career, by divine command, at

an early age. He was a man of great piety, and a sincere lover of his

country. He foresaw the evils which his sinful countrymen would bring

upon themselves by their idolatries, and while he warned them of the

wrath to come, he seems to have done it with an almost breaking heart.

It became his duty, in obedience to the instruction of God, to predict

the downfall of Jerusalem, and the destruction of the temple. Zedekiah

was then king of Judah, and the fearful prophecy no doubt grated

harshly on his ear. The people, too, who cared not for the truth, but

only desired a prophet who would prophesy smooth things, took Jeremiah,

and were near putting him to death, only on account of his fidelity.

In the 21st chapter of the prophecies of Jeremiah, we see his

prediction of the fate that awaited Jerusalem, and in the 52d chapter,

we see how this sad and fearful warning was fulfilled.

After the destruction of Jerusalem,--he himself witnessing the

completion of this prophecy,--he was carried into Egypt with a

remnant of the Jews, and, according to tradition, was murdered by his

countrymen, for warning them against their idolatrous practices.

The book of Lamentations is a melancholy and pathetic poem, written

by Jeremiah, in commemoration of the destruction of Jerusalem by

Nebuchadnezzar. It is exceedingly affecting, and it is impossible to

read it without deeply sympathizing with the afflicted prophet. Some

parts are very beautiful, and the whole being imbued with a religious

spirit and feeling, it is calculated, in a peculiar degree, to soften,

purify, and sanctify the heart of the Christian.

The Siberian Sable-Hunter.

CHAPTER VIII.

_A weary journey.--Meeting with Tungusees.--Grand attack of

wolves.--The first sables killed._

After securing the skin of the bear, the travellers proceeded on their

journey, the weather still continuing clear, but intensely cold. They

were, however, well secured by furs, and they plodded cheerfully on,

over the snow-crust. There was little variety, for the country was

generally level, and often they marched on for hours without meeting

a single object of the least interest. No villages were to be seen

over the wide wastes; not a human being met the view; not a bird, not

a living thing, enlivened the prospect. And it was as still as it was

desolate; for, save when the wind sighed over the snow, not a sound was

to be heard. It seemed as if nature was in a repose so profound as to

resemble death itself.

It is not remarkable, that, after several days of weary travel over

a country like this, our adventurers at last rejoiced to meet with a

small settlement of Tungusees. This was situated in a little valley;

and so low were the houses, that the travellers had come close upon

them before they perceived them. Their approach was announced by the

barking of three or four shaggy wolf-dogs, who seemed to exert their

lungs to the utmost upon the occasion.

The party was stared at in silence by the inhabitants for a short time,

but Linsk soon announced himself and friends as hunters, and as he

spoke in the Tungusian language, the little party were at once made

welcome. Alexis was amused at the whole scene. The houses were made

of stakes set in a circle, covered with mud, over which there was now

a mantle of snow. The entrances were so low that it was necessary to

creep in upon the hands and knees. There was no light within, except

the few rays that struggled in at the door, or were emitted by a

smouldering fire, the smoke of which was let out at a hole in the top.

Each hut consisted of one apartment, and here the family all slept,

cooked, and ate. The beds consisted of the skins of wolves and bears;

the articles of furniture were few, as the people sat on the ground,

and most of the cooking was performed by simple boiling or roasting

before the fire.

Supper was soon provided, for it was evening when the travellers

arrived. This consisted of a piece of bear’s flesh, which was very

juicy, and resembled pork. It seemed to be esteemed a great delicacy by

the people themselves, and a number of persons came into the hut where

our adventurers were entertained, and, somewhat unceremoniously, helped

themselves with their fingers to a portion of the coveted viands.

Our travellers had before seen something of Tungusian life and manners;

but their admiration was excited anew by the greediness which they all

displayed upon the present occasion--men, women, and children. Their

hands were daubed in grease up to the wrists, and a very considerable

portion of their faces was also anointed in the same way. They tore the

flesh from the bones like dogs, and if a piece of meat fell upon the

floor, however it might be powdered with dirt, it was carried to the

mouth without scruple or inspection. The children lay down upon the

floor, and, driving the dogs away, licked up the puddles of fat that

were spilled in the greedy scramble. But there was withal much good

nature and merriment among the party, and though the speech was often

rough and the manner uncouth, good humor seemed to pervade the whole

scene.

After the meal was done, brandy was brought in and circulated freely

among the men of the company. Some of the women contrived to get a

little for themselves through the influence of their admirers. The

party soon grew merry, then boisterous, and at last quarrelsome. There

was some scuffling and many hard words. Late at night the revel broke

up, and the party separated.

It was late the next day, when Alexis and his two young companions

were called by Linsk from their repose. They took an ample breakfast,

and the party set forward upon their journey. For several days they

proceeded without any occurrence worthy of note. At last they came

to a little forest of evergreen trees, in which they found two or

three small huts, but now deserted by their inhabitants. And here, as

it was evening, they concluded to spend the night. Having slightly

closed the door with a few pieces of bark to exclude the cold, they

built a fire, and had sat down to their frugal supper of dried deer’s

flesh, when the ever-watchful ear of Linsk caught certain sounds from

without, which arrested his attention. He had listened but a moment,

when the fragments at the door were pushed aside, and a wolf thrust

his head in at the opening, and gazed intently upon the party. They

were all so taken by surprise, that, for a moment, they neither spoke

nor moved. It was not long, however, before Linsk arose, seized his

gun, and was on the point of discharging it at the wolf, when the

latter suddenly withdrew. The whole party followed him out, but what

was their astonishment to see around them a pack of at least forty

wolves, now ready to make a united attack upon them! It was night, and

their glaring eyeballs seemed like sparks of fire, and their teeth were

laid bare, as if to rend their victims in pieces. At the same time

the barking, yelping, and howling of the savage animals, apparently

driven to desperation by hunger, were terrific. The whole scene was

indeed so unexpected and so startling, that Alexis and his two young

companions immediately slunk back into the hut. Linsk followed, but at

least a dozen of the assailants were snapping at his heels, as he drew

them in through the door. The old hunter saw in an instant that there

was but one mode of warfare which offered the least chance of safety,

and this was, to face the enemy at the opening, and prevent them, at

all hazards, from effecting an entrance. Getting down upon his knees,

therefore, he turned round and looked his furious assailants full in

the face. His gun was in his hand, and his knife ready in the belt.

Fixing his eye intently upon the wolves, so as to watch every motion,

he spoke rapidly to the young men behind him,--“Steady, boys, steady;

don’t be afraid. Draw up close and keep your guns ready. What an

ill-mannered set they are! I’ll give ’em a dose directly.--Now!”

At this instant, the old hunter fired his gun, and a yell of terror and

anguish burst from the pack, who at the moment were jammed into the

entrance of the hut. Two or three of them were killed, and several were

wounded; but others rushed into their places, and in the space of a

few seconds Linsk was again threatened with a mass of heads struggling

for entrance at the door. He soon gave them another shot, and finally

a third, and the disheartened beasts, leaving eight or ten of their

companions dead or mortally wounded on the scene of combat, retired,

with many a howl, into the echoing forest.

The next day was occupied by securing the skins of the wolves, and the

hunters concluded to spend the next night in the hut, taking care,

however, to secure the entrance against the possibility of an attack

like that of the preceding evening.

In the morning, the party rose early, and, instead of pursuing their

journey, they plunged into the forest, hoping to meet with some sables

or ermines. They had not gone far before two little, dark-colored

animals, with very long bodies and short legs, were seen running and

leaping upon the snow. Linsk uttered a low “hush,” and approached

them carefully, under cover of a large tree. He soon approached them,

and raising his gun to his eye, seemed about to fire, when, suddenly

lowering his piece, he beckoned to Alexis, who came instantly to his

side. Obedient to a signal given by Linsk, Alexis drew up his gun and

fired; the whole party ran to the spot, and, with great exultation,

they picked up the animals, which proved to be two very fine sables.

These were the first that Alexis had killed, and they brought to his

mind so forcibly the injunctions of Kathinka, and her intense desire

that he should be successful in his enterprise, that he burst into a

flood of tears. The two sons of Linsk looked at him with amazement,

but the old man guessed the cause of his emotion, and by some sportive

remark, diverted the thoughts of the party into other channels. The

kindness of Linsk in this, and in giving Alexis the first chance to

fire, filled the heart of the young hunter with gratitude, which he did

not soon forget.

They now pursued their sport, and before the evening came, they had

caught seven sables and three ermines. They, therefore, returned to

their hut, and now began to think of spending several weeks at this

place, for the purpose of pursuing the object of their expedition.

Letter from a Subscriber.

Many thanks to the writer of the following:-

_New York, March 15th, 1842._

DEAR MR. MERRY--The following lines are from one who has

been both instructed and amused by your writings, and

although a very youthful subscriber, she begs you will

accept them as a small offering from the heart of

MARGARET.

The name of Merry long will be

Remembered well, and loved by me.

Not all the works of ancient lore

Transmit to youth so sweet a store

Of learning true, in nature’s dress,

The garb so simple, yet the best;

Religion’s power, so deep, so pure,

Through endless ages to endure!

Youth bounds at Merry’s joyous name,

And e’en old age its love may claim.

ENVY.--The envy which grudges the success for which it would want the

courage to contend, was well rebuked by the French Marshal LEFEVRE, who

had been in a great many battles, and who had acquired great wealth

and fame. One of his friends expressing the most unbounded admiration

of his magnificent residence, exclaimed, “How fortunate you are!” “I

see you envy me,” said the marshal; “but come, you shall have all that

I possess, at a much cheaper rate than I myself paid for it. Step

down with me into the yard; you shall let me fire twenty musket shots

at you, at the distance of thirty paces, and if I fail to bring you

down, all that I have is yours. What! you refuse?” said the marshal,

seeing that his friend demurred--“know that before I reached my present

eminence, I was obliged to stand more than a thousand musket shots, and

those who pulled the triggers were nothing like thirty paces from me.”

Toad-Stools and Mushrooms.

These two kinds of plants, though of similar appearance, are so very

different, that while one is poisonous, the other is a wholesome and

delicious article of food.

The toad-stool, of which we here give a picture, usually grows in moist

places, and where the soil is very rich.

[Illustration: _Toad-stools._]

The mushroom grows in situations similar to those in which the

toad-stool is found. They both belong to the genus which the botanists

call _agarice_; but they may be easily distinguished. The edges of the

mushroom are usually thin, ragged, and turned a little upward; while

those of the toad-stool are bent down, and carried round in a smooth

circle, the top being shaped like an umbrella. The under side of the

mushroom is of a pinkish hue, and the skin is easily peeled off from

the top.

[Illustration: _Mushroom._]

The mushroom is cooked in various ways; here, it is chiefly used for

making ketchup; but in France, the people stew and fry it, and consider

it among the most delicate of dishes.

The Return of Spring.

Now spring returns, and all the earth

Is clad in cheerful green;

The heart of man is filled with mirth,

And happiness is seen.

The violet rears its modest head,

To welcome in the spring,

And from its low and humble bed

Doth sweetest odors bring.

The birds are warbling in the grove,

And flutter on the wing,

And to their mates in notes of love

Responsive echoes sing.

Far as the eye can view, the hills

Are clad in verdure bright;

The rivers and the trickling rills

Are pleasant to the sight.

Nature another aspect wears,

Stern winter’s reign is o’er;

While everything the power declares

Of _Him_ whom we adore.

Puzzles.

See here, what a string of puzzles have been sent me by my young

readers! Who will unravel them?

PUZZLE, NO. 1.

I am a word of 6 letters.

My 1, 2, 6, 5, is what Oliver Twist asked for.

My 3, 2, 1, is a nickname for a boy.

My 4, 2, 1, 5, every one loves.

My 1, 2, 3, 4, every good house-keeper dreads.

My whole is my dearest friend.

FANNY.

PUZZLE, NO. 2.

I am a word of 14 letters.

My 5, 9, 13, 6, 13, is an important article best found in Ireland.

My 2, 6, 13, is a very useful fowl.

My 14, 9, 10, 11, is a very unpleasant state to be in.

My 9, 10, 12, is very pleasant in summer.

My 7, 2, 3, 8, 12, is also very pleasant in summer.

My 7, 2, 3, 4, 11, is a very large fish.

My 2, 3, 1, 11, is a useful vehicle.

My whole is the name of a celebrated author, which I shall give you

in my next.

A BLACK-EYED SUBSCRIBER.

PUZZLE, NO. 3.

I am a sentence composed of 26 letters.

My 1, 11, 15, 4, 24, 8, is a flourishing city.

My 3, 15, 18, 17, 17, 16, is a road.

My 7, 8, 6, is a girl’s name.

My 12, 11, 10, is a disturbance.

My 4, 5, 10, 6, is a municipal corporation.

My 19, 21, 26, 14, is what you take on my whole.

My 15, 24, 26, is the grass over a grave.

My 22, 24, 25, 26, is a burden.

My 13, 2, 6, 9, 5, 23, is a bird of prey.

My whole is a link of a great iron chain.

PUZZLE, NO. 4.

I am a name of 17 letters.

My 9, 10, 3, 12, 17, 2, is a useful mechanic.

My 15, 10, 13, 8, 7, is what we all wish to be.

My 1, 11, 4, is that for want of which great misfortunes have

happened.

My 2, 14, 5, 8, is an article of commerce.

My 13, 11, 15, 16, 6, is French for a city.

My 1, 6, 17, 2, is a person of rank.

My whole is a distinguished foreigner.

PUZZLE, NO. 5.

I am a word of 9 letters.

My 9, 8, 8, 1, is the name of a number.

My 4, 8, 1, 3, 7, is the name of a kind of house.

My 9, 5, 3, 3, is the name of a large cask.

My 6, 5, 3, 9, is what butchers often do.

My 1, 2, 3, 4, is a nickname.

My 8, 2, 3, 4, is what every animal in creation does.

My 6, 2, 3, 7, is the name of a small pet animal, to be found in

almost every house.

My 4, 5, 3, 9, is an exclamation signifying “Let alone!”

My 1, 8, 3, 4, is an implement used by fishermen.

My 1, 5, 3, 9, is found in the woods.

My whole is the name of a great sandheap.

* * * * *

COME out here, and I’ll lick the whole of you; as the boy said ven he

seed a bottle full of sugar sticks in a shop window!

To my Correspondents.

Whew! what a lot of letters I have got from my little black-eyed and

blue-eyed friends, this month! Some contain answers to old puzzles, and

some contain new puzzles, and some put questions which puzzle me not

a little. However, I am very glad to hear from anybody who takes an

interest in poor Bob Merry; and I think all the better of young people,

who can be kind to an old fellow with a wooden leg, and content to hear

stories from one who never went to college. I feel cheered by these

pleasant, lively letters; and sometimes, when my old pate reels with

hard work, and my eyes grow dim as I think over the sad fortunes that

pursue me, I go to the package of my correspondents, and there find

consolation. “No matter--no matter,” say I to myself, “if all the world

deserts or abuses me, at least these little friends will be true to

me!” So, thereupon, I wipe my eyes, clean my spectacles, whistle some

merry tune, and sit down to write something cheerful and pleasant for

my Magazine.

Well, now I say again, that I am much obliged to my kind friends, and

I am glad to observe that _they always pay their postage_. Only one

instance to the contrary has occurred: my little friend, Cornelius

W----, of Newark, New Jersey, forgot to pay the postage on the specimen

of his handwriting that he sent me. I mention this for his benefit,

because the habit of forgetting to do things as they ought to be done

is a very bad habit. Suppose, for instance, that a person should get

into the habit of eating carelessly; why, at last, instead of eating

the meat, and rejecting the bones, he might swallow the bones, and

reject the meat! Think of that, Master Cornelius.

* * * * *

I have received the answers of A. L., W. H. S., C. F. W. P., F. A.

S., and others, to the puzzles in the March number, all of which are

right. The first is _Bunker Hill Monument_; the second is _A Black-eyed

Friend_.

The following request I will reflect upon.

MR. MERRY--I wish very much to have the story of Philip

Brusque continued. I wish to know what Mr. Bonfils did. Was

he a good king, and did they have any more riots? If you

will “lift the curtain,” you will satisfy my wishes, and

oblige

A SUBSCRIBER.

_Boston, March 5, 1842._

The “Meditations of an Old Man” are a little too melancholy for our

young readers; they do not like to weep very often, and I expect that

Bob Merry’s story will, by and bye, call for all the tears they can

spare.

I insert the following with pleasure. It seems that young _Bare-Head_

is a “Wolverene;” and if he will tell his real life and adventures, no

doubt they will be worth hearing. What a good title it will be!--“The

Adventures of Ben Bare-Head, the Wolverene!”

MASTER BARE-HEAD’S PUZZLE.

I am a name of 13 letters.

My 5, 3, 13, is a stupid fellow.

My 4, 8, 1, 5, 6, 7, is a kind of shrub.

My 13, 5, 1, is a nickname.

My 1, 5, 11, 6, 7, often takes place between two individuals.

My 6, 7, 2, 4, 10, is a pleasing diversion.

My 3, 12, 10, 5, 1, is a useful agent.

My 5, 13, 7, 10, 4, is what we every day behold.

My 9, 11, 5, 12, 10, is what I am.

My 6, 7, 10, 3, 13, has ruined many.

My 4, 7, 5, 1, 10, many do not possess.

My 7, 2, 11, is what I have not got.

My 6, 2, 9, 7, is what a Hoosier seldom sees.

My 7, 8, 12, is common in Michigan.

My 1, 5, 9, 12, is often seen in Boston.

My 6, 7, 10, 4, 12, is a convenient article.

My 11, 10, 10, 12, 7, 5, 6, 7, 10, makes cross women.

My 1, 8, 13, 10, 8, 1, will doubtless be a benefit to the rising generation.

My whole may well be considered the pride of America.

When this is solved, you shall have a harder one.

BEN. BARE-HEAD.

_Bertrand, Michigan, Jan. 31, 1842._

The following lines are pretty good for so young a writer:--

THE DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH, THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN.

Brightly o’er those proud cities

The morning sun arose,

And over those princely palaces

His robe effulgent throws.

But whether on stately palace,

Or spire, or idol fane,

He shows his gorgeous coloring

There it ne’er must rest again.

And lovely, O most lovely,

Was the scene he shone on, now!

From the verdant flower-decked vale,

To the mountain’s pine-clad brow,

With the crystal stream’s meandering flow,

And its waters dancing bright,--

All nature teems with beauty,

With joy, and life, and light.

And from every shrub and flower

What a fragrant perfume breathes,

While fruit of almost every clime

Hangs in rich clusters from the trees;

And birds, of plumage rich and rare,

Pour forth their notes of love,

In strains so wild, so thrilling, sweet,

From every sheltering grove!

And who would deem that sin

Could mar a scene so beauteous, bright,

So filled with things that please the eye,

And give the mind delight?

And yet such guilt stalked proudly here,

Such sin without alloy,

As to tempt the Almighty’s wrath to curse,

His anger to destroy.

But soon, ah me! how very soon,

And what a change is there!

A bellowing earthquake shakes the ground,

Loud thunders fill the air;

Bright fire from heaven flashes

In sheets of liquid flame,

And a heap of wretched ruins

Those proud cities then became.

What keen remorse and anguish

Must have through those bosoms thrilled,

What shrieks and shouts of agony

Must the echoing air have filled!

But no remorse, or anguish,

Could then avail to save,

And those once splendid cities

Found one promiscuous grave.

H. D. B.

Well done, my gray-eyed friend--P. J. U. Come and see me, and I will

give _thee_ a hearty shake of the hand!

_Esteemed Friend_:--

I have received thy Magazine, and write on purpose to

inform thee of my wish to see the last of our friend

Brusque on the island of Fredonia; and hope it will be

of no inconvenience to unravel the whole. Although I am

a _gray-eyed_ little friend, I have taken the liberty to

write thee a few lines, and hope thee will receive it

from an unknown boy, aged 11 years, who longs to see thee

and hear those interesting stories which I hope will soon

appear in our pretty little books; but as that cannot be at

present, I still hope to get them, with yellow covers, with

my father’s name on the back.

From a gray-eyed friend,

P. J. U.

The suggestion of a “Black-Eyed Friend,” as to juvenile plays or

dialogues, is received, and shall be duly considered. I notice his

remark that I have not given the names of all the kinds of type; and he

is correct in his observation. J. H. W., Oak street, Boston, writes a

fair, handsome hand, and this is a pleasant thing to a blear-eyed old

fellow, like me. His solution is right. G. W. F., of Pittsburgh, also

writes very neatly, and his letter is expressed with great propriety.

He, too, is correct in his answers to the riddles. The enigma of J. W.

P. is ingenious--but the name itself is a puzzle. Here it is: “General

Diebitsch Sabalkansky.” Why, this name reminds me of a stick that was

so crooked it could never lie still!

IRISH WIT.--“Please your honor, is a thing lost when you know where it

is?” said an Irish footman to his master.

“To be sure not, you booby.”

“Och! thank your honor for that; the de’il of harm then, for the new

copper takettle’s at the bottom of the well!”

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 5.

[Illustration]

Smelling.

I propose to give my readers some remarks upon the five senses; and

I shall begin with smelling. The seat of this sense is the nose, and

the chief instrument by which it operates is a soft membrane, lining

the interior of the nostrils. This is covered over with an infinite

number of organs, too delicate to be seen by the naked eye, called the

_olfactory nerves_. As the brain is the seat of the mind, these nerves

extend to it, and convey to that organ every impression that is made

upon them. The nerves are like sentinels or messengers stationed in

all parts of the body, whose duty it is to communicate to the seat of

power--to the brain, and thus to the intellect--everything that happens

to the body. Thus, if you pinch your finger, or stub your toe, or put

your hand in the fire, or taste of an apple, the nerves carry the

story to the mind; and thus it is that we feel and find out what is

going on.

So it is with the olfactory nerves; they have the power of perceiving

what effluvia is in the air, and they tell the mind of it. At first

thought, it might not seem that smelling was a very important sense.

The lady in the preceding picture appears to think that the nose is

made only that she may enjoy the perfume of the rose; and there are

others who take a very different view of the matter. I once knew a

fellow who insisted upon it that there were more bad smells than good

ones in the world, and therefore he said that the sense of smelling was

a nuisance, as it brought more pain than pleasure. I am inclined to

think that this view was not singular, for I know several people who

go about with their noses curled up, as if some bad odor was always

distressing them. I make it a point, when I meet such discontented

people, to cross over, and go along on t’other side of the way.

But, however others may feel, I maintain that the nose is, on the

whole, a good thing--that smelling is a convenient sense, and that we

could not get along very well without it. Let us consider the matter.

It must be remarked, in the first place, that in man, as well as

animals, the sense of smelling is placed very near the sense of taste

and the organs of eating. We may, therefore, infer that smelling is

a guide to us in the choice of food; that what is of a good flavor,

in general, is wholesome, and that what is of an offensive smell is

unwholesome. The fact, doubtless, is, that we abuse the sense of

smelling so much by the artificial tastes we cultivate, by eating

spices and pickles, and a great variety of condiments, that it ceases

to aid us as much as nature intended it should. Brutes, who never

eat cooked dishes, composed of twenty different ingredients, have

not their senses thus blunted and corrupted. The cow, the sheep, the

horse, all are guided, as they graze among a thousand kinds of herbs,

by the certain and effectual power of smell, to choose those which are

wholesome, and to reject those which are hurtful. Now if mankind were

as natural and simple in their habits as these animals, no doubt the

sense of smell would be a good counsellor as to what food is good and

what is bad.

There is one very curious thing to be noticed here, which is, that

what is pleasant to one is offensive to another. Now putrid meat is

wholesome to a dog; it sets well upon his stomach; and accordingly

it smells good to him. But such food would produce disease in man;

and to him the smell of it is loathsome. This shows, very clearly,

that the sense of smell is a kind of adviser to tell creatures how to

select their food. It also induces us to avoid places where the air is

tainted or impure; for we are liable to contract diseases in such an

atmosphere. Thus it is obvious that the sense of smelling is important

not only as a guide to health, but as a guardian against disease and

death.

In many animals the sense of smell is very acute. The dog will trace

his master’s footsteps, by the scent alone, through the streets of a

city, and amid a thousand other footsteps; he will follow the track of

the fox, or the hare, or the bird, for hours after it has passed along.

The vulture scents the carrion for miles; and the wolf, the hyæna, and

the jackal, seem to possess a similar acuteness of scent.

While the sense of smell is thus sharp in some animals, others,

which need it less, possess it in an inferior degree. Fishes have

only a simple cavity on each side of the nose, through which water,

impregnated with odors, flows, and communicates the sensation of smell.

Many of the inferior animals, as worms, reptiles, and insects, have

still less perfect organs of sensation, and probably possess the sense

of smell only to a corresponding extent.

Sketches of the Manners, Customs,

&c., of the Indians of America.

CHAPTER XVI.

_Cortez enters the city of Mexico.--Meeting with

Montezuma.--Cortez seizes the emperor.--Effect on the

Mexicans.--Cortez is attacked by the Mexicans, and

Montezuma dies.--Cortez retreats from the city.--Is

victorious in a battle.--Obtains possession of Mexico._

After remaining about twenty days in Tlascala, to recruit the strength

of his soldiers, Cortez resumed his march for the capital. The emperor,

convinced by the fate which had overtaken the Tlascalans that it would

be vain to oppose the advance of so powerful an embassy, consented at

last to receive them into the city, and to allow them an audience. The

Spaniards accordingly advanced with great care, for fear of surprise,

and at last began to cross the causeway which led to Mexico, through

the lake.

As they drew near the city, they were met by a magnificent procession,

in which Montezuma appeared, seated on a litter, which was carried

on the shoulders of four of his chief favorites. He received Cortez

with the greatest respect, and conducted him to a palace, built by his

father, where he invited him to take up his abode. It was of stone, and

so large that the whole Spanish force was quartered in it.

After remaining quiet several days, during which he had several

interviews with the emperor, and had time to perceive the extent

and grandeur of the city, Cortez began to reflect on the danger

of his situation. Shut up, with a handful of men, in a vast city,

whose sovereign was perhaps only restrained by fear from inflicting

punishment on his audacious visiters, he saw that, should they once

lose their hold on the mind of the king, they would be in the utmost

peril from his resentment at their open contempt of his authority.

Accordingly he resolved to render himself secure by a bold and

ingenious plan. He determined to induce the emperor, by entreaties or

force, to take up his residence in the Spanish quarters, where he would

always be in their power. The next day, therefore, proceeding to the

palace, accompanied by a few of his officers, he demanded and obtained

a private interview with the emperor; and at last, by assurances of

safety if he complied, and threats of immediate death if he refused, he

prevailed upon him to trust himself in the hands of the Spaniards.

The dejected king was carried to the residence of Cortez by his

weeping attendants, who naturally suspected that he was to be held in

custody, as a hostage for the safety of his jailers. They did not,

however, dare to oppose the will of their sovereign; and Montezuma

remained thenceforth a close prisoner in the hands of Cortez. Still

he was treated by the Spaniards with all the respect due to his rank,

and the operations of government went on as usual, under the name of

Montezuma, but principally according to the directions of Cortez. By

means of the power thus acquired, Cortez was able to collect a large

amount of gold and silver from the royal treasuries, which appeared to

the troops sufficient to repay them for all the toils and hardships

which they had undergone; but when two fifths had been subtracted for

the king and Cortez, together with the sums spent in fitting out the

expedition, the share of a private soldier was found to be so small,

that many rejected it with disdain, and all murmured loudly at the

cruel disappointment--a just punishment for the greedy avarice which

had prompted the undertaking.

In this state matters remained for about six months. Montezuma now

reminded his visiters, that since they had obtained all that they

required, it was time for them to depart from the capital. Cortez was

not then in a situation openly to oppose this request. He, therefore,

in order to gain time for reinforcements to arrive from Spain, replied

that he intended to depart as soon as he should be able to build a

sufficient number of ships, in place of those which had been burnt.

This appeared so reasonable to the king, that he ordered him to be

supplied with all the materials that he might want for this purpose.

While Cortez was in this state of suspense, he received the unwelcome

news that a body of Spaniards, more than a thousand in number, had

landed on the coast, sent by the governor of Cuba, who was his enemy,

with orders to deprive him of his power, and send him, bound, to

Cuba, to receive punishment as a traitor to his sovereign. This was

a critical moment; but Cortez was not a man to be discouraged by any

danger. He left a hundred and fifty men in the capital, directing them

to keep a most watchful eye upon the king, and to use every means to

preserve the city quiet during his absence. He then marched with the

utmost celerity to the place where his enemies were encamped, took them

by surprise, and made them all prisoners, with the loss of only two

men. He then, by kind and friendly treatment, and glowing descriptions

of the riches which they would obtain under his command, prevailed upon

the whole army to enlist under his banners.

With this welcome reinforcement, he returned to Mexico, as hastily as

he came; for he had received from Alvarado the alarming intelligence,

that, in consequence of the cruelty of the Spaniards, the inhabitants

had risen upon them, killed several, wounded more, and were closely

besieging them in their quarters. Cortez, however, was suffered to

enter the city unopposed. He was received by his countrymen with

transports of joy, but he found that the reverence, with which the

Mexicans once regarded him, was gone. The very next day, they attacked

him with the utmost fury, and were not repulsed without the greatest

difficulty. Two sallies, which the Spaniards afterwards made, were

ineffectual.

Cortez now resolved to try a new expedient. When the Mexicans

approached, the next morning, to renew the assault, they beheld

their captive sovereign, who, in his royal robes, advanced to the

battlements, and, while every tongue was mute, addressed them in behalf

of the Spaniards, and exhorted them to cease from hostilities. For

a moment, a profound silence reigned; but the Mexicans had lost the

reverence which they bore toward their monarch, and they soon broke

out into loud reproaches and execration of his cowardice. A volley

of stones and arrows succeeded, one of which struck Montezuma on the

temple, and he fell. The Mexicans, seized with horror and remorse at

the effects of their rage, fled in terror from the walls. The unhappy

king was borne to his apartments by his attendants, who strove to

console him for his misfortune; but in vain. Broken-hearted at the

disobedience of his subjects, and his own wretched situation, he tore

the bandages from his breast, and refused all nourishment, till death

speedily terminated his sufferings.

After the death of his royal captive, Cortez had no other resource than

to retreat at once from the city. He made his preparations with all

diligence, and, on the night of the 1st of July, 1520, set out on his

march, hoping to withdraw unperceived. But he was fatally mistaken. All

his motions were closely watched by the natives, and before he reached

the middle of the causeway leading from the city, through the lake, he

was suddenly attacked by them, both in front and rear--while from the

canoes in the lake showers of arrows were poured upon them from unseen

foes. The Spaniards, confounded by the darkness of the night, and the

number of their enemies, after a slight resistance, broke, and fled in

utter confusion. Many were slain; a number perished in the lake, and

some fell into the hands of the enemy. The fate of the last was far the

worst--for they were reserved to be sacrificed, with the most cruel

tortures, to the gods of the Mexicans.

The next morning, when Cortez reviewed the miserable remnants of his

troops, now reduced to less than half their former number, he is

said to have wept at contemplating the ravages made among his brave

followers in a single night, which was long known and remembered by the

Spaniards, as the _night of sorrow_.

But the spirit of the Spanish leader was still unconquered; he

encouraged his dejected followers by the hopes of future victories,

and exhorted them to push on with all speed to Tlascala, where they

would again be surrounded by their faithful friends. For six days they

proceeded with the greatest difficulty, constantly skirmishing with

small bodies of Mexicans, who shouted as they approached, “Go on,

robbers, go to the place where you shall soon meet the vengeance due

to your crimes.” The Spaniards were not long left in doubt as to the

meaning of these words; for, reaching the top of an eminence before

them, a spacious valley opened to their view, covered with a vast

army, extending as far as the eye could reach. At the sight of this

great multitude, many of the bravest Spaniards began to despair; but,

encouraged by the words and example of their undaunted general, they

advanced; their enemies gave way before them, but only to return again

to the combat in another quarter. Hundreds fell, but hundreds appeared

to supply their places; until the Spaniards were ready to sink under

the fatigue of their unavailing efforts. At this time, Cortez observed

near him the great standard of the Mexicans; and he recollected to have

heard, that upon the fate of this depended the success of every battle.

Collecting a few of his brave officers, whose horses were still capable

of service, he dashed with tremendous force through the ranks of the

enemy, slew their general, and seized the standard. The Mexicans,

seeing the fall of their sacred banner, gave up at once all hope of

victory, threw down their arms, and fled in every direction.

Cortez now continued his march, and soon arrived into the territories

of the Tlascalans. By these faithful allies he was received with

as much cordiality as ever, notwithstanding his reverses, and he

immediately set about making preparations for the conquest of

Mexico, with so much diligence, that, at the end of six months, he

found himself at the head of more than 500 Spaniards, and about

10,000 Tlascalans and other Indians. He did not, however, undertake

immediately the siege; he began by reducing, or gaining over to his

cause, the smaller cities lying near the capital, and thus he gradually

confined the Mexican power within smaller limits.

In the meantime, the Mexicans were not idle; directly after the death

of Montezuma, his brother, Quetlevan, was raised to the throne. His

reign was short; within a few months he was carried off by the

small-pox--a distemper introduced into the New World by the Spaniards.

He was succeeded by his nephew, Guatimozin, who had already given

decisive proofs of his courage and capacity. Immediately upon his

election, he applied himself to repairing and strengthening the

fortifications of the city; large quantities of arms were manufactured,

and an immense army was collected for the defence of the capital.

At length, all his preparations being completed, Cortez united all his

forces for the last great effort; and the siege of Mexico, the longest

and most arduous of all undertaken by the conquerors of America, was

begun. By means of a small fleet, which he had caused to be constructed

in the mountains of Tlascala, and transported thence by land, with

great labor, he obtained entire possession of the lake; while on land,

a constant succession of assaults and repulses were kept up on both

sides, with the most obstinate valor. But the Spaniards gradually

gained upon the natives, though the latter disputed every inch of

ground with the courage of despair; nor would they listen to any

proposals of surrendering, until three quarters of their city were laid

in ruins, and four fifths of the population had perished by famine,

pestilence, or the sword of the enemy.

When the city could no longer hold out against its besiegers,

Guatimozin, moved by the tears and entreaties of his nobles, attempted

to escape, but was taken and brought back to the capital. When led

before his conqueror, he addressed him in a speech, breathing a Roman

heroism: “I have done what became a monarch. I have defended my people

to the last extremity. Nothing now remains but to die. Take this

dagger--plant it in my breast, and put an end to a life which can no

longer be of use.” It would have been well for him if this request had

been complied with; but he was reserved for further indignities.

The quantity of gold and silver found in the conquered city was very

small. The soldiers murmured loudly at their disappointment, and

accused Guatimozin of having thrown his treasures into the lake, in

order to baulk their well-known avarice. They demanded that he should

be compelled by torture, if necessary, to point out the place in which

they had been cast; and to this, Cortez was base enough to accede. The

captive monarch, together with one of his chief favorites, was put to

the torture; but he remained inflexible. The favorite, in the extremity

of his anguish, turned an imploring eye towards his master, as if to

entreat permission to reveal the secret. “Am _I_ now reposing on a bed

of flowers?” returned the suffering prince, darting at him a look of

scorn, mingled with authority. The obedient servant bowed his head in

silence, and expired; and Cortez, ashamed of his cruelty, ordered the

monarch to be released from further torture.

But the sufferings of the unhappy Guatimozin were not yet terminated:

not long after the capture of the city, the natives, driven to

desperation by the cruelties of their conquerors, rose to regain their

freedom; and Cortez, suspecting the king of being concerned in these

attempts, barbarously ordered him to be hanged; and thus, by a deed

which will forever stain the memory of his great actions, he put an end

to the Mexican empire, which had existed for nearly 200 years. After

this period, the vast territories of Mexico were reduced to Spanish

provinces, in which condition they remained nearly 300 years, when the

people formed independent governments. The republics of Mexico, Texas,

and Guatemala, are all within the territories of Montezuma.

[Illustration: _Rebekah and the servant of Abraham_.]

Isaac and Rebekah.

Among the many beautiful things in the Bible, there are few stories

more interesting than that of Isaac and Rebekah, as it is told in the

twenty-fourth chapter of Genesis.

Isaac was the son of Abraham, who had left his native place in

Mesopotamia, and settled in the land of Canaan. Abraham was unwilling

that his son should marry a Canaanite woman; so he sent his servant to

his own native land, to find a wife for Isaac. The man set out with ten

camels, and a great variety of things for presents, and at last came

near to the city of Nahor, in Mesopotamia.

He stopped at a well without the city, and made his camels kneel by the

side of it. He knew that the daughters of the men of the city would

come out to draw water at the well, for this was the custom of the

country; so he waited, and prayed to the Lord that the damsel to whom

he should say, “Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink,”

should be the woman designed to be the wife of Isaac.

Pretty soon a beautiful girl came to the well, and the servant spoke

to her, and she let down her pitcher, and gave him some water; and she

also gave water to his camels. She told him that her name was Rebekah,

the daughter of Bethuel, son of Milcah. The servant then gave her

some golden ear-rings and some bracelets; and, upon her invitation,

went, with his whole party, to her father’s house. Here he was kindly

received; and after a space, he told the errand on which he had come.

He closed his story in the following words: “And now, if ye will deal

kindly and truly with my master, tell me: and if not, tell me; that I

may turn to the right hand, or to the left.”

Then Bethuel and Laban, his son, answered and said, “The thing

proceedeth from the Lord: we cannot speak unto thee bad or good.

Behold, Rebekah is before thee; take her, and go, and let her be thy

master’s son’s wife, as the Lord hath spoken. And it came to pass that,

when Abraham’s servant heard their words, he worshipped the Lord,

bowing himself to the earth. And the servant brought forth jewels of

silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment, and gave them to Rebekah: he

gave also to her brother and to her mother precious things. And they

did eat and drink, he and the men that were with him, and tarried all

night: and they rose up in the morning; and he said, Send me away unto

my master. And her brother and her mother said, Let the damsel abide

with us a few days, at the least ten; after that she shall go. And he

said unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the Lord hath prospered my way;

send me away, that I may go to my master. And they said, We will call

the damsel, and enquire at her mouth. And they called Rebekah, and said

unto her, Wilt thou go with this man? And she said, I will go. And they

sent away Rebekah, their sister, and her nurse, and Abraham’s servant,

and his men. And they blessed Rebekah, and said unto her, Thou art our

sister; be thou the mother of thousands of millions, and let thy seed

possess the gate of those which hate them.

“And Rebekah arose, and her damsels, and they rode upon the camels, and

followed the man, and the servant took Rebekah, and went his way.

“And Isaac came from the way of the well, Lahai-roi: for he dwelt in

the south country. And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the

even-tide; and he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the camels

were coming. And Rebekah lifted up her eyes; and when she saw Isaac,

she lighted off the camel. For she had said unto the servant, What man

is this that walketh in the field to meet us? And the servant had

said, It is my master: therefore she took a veil, and covered herself.

And the servant told Isaac all things that he had done. And Isaac

brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent, and took Rebekah, and she

became his wife; and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his

mother’s death.”

Mr. Catlin and his Horse Charley.

In a former number of our magazine, we gave an incident, extracted from

Mr. Catlin’s interesting account of his adventures among the western

Indians. We now add another story from the same work. The writer is

giving an account of a long journey through the wilds of the far west.

“On this journey, while Charley and I were twenty-five days alone, we

had much time, and the best of circumstances, under which to learn what

we had as yet overlooked in each other’s characters, as well as to draw

great pleasure and real benefit from what we already had learned of

each other in our former travels.

“I generally halted on the bank of some little stream, at half an hour

of sunset, where feed was good for Charley, and where I could get wood

to kindle my fire, and water for my coffee. The first thing was to

undress Charley, and drive down his picket to which he was fastened, to

graze over a circle that he could inscribe at the end of his laso. In

this wise he busily fed himself until nightfall; and after my coffee

was made and drank, I uniformly moved him up, with his picket by my

head, so that I could lay my hand upon his laso in an instant, in case

of any alarm that was liable to drive him from me.

“On one of these evenings, when he was grazing as usual, he slipped the

laso over his head, and deliberately took his supper at his pleasure,

wherever he chose to prefer it, as he was strolling around. When night

approached, I took the laso in hand, and endeavored to catch him;

but I soon saw he was determined to enjoy a little freedom; and he

continually evaded me until dark, when I abandoned the pursuit, making

up my mind that I should inevitably lose him, and be obliged to perform

the rest of my journey on foot. He had led me a chase of half a mile

or more, when I left him busily grazing, and returned to my little

solitary bivouac, and laid myself on my bear-skin and went to sleep.

“In the middle of the night I waked, whilst I was lying on my back,

and on half opening my eyes, I was instantly shocked to the soul by

the huge figure, as I thought, of an Indian, standing over me, and in

the very act of taking my scalp! The chill of horror that paralyzed me

for the first moment, held me still till I saw that there was no need

of moving--that my faithful horse Charley had ‘played shy’ till he

had ‘filled his belly,’ and had then moved up, from feelings of pure

affection, or from instinctive fear, or possibly from a due share of

both, and taken his position with his fore feet at the edge of my bed,

with his head hanging directly over me, while he was standing, fast

asleep!

“My nerves, which had been most violently shocked, were soon quieted,

and I fell asleep, and so continued until sunrise in the morning, when

I waked, and beheld my faithful servant at some considerable distance,

busily at work picking up his breakfast amongst the cane-brake, along

the banks of the creek. I went as busily at work preparing my own,

which was eaten; and after it, I had another half hour of fruitless

endeavors to catch Charley, whilst he seemed as mindful of mischief as

on the evening before, and continually tantalized me by turning round

and round, and keeping out of my reach.

“I recollected the conclusive evidence of his attachment and

dependence, which he had voluntarily given in the night, and I thought

I would try them in another way; so I packed up my things, and slung

the saddle on my back, and taking my gun in my hand, I started on my

route. After I had advanced a quarter of a mile, I looked back, and saw

him standing, with his head and tail very high, looking alternately at

me and at the spot where I had been encamped and left a little fire

burning.

“In this condition he stood and surveyed the prairies around for a

while, as I continued on. He at length walked with a hurried step to

the spot, and seeing everything gone, began to neigh very violently,

and at last started off the fullest speed, and overtook me, passing

within a few paces of me, and wheeling about at a few rods distance in

front of me, trembling like an aspen leaf.

“I called him by his familiar name, and walked up to him with the

bridle in my hand, which I put over his head, as he held it down for

me, and the saddle on his back, as he actually stooped to receive it.

I was soon arranged, and on his back, when he started off upon his

course, as if he was well contented and pleased, like his rider, with

the manœuvre which had brought us together again, and afforded us

mutual relief from our awkward positions. Though this alarming freak of

Charley’s passed off and terminated so satisfactorily, yet I thought

such rather dangerous ones to play, and I took good care, after that

night, to keep him under my strict authority; resolving to avoid

further tricks and experiments, till we got to the land of cultivated

fields and steady habits.”

[Illustration]

The Kitchen.

The art of managing the kitchen is what every wife should thoroughly

understand; and all those girls, who have any chance of becoming wives,

should be careful to complete this important part of their education.

Even those who are rich, and who can afford to hire people to perform

the work of the kitchen, should still understand it, for the following

reasons:

In the first place, if the lady of the house knows how work ought to

be done, she is competent to direct her assistants; she knows _what_

they should do, and _how_ they should do it. If they fail, she can be

just in bestowing the degree of censure, which is truly merited. If,

on the other hand, she is ignorant, she is as likely to find fault for

what is well done, as for what is ill done. A lady who is ignorant on

the subject of household duties, is very apt to be unreasonable in the

direction of her helpers: they therefore learn to despise, and perhaps

to deceive her; thus making themselves and their mistress very unhappy.

In this way things pass for a time; but they go on from bad to worse,

till they are beyond endurance, and the lady’s help leaves her.

In this way, owing to the ignorance of the lady, many a household is

rendered miserable, many a home is a scene of disorder and confusion.

It is in part owing to this ignorance, and the want of judgment

and discretion that attend it, that we hear of so much changing of

servants, and so much trouble with them, in families. The truth is,

that servants are human beings; they are rational creatures, and

have their rights; when they are ill treated or find themselves

uncomfortable, they will change their condition. It is a blessed thing,

that, in our country, even those who are in humble circumstances are

independent, and need not submit to oppression, even in a kitchen. They

are as much entitled to have their feelings duly considered, as any

others. If they are honest and faithful, they are as well entitled to

respect as others; and it is a pleasing thought, that, when they do not

thus obtain their rights and privileges, they can go away, and seek a

place where they may find them.

Now ignorance of the duties of the kitchen, on the part of a lady,

implies ignorance of the proper way of treating her servants; and it

frequently happens that the servant is more wise, more reasonable,

more respectable, in the sight of God and man, than the ignorant lady

of the house. As ignorance of household duties is thus degrading and

hurtful--bringing contempt upon the subject of it, and misery to all

around--I beseech all the black-eyed and blue-eyed little lasses, who

pretend to be the friends of Robert Merry, to beware of it.

I know that some young ladies fancy that it is degrading thus to work

in the kitchen. Alas, what miserable delusion! Degrading to do that

which contributes to the comfort of home, that which makes a family

happy, that which enables a wife to discharge her duties well and

wisely! Oh, do not let any of my readers indulge such folly! It is

never degrading to do our duty--but it is degrading to despise it.

Even if a person is so rich as to render labor unnecessary, yet it

is impossible to enjoy even riches without some toil, some industry;

and when my young friends grow up, if I should live so long, I hope

to see those who are girls now, industrious, skilful housewives then.

If they can reign well over the little kingdom of the kitchen, I am

sure they will preside successfully over the parlor. One thing should

be remembered--and it is this: _home is seldom happy where housewife

duties are neglected_; _home is seldom miserable where they are wisely

discharged_!

The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences

of Thomas Trotter.

CHAPTER XIX.

_Visit to Herculaneum.--Singular position of that

city.--Account of the manuscripts discovered there.--Visit

to Pompeii, and description of the curiosities of that

place._

No traveller can visit this region without being attracted to those

remarkable places, Herculaneum and Pompeii, two Roman cities, which, as

every reader of history well knows, were overwhelmed by an eruption of

Vesuvius in the year 79, and, after lying buried, totally forgotten,

for seventeen hundred years, were accidentally discovered about a

century ago, by digging a well.

I first visited Herculaneum, which is nearest to Naples. This city

lies seventy or eighty feet under ground, and the towns of Portici

and Resina are built over it. I went down a dark passage with steps,

like the descent into some enormous dungeon, till I reached an open

space resembling a cavern, very wide and lofty, but as dark and dismal

a spot as one would desire to visit. On examining the side of this

great chamber by the light of torches, we could discover the stone

walls and other masonry of the structure, all showing it to be an

ancient theatre. In this place were originally found three fine marble

statues, which are now to be seen in the museum at Naples. Round about

the building are various dark passages and galleries dug through the

hard earth; but the whole city of Herculaneum lies at such a depth

below the surface, that very little of it besides the theatre has been

explored, on account of the labor and expense attending the operation.

The city was overwhelmed first by a shower of ashes, and then by a

torrent of hot water. The ashes and water have hardened into a compact

mass, which, after a consolidation of seventeen hundred years, is found

very difficult to dig through.

There is very little to be seen in Herculaneum; but it causes the

strangest sensations to stand in that gloomy subterranean theatre,

once enlivened by the bustling throngs and noisy gayety of a city

populace. Now all is silent and dreary, and no sound falls upon the

ear save the echoing footstep of a lonely visiter, or the rumbling of

a carriage-wheel overhead! It is not probable that the city will ever

be laid open to the light of day, as this could hardly be done without

serious injury to the territory above it.

The most remarkable objects hitherto found here have been the

manuscripts. These were rolls of papyrus, but so completely charred

by the hot ashes, that they could not be handled without danger of

crumbling to pieces. By very delicate management, however, assisted

by machinery, a series of these have been unrolled. They contained a

treatise, in the Greek language, on music, by Philodemas. Most of the

others that have been examined are also in Greek; but no writings of

any great intrinsic value have yet come to light.

A few miles further along the shore of the Bay of Naples brought me

to Pompeii. This city was buried under a shower of ashes, but was

not covered so deep as Herculaneum; and as no town was built over it

after the catastrophe, there has been no difficulty in excavating it.

About a third part has now been opened, and the work is still going

on. The excavated parts are not subterranean, as at Herculaneum, but

completely uncovered to the sky; so that the visible portion of the

city presents the appearance of a succession of deserted streets and

roofless houses, as if a violent storm of wind had suddenly blown away

the house-tops and the inhabitants with them. Before coming to the gate

of the city, I passed through long lines of tombs;--the grave-yards of

the Romans being always outside the city walls. Many of these tombs

were adorned with beautiful sculptures in marble; and the interiors

were painted with pictures of gladiators fighting, and other subjects.

Just before reaching the gate, I saw a niche in the wall, which served

as a sentry-box for the soldier who stood sentry at the gate. It is a

most striking proof of the strictness of military discipline among the

Romans, that the skeleton of this sentinel was found on the spot:--the

terrible convulsion which destroyed the city could not drive him from

his post, and he remained faithful to his trust to the last moment of

his life!

The main street, on entering, is about as wide as Washington street,

with sidewalks two feet high. The buildings are mostly of brick, and

commonly not more than one story high. The main street is full of

shops, with the names of the shopkeepers coarsely painted over the

doors. There is a baker’s shop, which contained a great many loaves of

bread, rather _overdone_. The loaves are stamped with the baker’s name.

The shop also contained a hand-mill, which shows that the labor of

grinding was also done by the baker. In one of the liquor-shops you may

see on the stone counter the marks of the glasses which were thumped

down by _hard_ drinkers. I went into the cellar of one of the houses,

where I found the wine-jars left standing just as they were in 79;

they were dry, of course. Some of the houses had upper chambers, but

without windows. The large rooms, dining-halls, parlors, &c., have the

walls painted with landscapes, flowers, drapery, and figures like our

paper-hangings. Many of these are of great beauty; and in all of them

we are struck with wonder to observe the freshness and brilliancy of

the coloring, which, after a lapse of 1700 years, appears as bright as

the day it was laid on. These paintings are executed upon plaster, and

the composition either of the paint or stucco appears to contain borax,

which is known to be one of the most indestructible of all substances.

The prevailing colors are bright red and yellow.

A great many of these paintings have been cut out of the walls and

carried to Naples, where they may be seen at the museum. This indeed

is the fact with regard to almost all the movable articles that have

been found at Pompeii. In the gateway of a yard to one of the houses is

a bolt in the pavement, to which a dog was chained, and on the stone

is sculptured the words, _Cave Canem_--“Beware of the dog!” In another

part is an apothecary’s shop, which contained a great number of glass

bottles and phials, with knives, lancets, and other instruments of

surgery. These latter are not of steel, but bronze; and it is singular

that hardly any other metal than bronze has ever been found here, which

shows either the scarcity of iron at that period, or a great want of

skill in working it.

Many of the halls and courts are adorned with splendid mosaic

pavements, and other ornamental stone-work. There is an immense

building, containing a great number of apartments, used for a public

bath. Some of these apartments were heated by flues passing between

the walls;--a device which was formerly thought to be an invention of

modern days. But there are many things at Pompeii which show ingenuity

equal, and sometimes superior, to that of our own age. I was struck

with a very simple contrivance for making a door swing to, without

springs or weights, which I have never seen imitated anywhere.

The public buildings at Pompeii are numerous and striking, but cannot

be properly described without drawings. At the door of the theatre was

found one of the tickets of ivory, with the number of the box marked

upon it. On the walls of the houses may still be seen the theatrical

announcements, such as with us are pasted up at the corners of the

streets. Those at Pompeii are written with a brush on a ground of

stucco, and were washed off as often as the bill was changed. The last

one stood a little longer than the writer expected. Pliny tells us the

people were in the theatre when the eruption broke out.

It is impossible to specify half the curious and interesting objects

to be seen here without writing a volume. Temples, theatres,

amphitheatres, porticoes, fountains, arches, tombs, and the private

dwellings of thousands of men, who appear to have left them but

yesterday, all make a strange and most exciting impression on the

feelings. You almost expect the owners of the houses to step back and

ask your business there. It is curious to observe that the objects

which, in their own day, were the most trivial and unimportant, are now

precisely those which are beheld with the greatest interest. We cannot

pass without curious attention the cart-ruts in the streets, or the

charcoal scrawlings made by idle boys upon the walls, or the names of

Mr. A, B, and C, who lived in this, that, and the other house. There is

a place where a mason was at work, putting on mortar; he had just laid

on a trowel-full, and was drawing a stroke to smooth it down, when the

alarm of the eruption was given, and he left his work and ran. There

stand the stone and mortar to this day, with the mark of the unfinished

stroke! He would have made all smooth in one second more--but 1700

years have passed, and it is not done yet. An hundred volumes written

on the uncertainty of human purpose could not make the fact half so

striking as this little incident!

CHAPTER XX.

_Journey towards Rome.--Vineyards.--The olive

season.--Beautiful scene at Mola di Gaeta.--A shepherd

among the mountains.--The robbers of Fondi.--The Pontine

marshes.--Velletri.--The nightingale.--First sight of Rome._

On the first day of April I set out for Rome. For ten or fifteen

miles beyond Naples, the country appeared to be nothing but one

great vineyard. The vines are not propped by poles, as I found them

in Sicily, but are trained to poplar trees. I passed many wells by

the roadside, furnished with water-wheels turned by oxen: these are

used for irrigating the fields in summer, from which I judged that

the country often suffers from drought. All along the road were

guard-houses with gens-d’armes at regular intervals, a security against

robbers, according to the design; but we generally found these valiant

fellows fast asleep! We might have stolen their muskets and made them

all prisoners before they were well awake. The roads in this quarter

are covered with a fine white dust, which in the unclouded season of

midsummer must have a bad effect upon the eyes. The great number of

blind people we saw, confirmed the impression. About noon we reached

Capua, famous for having once been the most luxurious city in the

world, but now a decayed town, where everybody seems to be fast asleep.

Beyond this place the road began to run among the hills. At night we

stopped at the village of St. Agatha, where we found a tolerably good

inn. We set out early next morning, and passed through fields covered

with olive trees. The peasants whom we met had sprigs of olive stuck

in their hats. This was the olive season, and we saw the women and

children picking up the fruit under the trees. When the olives are

ripe, they turn black and drop from the trees. The oil is squeezed from

them by a common press. The olives used for pickling are taken from the

tree before they are ripe.

At noon we arrived at Mola di Gaeta, one of the most delightful

spots I ever beheld. It stands on the sea-shore, and is skirted by

a range of lofty hills covered with orange groves. The trees were

laden with fruit as bright as gold. The fresh green foliage, the

clear sky, the blue sea, and the white towers of Gaeta which appear

on a promontory stretching out into the ocean, all combine to form a

most enchanting prospect. I do not wonder that Cicero chose this spot

for his country-seat; here they showed us the spot where, according

to Plutarch, he was killed. Further on we continued to find the same

abundance of olive trees: this appears to be a great oil district. A

range of rocky mountains at a distance seemed to consist of nothing but

naked crags; but the plains and low hills are under good cultivation.

The soil in most parts is very rich, and the country wants nothing

but a good government and an industrious people, to make the kingdom

of Naples one of the most flourishing territories on the face of the

earth. In the afternoon we traversed a steep, narrow mountain pass,

and entered upon a wild, rugged country. I got out of the carriage and

trudged along on foot, for the road was so hilly that I could keep

ahead of the horses. The country exhibited quite a solitude; there was

neither house nor human being to be seen for miles. Suddenly the notes

of a wild kind of music fell on my ear, and looking down a rocky glen,

I discovered a shepherd tending his flock, and piping on a reed in the

true Arcadian style. It was the first genuine spectacle of pastoral

life that I had ever seen, and I halted some minutes to take a view

of him. Very pretty poems have been written about pastoral manners,

in which shepherds and shepherdesses make fine romantic figures. The

sight of a real shepherd, however, is enough to dissipate all the

romance of this subject. This fellow wore the true pastoral dress,

jacket and leggins of sheepskin, with the wool outside!--a more ragged,

scarecrow-looking object never met my eyes. I would give a round sum of

money to get one of these Neapolitan shepherds to show himself in the

streets of Boston. An Indian sachem would be nothing in comparison to

him.

The country continued wild and broken till we reached Fondi, a town

among the mountains, once notorious for its robberies. These were

carried on so openly and to such an extent, that the government were

obliged to surround the town with troops, and threaten to batter

every house to the ground with cannon, unless the leaders of the

banditti were given up. Since these fellows have been hanged, and the

roads guarded with soldiers, travelling has been pretty safe. But

nothing except force prevents the inhabitants of Fondi from resuming

their old habits of robbery. I never saw so villanous-looking a set

of ragamuffins anywhere else. Every man and boy in the town has

the genuine countenance of a cut-throat; and the women do not look

much better. We stopped here just long enough to get our passports

examined; but that was long enough. Though the people are not allowed

to rob, they almost make up for it in begging; for their impudence

and obstinacy in this business nearly amount to violence. The whole

population were either crowding around us, begging, or lying in crowds

about the church steps, lazily sunning themselves. I longed to stir up

the louts, and set them to work. From laziness to begging, and from

begging to robbery, is a regular and almost inevitable progress.

The road beyond Fondi ran along the shores, and in the afternoon we

reached the territory of the Pope. The first sight we saw here was a

herd of buffaloes in a field. These animals are tame, and used the same

as oxen. They are not like the buffalo, or, more properly, _bison_ of

the western prairies, but a distinct species of quadruped. At night we

reached Terracina, the first town in the papal dominions. It stands

on the seashore, at the foot of a lofty, precipitous rock. During the

night the wind was high, and drove a heavy surf upon the beach. A

bright moonlight made a stroll along the shore very pleasant. In the

morning the wind had gone down, and we recommenced our journey. Here

we entered upon the famous Pontine marshes, over which the road passes

nearly thirty miles in a straight line, and a great part of the way

bordered by trees. These marshes consist of swampy and boggy tracts,

with lagoons of water and patches of dry pasture-land interspersed here

and there. Herds of buffaloes and black swine were roaming about in the

dry spots, and the lagoons were covered with flocks of wild ducks and

other waterfowl; but not a human being or a house was to be seen. These

marshes breed so pestilential an air in summer, that the neighborhood

is uninhabitable. They are bordered by a range of mountains on one

side, and on the other by the Mediterranean.

There were no thick woods anywhere to be seen; a few scattered cork

and ilex trees were all that met the eye. The mountains were bare to

their very summits. The country, after passing the marshes, became

very beautiful, and as we approached the town of Velletri we beheld

the most enchanting landscapes. Here, for the first time, I heard the

nightingale. He sings in the most lively and voluble strain, and is

well worthy of his great reputation among the feathered songsters;

but there is no American bird whom he resembles in tone or manner.

We stopped for the night at Velletri, which stands on a commanding

eminence, with an almost boundless prospect toward the south. On the

other side, you look down a deep valley and up the side of a mountain

beyond, covered with verdant fields, gardens, vineyards, and every

variety of cultivation.

Rome was now but twenty-four Italian or eighteen English miles distant.

The morning broke delightfully, and my impatience to see the great

capital of the world was at such a height, that I would not wait for

the carriage, but set out on foot. Long strings of wagons were coming

from Rome, having left that city late the preceding night. It was

amusing to notice that the drivers were nearly all fast asleep. The

horses were eating all the way, each one having a bundle of hay tied

to the head of the shaft in such a manner that he could help himself.

The road over which I was passing was the celebrated Appian way, and

is paved neatly and durably with square stones laid diamond-wise. As

the day drew on, I met the country people going to their work. The

women have a curious head-dress, consisting of a square fold of cloth,

starched stiff and laid flat on the top of the head, often fastened

with a silver pin as big as a kitchen skewer.

Two or three more small towns on the road could not induce me to

slacken my pace towards the great object of my curiosity. At length,

about the middle of the forenoon, as I ascended a steep hill, I caught

sight of a lofty dome at a distance, which I instantly knew for St.

Peter’s! Rome indeed was before me!--a sight which no man can behold

for the first time without emotions impossible to describe. I stopped

involuntarily. A wide plain extended from the foot of the eminence on

which I stood to the walls of Rome. Long lines of aqueducts, ruined

towers, and broken masses of walls and other architecture, chequered

the surface of the plain; and the whole exhibited a striking spectacle

of ruin and desolation. This was the Campagna di Roma, which, in the

day of its prosperity, was covered with houses and gardens, the suburbs

of the great city. Now, everything is still, solitary and lifeless.

As I approached the city, I saw nothing around me but fields without

fences, overgrown with brambles; not a house nor a garden, nor a

human being, except here and there a ragged shepherd watching his

sheep, which were browsing among the ruins! Nearer the city, I passed

occasionally a field of wheat, and now and then a house; but hardly

any people were to be seen, and nothing of the hurry, life and bustle

which indicate the neighborhood of a populous city. This spectacle of

solitude and desolation continued even after passing the gates of Rome;

for half the territory within the walls is an utter waste.

RATTLESNAKES.--Two men, Egbert Galusha and Reuben Davis, residing in

the town of Dresden, on the east side of Lake George, recently killed,

in three days, on the east side of Tongue Mountain, in the town of

Bolton, _eleven hundred and four rattlesnakes_! They were confined to

rocks and uninhabited places. Some of the reptiles were of an enormous

size, having from six to twenty rattles. They were killed for their oil

or grease, which is said to be very valuable. We will turn out Warren

county against the world for rattlesnakes!--_Glenns’ Falls Clarion._

[Illustration]

Knights Templars.

About seven or eight hundred years ago, it was the custom of

Christians, in various parts of the world, to go to the city of

Jerusalem, to say prayers and perform penances, thinking that they

benefited their souls thereby. Jerusalem belonged to the Turks then,

as it does now; and it frequently happened that these Christians were

ill-treated by the inhabitants, who despised and hated them.

This ill-treatment roused the people of Europe to vengeance, and

vast armies went to take Jerusalem from the Turks, whom they called

infidels. There were several of these wonderful expeditions, called

_Crusades_, during the tenth, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, in

which several millions of people lost their lives. Jerusalem was taken

from the Turks, but they got it back again after a short time.

It was about the period of the crusades that _Knight-Errantry_ took its

rise. The knights-errant, or wandering knights, rode on fine horses,

with spears and swords; and when they met each other they went to

battle, often for the fun of it. They pretended to go about to relieve

the distressed and to punish injustice: and there was need enough of

this--for, in that age of the world, there was a great deal of cruelty

and oppression. Sometimes these knights really performed very noble and

brave actions. The stories of their adventures, preserved in ancient

books, are very interesting.

The order of Knights Templars was formed at Jerusalem, by seven

gentlemen, about the year 1120. They professed to devote themselves

to the service of God, and actually set about punishing robbers

and thieves who troubled the Christians who went on pilgrimages to

Jerusalem. They increased in numbers, and had apartments assigned them

near Solomon’s Temple, whence they were called _Templars_. After a

time, the Templars were numerous in Europe, where they grew very rich

and powerful. At last they were accused of high crimes; and, in the

fourteenth century, the order was suppressed.

PETER PARLEY’S NEW STORIES.

No. IV.

The Garden of Peace.

There are few persons who do precisely as they ought to do. It is very

seldom that any one, even for a single day, discharges every duty that

rests upon him, at the same time avoiding everything that is wrong.

There is usually something neglected, delayed, or postponed, that ought

to be done to-day. There is usually some thought entertained, some

feeling indulged, some deed committed, that is sinful. If any person

doubts this, let him make the experiment; let him watch every thought

and action for a single day, and he will be very likely to perceive

that what we say is true--that all fall far short of perfect obedience

to the rule of right.

And yet, if a person can once make up his mind to do right, it is

the surest way to obtain happiness. The manner in which this may be

accomplished, and the pleasant consequences that follow, I shall

endeavor to show by an allegory, which will, at the same time, exhibit

the evils that proceed from an habitual and determined neglect of duty.

In an ancient city of the East, two youths chanced to be passing a

beautiful garden. It was enclosed by a lofty trellis, which prevented

their entering the place; but, through its openings, they could

perceive that it was a most enchanting spot. It was not a place where

kitchen vegetables are produced, but it was embellished by every object

of nature and art that could give beauty to the landscape. There were

groves of lofty trees, with winding avenues between them. There were

green lawns, the grass of which seemed like velvet. There were groups

of shrubs, many of them in bloom, and scattering delicious fragrance

upon the atmosphere.

Between these pleasing objects there were fountains sending their

silvery showers into the air; and a stream of water, clear as crystal,

wound with gentle murmurs through the place. The charms of this lovely

scene were greatly heightened by the delicious music of birds, the hum

of bees, and the echoes of many youthful and happy voices.

The two young men gazed upon the landscape with intense interest; but

as they could only see a portion of it through the trellis, they looked

out for some gate by which they might enter the garden. At a little

distance, they perceived an arch, and they went to the spot, supposing

that they should find an entrance here. There was, indeed, a gate; but,

behold, it was locked, and they found it impossible to gain admittance!

While they were considering what course they should adopt, they

perceived an inscription upon the arch above, which ran as follows:

“Ne’er till to-morrow’s light delay

What may as well be done to-day;

Ne’er do the thing you’d wish undone

Viewed by to-morrow’s rising sun.

Observe these rules a single year,

And you may freely enter here.”

The two youths were much struck by these lines; and, before they

parted, both had agreed to make the experiment and try to live

according to the inscription. They were not only anxious to gain

admittance to the beautiful garden, but the idea of adopting a plan

like that proposed had something of novelty in it; and this is always

pleasing to the ardent heart of the young.

I need not tell the details of their progress in their trial. Both

found the task they had undertaken much more difficult than they at

first imagined. To their surprise, they found that following this rule

required an almost total change of their modes of life; and this taught

them, what they had not felt before, that a very large part of their

lives--a very large share of their thoughts, feelings and actions--were

wrong, though they were considered virtuous young men by the society in

which they lived.

After a few weeks, the younger of the two, finding that the scheme put

too many restraints upon his tastes, abandoned the trial. The other

persevered, and, at the end of the year, presented himself at the

arched gateway of the garden.

To his great joy, he was instantly admitted; and if the place pleased

him when seen dimly through the trellis, it appeared far more lovely,

now that he could actually tread its pathways, breathe its balmy air,

and mingle intimately with the scenes around. One thing delighted,

yet surprised him--which was this: it now seemed _easy_ for him to

do right; nay, to do right, instead of requiring self-denial and a

sacrifice of his tastes and wishes, seemed to him to be _a matter of

course_, and the pleasantest thing he could do.

While he was thinking of this, a person came near, and the two fell

into conversation. After a little while, the youth told his companion

what he was thinking of, and asked him to account for his feelings.

“This place,” said the other, “is the _Garden of Peace_. It is the

abode of those who have adopted God’s will as the rule of their lives.

It is a happy home provided for those who have conquered selfishness;

those who have learned to put aside their passions and do their duty.

At first, it is difficult to do this; for, in early life, we adopt

wrong courses, and habit renders them easy. These habits become our

masters, and it is hard to break away from them. But if we triumph

over these habits, and if we adopt others, of a virtuous kind, then it

is easy to follow them; and the peace that flows from virtuous habits

is beyond the power of words to express. This lovely garden is but a

picture of the heart that is firmly established in the ways of virtue.

Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.”

While the companions were thus conversing, and as they were passing

near the gateway, the youth saw on the other side the friend who had

resolved to follow the inscription, but who had given over the trial.

Upon this, the companion of the youth said, “Behold the young man who

could not conquer himself! How miserable is he in comparison with

yourself! What is it makes the difference? You are in the _Garden of

Peace_; he is excluded from it. This tall gateway is a barrier that he

cannot pass; this is the barrier, interposed by human vices and human

passions, which separates mankind from that peace, of which we are all

capable. Whoever can conquer himself, and has resolved, firmly, that

he will do it, has found the key of that gate, and he may freely enter

here. If he cannot do that, he must continue to be an outcast from the

_Garden of Peace_!”

[Illustration]

The Banana.

The banana tree is a kind of palm, found in hot climates. It is common

in South America, and we frequently see the fruit in our markets. When

this is cut in slices, dried in the sun, and pounded, it produces a

mealy substance that answers the purpose of bread. The banana is also

eaten without cooking, when ripe, and is esteemed very delicious.

The Spaniards always cut the fruit lengthwise, for they have a

superstitious dread of cutting it across, because the pieces then have

a resemblance to the cross on which Christ was crucified.

The fruit of the banana tree is almost as large as a cucumber; the

leaves are five or six feet long and a foot wide.

ECONOMY.--As a proof of domestic economy in France, it may be stated

that a short time back, in the commune of Bugey, in the Saone-et-Loire,

a man buried his wife in an old clock-case to save the expense of

a coffin, in defiance of the remonstrances of the neighbors and a

clergyman.

[Illustration]

Comparative Size of Animals.

This engraving represents several well-known animals, and exhibits them

in just proportion to one another. The elephant is the largest, and the

rat is the smallest, in the picture. The camelopard, or giraffe, is the

tallest--for while the elephant is only about nine or ten feet high,

the giraffe is seventeen.

It is well to be able to carry in the memory an accurate idea of the

comparative size of quadrupeds; and, therefore, I ask my young reader

to run over the picture with me. The elephant, with his curling trunk

and long tusks, takes the lead; and he is six times as large as a

horse. Next comes the rhinoceros, with a horn on his nose, and a skin

that makes him look as if he had a harness on.

Next comes the hippopotamus--a fellow that loves the mud--and a stupid

creature he seems to be. Then comes the tall giraffe, with ears

resembling horns, and standing up very straight for a four-legged

creature. The horse, one of the most graceful of animals, is next. Then

comes the lion--then the tiger--then the stag--then the sheep--then

the deer--then the antelope--then the wolf--then the dog--then the

jackal--then the fox--then the wild-cat--then the rabbit--then, last

and least, the rat.

Merry’s Adventures.

CHAPTER XVIII.

We are told that the wandering Arabs, after the day’s march over the

desert which they love to inhabit, gather in groups at night and amuse

each other by telling tales. It always seemed to me that a story

under these circumstances would be more interesting than if told in

the house, by the quiet fireside; for the feelings and fancy are apt

to be excited when there is nothing but the heavens above us and the

wide landscape around us. Certain I am that Mat Olmsted’s story of the

Chippewa Chief and his bride Meena, seemed far more interesting from

the fact that it was related in the woods, by the side of a watch-fire.

It must be understood that my friend was no scholar; and, though I have

mended his language as to the grammar, I have not added to its point

or significance. His Yankee phrases and tone gave additional force to

his narrative; and, owing to this and the circumstances under which he

told his tale, it made such an impression on my mind, that I remember

it better than anything else which has lain so long in memory.

I slept pretty well during the night, though I waked up several times,

and saw Mat with one eye open, at my side. Feeling that I had a

faithful sentinel to keep guard, I fell back into my repose. The sun

rose at last. It was a beautiful frosty morning, and the black and

gray squirrels were enlivening the woods with their merry gambols. I

should gladly have stayed in the place for a long time, and really

began to feel that I should like to turn Indian and make the forest my

dwelling-place. But this was momentary: we soon began our march, and

entering the high road, proceeded on our way to Albany.

I have not time or space to tell all the little adventures we met

with--all the good jokes Mat uttered, or the smart speeches he made.

I must hurry on in my story, for I am afraid that, if I do not, my

readers will think it like the old woman’s stocking--the more she knit,

the further she got from the end of it.

We reached Albany in a few days, and finding a sloop about departing

for New York, we concluded to take passage in her and go to that city.

This was a little out of our way, but we did not mind that. The captain

of the vessel was a Dutchman, and his name was Dyke. He was a short,

stout, broad-shouldered man, and his pantaloons were made somewhat like

petticoats hitched up between his legs. He had a pipe in his mouth

nearly the whole time; and such clouds of smoke as he did send forth!

Puff, puff, puff! Mat Olmsted called him Captain Volcano, more than

half the time. However, he was a good sailor, and he managed the sloop

very well.

Beside Mat and myself, there was a young man on board, who had been

collecting furs from the Indians, and was now proceeding to sell them

at New York. He was a pleasant fellow, and such lots of stories as

he and Mat and the Dutch captain told, I never heard before. I could

fill a book with them; but I shall only give a sample from each of the

narrators.

One moonlight evening, as we were gliding down the Hudson river, its

broad bosom seeming like a sea of silver, we were all seated on the

deck of the vessel, the captain, as usual, puffing at his pipe as if he

was carrying on a manufactory of clouds, and was paid by the hogshead.

For some time there was a dead silence; when at last the captain took

his pipe from his mouth, and gravely remarked that his father was the

bravest man that ever lived.

“How so?” says Matthew.

“Look there,” said Captain Dyke, pointing to a little island in the

river, which we were then passing. “That island,” he continued, “was

once the resort of Captain Kid, the famous pirate, who had a fine

ship in which he sailed over the world, and, robbing every vessel he

met of its money, collected a vast deal of gold and silver. After a

long voyage, he used to sail up this river and bury his money on this

island. When I was a boy, there was a hut still standing there, which

was said to have been built by Kid himself.

“There were a great many wild stories told about this hut; for it was

said that the captain and his crew used to hold their revels there.

Long after the famous freebooter was hung, and his companions were

dead, it was maintained that strange noises were heard in the hut, and

several persons who had peeped in at night declared that they had seen

Kid there in the midst of his jolly sailors, all of them drinking,

singing, and telling wild tales of the sea.

“Now my father, as I said, was a brave man, and he offered to sleep in

the hut one night for a bottle of brandy. This banter was accepted, and

my father was put over to the island in a boat and left to himself. He

had taken care to have the bottle of brandy with him. He repaired to

the hut, and sat himself down upon a sailor’s chest which chanced to be

there.

“There was no furniture in the room, save a rough table which stood in

the centre, and an old-fashioned high-backed chair. My father placed

the bottle on the table, and which, by the way, was one of your deep

craft, with a long neck, and holding somewhere about half a gallon.

“After sitting nearly an hour upon the chest, all the while looking

at the bottle, which glimmered in the moonlight that stole between

the rafters of the hut, my father laid himself down on the floor and

tried to go to sleep. He had not lain long, however, before the bottle

slid gently off the table, and then began to lengthen, till it grew

up as tall as a woman. Pretty soon it assumed the shape of one of my

father’s sweethearts, and beckoned to him to come and kiss her! With

this request he complied, of course, and then they fell to dancing in a

very merry style. As they were whirling round and round, the old chair

began to bob about, and at the same moment the rickety table rocked to

and fro, then whirled round and performed a pirouette upon one of its

legs. A moment after, these two joined hand in hand with my father and

his sweetheart, and round and round they flew. Everything went on like

a regular cotillon. It was back to back, cross over, right and left,

chassez, and balance to partners! My father was in great spirits, and

he performed the double shuffle to admiration. The old table did the

same, the high-backed chair followed, and Miss Bottle beat them all.

Such pigeon-wings as she executed never were seen before! The whole

party caught the spirit of the moment, and it now seemed to be a strife

to see which would surpass the rest in feats of grace and agility.

“My father had seen many a frolic, but never such a one as that;

and, what was remarkable, the dance seemed constantly to increase in

quickness and merriment. The top of the table looked like the jolly

face of a Dutchman, the mouth stretched wide, and the eyes goggling

with laughter. The old chair seemed to nod and wink with elvish mirth;

and the maiden, who all the time appeared to have a queer resemblance

to a bottle, frisked and flirted the gayest of the party. On went

the dance, until my father was entirely out of breath; but there

was no cessation to the sport. There seemed to be an old fiddler

standing in one corner, but nothing save two eyes and his elbow were

distinctly visible. The latter flew more rapidly every moment, the

music quickened; and the dancers kept time. For seven hours my father

performed his part in the dance, until, at last, he reeled, and,

falling forward, knocked the table, the chair, and the bottle all into

a heap. The vision immediately vanished, and soon after there was a

rapping at the door. The people had come over to the island, for it was

now morning. They found my father in a swoon, lying across the table,

the chair crushed, and the bottle broken in a hundred fragments, which

lay scattered on the floor.”

“A strange story that,” says Matthew, as the Dutchman paused; “but I

wish to ask one question. Was there any liquor upon the floor where the

bottle was broken?”

“Not a drop,” said the Dutchman; “and that’s a good proof that old

Nick himself was there to drink the liquor.”

“No, no,” said Matthew, significantly; “it only proves that your

father kissed Miss Bottle a little too often; so he got drunk and had

the nightmare, and all this scene was a vision of his brain! This

proves that your father could drink two quarts of brandy in a single

night. I had an uncle who performed a greater feat than that in the

revolutionary war, for he captured a British officer with a sausage!”

“Indeed!” said the captain and the fur-trader both at once; “let us

hear the story.”

“Well,” said Matthew; “it happened thus. At one time during the war, as

you all know, Washington was situated with his little army at Tappan,

near the North river, while Sir Harry Clinton, the British commander,

with his troops, were at New York. The space between the two armies

was called the Neutral Ground, and it was chiefly occupied by a set of

people called Cow-boys. These fellows went back and forth, trading with

both parties, and cheating everybody, as they could get a chance.

“Now my uncle, whose name was Darby, was a Cow-boy by profession, but

he was a patriot in disguise, as you shall hear. One cold winter’s

night he was trudging along over the road with a bag of sausages on his

back, going to sell them to General Putnam, whose quarters were at the

distance of three or four miles. As he was walking along over a lonely

part of the road, it being a little after sunset and already growing

dark, he heard a horse’s gallop at no great distance. He was at the

bottom of a hill, and in the midst of a thick wood. Looking to the top

of the hill, he saw a man on horseback, who now began gently to come

down the descent. My uncle was not only made for a patriot, but also

for a great general. Believing that the man on horseback was a British

officer, the idea suddenly entered his head that he would capture him,

if it should appear that he was unarmed. Accordingly, he thrust his

hand hastily into his wallet, took out one of the frozen sausages,

crooked it in the shape of a pistol, and stood still in the middle of

the road. The stranger soon approached, and my uncle Darby called out,

‘Who goes there?’ ‘You must first tell me who you are!’ said the person

on horseback. ‘That’s as we can agree,’ said my uncle; ‘for it takes

two to make a bargain in these parts.’ All this time, he was looking

very sharp to see if the man had any weapons about him, and perceiving

that he was unarmed, he sprang upon him like a tiger, seized the horse

by the bridle, and thrust the muzzle of the seeming pistol in the face

of the rider.

“‘Dismount, or I’ll blow your brains out!’ said Darby. My uncle had a

voice of thunder, and the astonished traveller expected every moment

to be shot through the body. It was no time for parley; so the man

dismounted, and my uncle, putting his foot in the stirrup, sprung to

the saddle in an instant. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘my pretty fellow, you must

go and see old Put. To the right about face, forward, march!’ The man

hesitated, but my uncle pretended to cock his pistol, and pointed it at

the man’s breast. This settled the question, and the poor fellow began

doggedly to ascend the hill. Following him close behind, and keeping

his weapon in a threatening attitude, he conducted the man along the

road, and in the space of about an hour ushered him into the presence

of General Putnam. On examination, he proved to be a British sergeant,

who was out upon a frolic, and, wishing to pass as an American, had

left his weapons behind. The story made a vast deal of fun in the camp,

and my uncle acquired great renown for his exploit. But patriotism

is often rewarded with ingratitude. My uncle received the sergeant’s

horse, it is true, as a recompense, but he was called ‘_Sassage Darby_’

during the remainder of his life.”

When Matthew had done, the captain turned to the fur-trader, and said,

“We have each of us told our story; it is now your turn to tell one.”

“Well,” said the young man in reply; “you have related an adventure of

your father; our friend Matthew has told one of his uncle; I will now

relate one of myself.”

“When I was a boy, I read Robinson Crusoe, and so I had a great fancy

for going to sea. Nothing would do, but I must be a sailor. My father

and mother were both opposed to it; and, finding it impossible to

obtain their consent, I resolved to run away. Getting together a little

money, I packed up my clothes, and one night set off for New London in

Connecticut, a distance of about twenty miles from where I lived. I

there entered on board a schooner bound for Boston, which sailed the

next day. There were but five persons on board,--the captain, his two

sons, one sixteen and the other seventeen years old,--an old sailor,

and myself.

“It was the beginning of winter, but the weather was uncommonly fine,

and in a short time we were out upon the sea. We scudded along with

a light wind for a couple of days, when there was a sudden change of

weather. It first blew from the southeast, and rained smartly. I was

a little sea-sick, but still able to keep upon the deck. The storm

increased, and the wind shifting to the northeast, it began to snow.

At the same time it grew cold, and in a very short space everything

about the vessel was sheeted with ice and snow. She became perfectly

unmanageable, and was now drifting before the gale towards the island

of Nantucket, which was at our lee. We put out our anchor, but it was

not of sufficient length to reach the bottom.

“Believing that she must inevitably go ashore, the captain loosed his

boat, and getting into it himself, directed us to follow him. His

two sons obeyed; but the old sailor, conceiving that the boat must

be swamped in the raging sea, chose to continue in the vessel and

persuaded me to remain with him. The captain departed, and proceeded

toward the shore. But it was now evening, and we soon lost sight of him.

“We continued to drift along for a couple of hours, when the anchor

suddenly took effect, and we rode out the night in safety. In the

morning, the storm had abated, but everything was so covered with ice

that it was impossible for us to get up a sail. In this condition we

remained for four days, when a spell of milder weather set in, and we

were able to get the little schooner under way. In about a week we

reached Boston, where we learned the fate of the captain and his two

sons. He reached the shore in safety, but at the distance of nearly

three miles from any house. Both of his sons were chilled with the

intense cold, and the younger was in a short time unable to walk.

Yielding to his fate, the poor fellow lay down upon the beach and

begged his father to leave him to die, as the only means of saving his

own life and that of his brother. The father would not listen to this.

So he took the young man upon his back, and proceeded on his way. He

had not gone more than half a mile, when the elder son sunk to the

earth, incapable of proceeding farther.

“The storm still continued to rage, and for a moment the old man gave

way to despair; but soon recovering, he set forward, with the younger

son upon his back. Having proceeded a quarter of a mile, he laid him

down upon the beach, and returned to the elder boy, whom he found

almost in a state of insensibility. Taking him upon his shoulders,

he carried him to the spot where he had left his younger son. What

was his agony to discover that the boy was cold and lifeless! He now

proceeded with the one upon his back, but in a short time his foot

faltered, and he fell to the earth. There was no way, but to leave

his children, and reach the house, if possible, for aid. Faint and

exhausted, he proceeded with a staggering step, and when at last he

reached the house, his mind was so bewildered, that he could scarcely

tell his piteous tale. He said enough, however, to give the people some

intimation of the truth, and two men immediately set out to scour the

beach. They were not long in discovering the bodies of the two boys,

who were covered with the spray of the sea, thickly frozen to their

garments. Everything was done for them that kindness could suggest, and

all had the happiness of soon discovering signs of life. Gradually,

both recovered, and the anguish of the father gave way to joy. In

four days they were all able to leave the place, and soon after our

arrival with the little schooner they came on board. I had, however,

seen enough of the sea, and resolved in my heart never to trust myself

upon its treacherous bosom again. I made my way back to my home; and,

thoroughly penitent for my disobedience, resolved never again to

disobey my parents; for during the storm, and especially that fearful

night when the old sailor and myself were alone in the vessel, the

thought of my misconduct weighed heavily upon my heart, and took away

from me the power of providing against the danger that beset me.”

As the young man finished his story, the captain puffed forth an

enormous quantity of smoke, and the rest of our party retired to bed!

[Illustration]

Misitra and the Ancient Sparta.

Misitra is a considerable town in Greece, and situated in the province

of Laconia. It occupies the slope of a hill, and, as you approach

it, has an imposing aspect. You would think it a very large and

splendid capital; but as you enter it, the illusion vanishes, and you

find yourself in narrow, winding, and dirty streets, where no fine

buildings, ancient or modern, meet the eye.

At the distance of a few miles are the ruins of ancient Sparta, the

capital of the Lacedemonians, a brave, stern, warlike people, who

adopted the laws of Lycurgus, and formed a great contrast to the gay,

polished, fickle Athenians. But, alas! no monuments of the Spartans

remain on the site of their ancient capital, and the place is only

marked by the remains of Roman edifices, erected after the Spartans

were subjected to the Roman yoke!

Absence of Mind.

The following cases of absence of mind are furnished by the newspapers:

A short time since, a person engaged a butcher to come the next morning

and kill a hog for him. The butcher told him to have the water boiled

early, and he would attend. In the morning he came, asked if the water

was boiled, and being answered affirmatively, killed the hog, and

brought him to his scalding position. He then ordered the good man of

the house to bring out the water, which he did by bringing out cold

water. This surprised the butcher.

“Where,” said he, “is your boiling water?”

“Why, here!--Molly and I _boiled it last night_! Oh, now I know!--you

can’t scald hogs without the water is hot!”

Exit the man of the knife, in a rage!--_N. O. Pic._

* * * * *

On Sunday morning, between the hours of one and two o’clock, as

Inspector Donnigan, of the police, was going his rounds, he observed a

man, stripped to his shirt, standing in a short, narrow, and uncovered

passage in Denmark street, London. On approaching him, and asking what

he was doing there, the man replied that he was getting into bed; and

at the time he shook from head to foot with the cold, which was very

intense.

Donnigan asked him if he was aware he was in the street. He replied

he was not, and that he fancied he was by his bed-side, and said his

clothes were somewhere about. The officer, after searching for some

time, discovered an excellent suit of clothes and a silk cravat on

the sill of a window about thirty yards off, with shoes and stockings

underneath, and a hat close by.

The cold had by this time brought the man to his perfect senses, and,

by the advice of the inspector, he put on his clothes, and, thanking

him for his attention, proceeded homewards!

A few years ago, Inspector Norman, belonging to the same division,

while going his rounds, had his attention directed to some wagons which

were placed in Black Lion-yard, Whitechapel, by a loud snoring.

He procured a light, and on proceeding to the spot, he found an Irish

gentleman fast asleep between the shafts of a wagon, with his clothes

off to his shirt, and apparently as comfortable as if reposing on a bed

of down. His clothes were carefully placed over one of the shafts, and

on the top of them rested his pocket-book, containing nearly £800 in

bank notes, and in his trowsers pockets a quantity of gold and silver,

beside a valuable gold watch, &c. He was at once aroused and taken

care of, and the preservation of his property was considered almost

miraculous, as, in the immediate neighborhood in which he was found,

were located some of the most expert thieves in Europe.--_London paper._

The Star Fish.

Did you ever stand on the rocky shore of the sea and notice the star

fishes that come floating along? Many of them appear like pieces of

jelly, drifting with the tide, without life, and without the power

of motion. But they are all capable of moving from place to place,

and shoot out their arms in every direction. Some of them have five

rays, as in the picture; this kind are called _five-fingered Jack_.

These star fishes have very ravenous appetites, and are very expert in

gratifying them. They grasp prawns, shrimps, worms, and insects that

come in their way; and, soft and pulpy as they seem, woe to the poor

creature that they get hold of! One thing is very curious, and that

is that they devour shells of considerable size, which are crushed to

pieces in their stomachs!

[Illustration]

Not only are the star fishes of different forms, but they are of

different hues also: some are striped, some are red, and some green. In

fine weather, they are seen in the water, spread out, fishing for their

meal. Some have long, fibrous arms, which stretch forth to a distance,

and with them they pull in their prey. If you take one of those

creatures and put him on the shore, he becomes a mass of offensive

liquid, like water, in about twenty-four hours.

[Illustration]

This picture represents one of these curious creatures, called

_Medusa_. The kinds, as I have said, are numerous, and in some seas

they are found in myriads. The most curious property of these strange

fishes is, that they give out a light at night, which often makes the

waves very brilliant. If you ever go to sea, you will notice this light

in the track of the vessel, almost seeming as if the water were on fire.

WHERE IS THY HOME?

“Where is thy home, thou lonely man?”

I asked a pilgrim gray,

Who came, with furrowed brow, and wan,

Slow musing on his way.

He paused, and with a solemn mien,

Upturned his holy eyes,--

“The land I seek thou ne’er hast seen,--

_My_ home is in the skies!”

O! blest--thrice blest! the heart must be

To whom such thoughts are given,

That walks from worldly fetters free,--

Its only home in heaven!

[Illustration]

Sea-Weed.

Every portion of the earth seems covered with vegetation, except now

and then some sandy desert. Even the rocks are covered with mosses;

and we have heard of little red plants, that take root so thickly in

snow-flakes, as to make a fall of snow seem like a shower of blood.

The bottom of the sea, too, is sown with myriads of plants. These are

of many forms and many hues, but mostly of a green color: it is owing

to the plants beneath the surface that the sea has such a verdant

tinge. In some tropical portions of the sea, the marine plants are so

thick as to obstruct the passage of ships; and some species are said to

grow seven hundred feet in length!

Inquisitive Jack and his Aunt Piper.

There was once a little boy who had neither father nor mother, but he

had an excellent aunt, and she supplied the place of parents. Her name

was Piper, and a very good woman she was. The boy’s name was John;

but, as he was always asking questions, he at length got the name of

Inquisitive Jack.

He was perpetually teasing his aunt to tell him about the sun, or the

moon,--to explain to him why the fire burned, or where the rain came

from, or something else of the kind. His aunt, being unmarried, and

having little else to do, used to sit down for hours together, and

answer little Jack’s inquiries.

One winter’s day, they were sitting by a pleasant fire, and Jack had

been reading in a book of poetry. After a while, he laid down the book,

and asked his aunt why some things were told in poetry and some in

prose. To this the good lady replied as follows.

“I must tell you, in the first place, my boy, that prose is the

language of common speech, such as I am now talking to you. But there

are certain thoughts and feelings that are too fine and beautiful for

prose. If these were expressed in a common way, their beauty would be

lost. I will try to make you understand this by a story.

“There were once some flowers growing in a garden, but they were mixed

with other plants, such as peas, beans, potatoes, beets, and other

things. These had, therefore, a common appearance, and no one noticed

their beauty.

“At length, the gardener took up these flowers, and set them out in

a nice bed of earth, which he had prepared for them. This situation

permitted their bright colors and fair forms to be seen, and they

therefore attracted the attention of every person who passed by.

“Everybody admired them; and those who overlooked them as common things

when planted in a kitchen garden, were ready to acknowledge their

beauty, and praise their fragrance, when they were flourishing in a

flower-garden.

“Thus you perceive that I compare fine thoughts to flowers; however

beautiful they may be, they would strike us less, and please us

less, if they were presented in a common way. They want a situation

appropriate to them, and then we shall perceive and feel their full

beauty.

“Poetry, then, consists of beautiful thoughts in beautiful language,

and may be compared to a bed of flowers, with graceful forms, bright

colors, and sweet fragrance. Prose consists of common thoughts,

expressed in common language, and may be compared to a garden filled

with things that are useful rather than beautiful, such as beets,

potatoes, and cabbages.”--_Second Reader._

A word to my Correspondents.

I beg my young friends who favor me with their letters to understand

that I receive them with great pleasure, even though I do not find an

opportunity to put them all in print. I give my thanks to Christopher

Columbus; to J. A. H----, of Medford, and others, who have taken into

their heads to send me puzzles; but as I have given a great supply of

these the last month, I must pass them by, at least for the present.

The following letter contains a suggestion that I shall certainly

comply with. The idea is a very good one.

MR. ROBERT MERRY:

I have just learned to read, and I wish you would put some

little stories in your Museum, such as I can understand.

My sister Jane reads it, and she likes it very much, but

it has too many long words for me. Won’t you put in two or

three pages for me, every month? I shall then like you very

much.

LUCY A----.

_Washington, March 23, 1842._

DEAR MR. MERRY:

My mother has just commenced taking your Magazine for me,

and I like it _very much_. The March number was very long

in coming, but when it did come it was very interesting.

Every number that I get, I always look for Philip Brusque

and the Siberian Sable-Hunter. I was glad to find them both

in this number. I hope that the story of Philip Brusque

will not long be discontinued, it is so interesting. The

puzzles, with some help, I found out; and I set my wits to

work and made one. Perhaps you will think it worth putting

in the Museum; so here it is. I am composed of 14 letters.

My 4th, 5th, 1st, 2d, is an article much used in winter.

My 11th, 1st, 13th, 14th, 8th, an ancient poet. My 6th,

7th, 10th, 11th, 8th, the worst of passions. My 3d, 6th,

10th, 12th, a celebrated authoress. My 9th, 3d, 1st, 6th, a

purifier. My whole, our nation’s scourge.

ANOTHER BLACK-EYED FRIEND.

MR. ROBERT MERRY:

The following puzzle is from three subscribers for Merry’s

Museum for 1842, and it will oblige them to see it in the

May number.

H. T. C.

E. J. S.

J. W. C.

I am a word of 13 letters.

My 3d, 12th, 13th, 5th, 12th, and 9th, is the name of one of

the ex-presidents of the United States.

My 1st, 8th, 13th, and 9th, is a name common with the female

sex.

My 4th, 5th, 12th, and 13th, is the name of a metal.

My 7th, 9th, 6th, and 2d, is the name of another.

My 11th, 10th, 9th, and 2d, is a common thing with boys in

winter.

My 6th, 4th, and 5th, is one of the elements.

My whole is the name of a great warrior.

I am quite pleased with the following, and should be happy to hear from

Bertha very often.

CHARADE.

My first’s the end of him whose wife

Was turned one day to salt;

And doubtless, if the truth must out,

My fourth’s the end of malt.

My second, if you will believe it,

Essential is to rest;

My third,--and you can well conceive it,--

Is that which you love best.

My fifth--my last--’tis found in heaven--

’Tis found, alas! in hell;

And though not in an oyster met,

It lives in every shell.

Already hath my humble name

In these brief lines been set;

But modest merit’s overlooked,

And you don’t see me yet!

I am the greatest earthly good,--

The only path to glory,--

Come, gentle reader, guess my name,

And keep me e’er before thee!--BERTHA.

The letter from J. A. is very gratifying, so I give it an insertion.

_Petersburgh, Va., March 2, 1842._

MR. MERRY:

I have just begun to take your Museum, and I like it very

much. I think you tell stories very much as Peter Parley

did. I like Parley’s books so much that I called my little

dog Peter Parley. He died some time ago, and now I am going

to get another, and I intend to call it Robert Merry. I

hope you won’t be offended at this, for we always call dogs

after famous people. I think the best of your stories is

the Sable-Hunter, but I really wish you would go on with it

a little faster.

JAMES A----.

The following is inserted, not because it is a very famous specimen of

poetry but because it is written by quite a young person, and shows a

very tender feeling

ON A DEAD RABBIT.

Once upon a time,

When I was in my prime,

I had a rabbit white as milk,

And its hair was soft as silk.

One morn I went to feed it,--

There was no rabbit there--

And long I hunted after it,

Looking everywhere.

One day, when I was wandering,

Something met my eye,

It was my little rabbit,

Hung on a tree close by.

But oh! I can’t relate it--

That pretty one was dead;

And sadly did I bury it,

In a lonely, narrow bed!

“FAR AWAY”--THE BLUEBIRD’S SONG.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

[Illustration: Music]

I dwelt in climes where flowers bloom,

And know no chill, no wintry tomb;

A joyous land, where one might stay;

But home, sweet home was far away--

But home, sweet home, was far a-way.

I sat upon the topmost bough

At peep of dawn, as I do now,

And tried to sing a cheerful lay--

But no--’twas ever “far away!”

I loved that land of fruits and flowers,

Where spring and summer twine their bowers,

And gentle zephyrs round them play--

But my birth-tree was far away!

Far north, where I was born and bred,

My winged thoughts were ever fled;

And, spurning joys that round me lay,

I sighed for pleasures far away!

Gay birds around sang many a song,

And cheerful notes rang loud and long--

But oh, my heart tuned every lay

To plaintive airs of “far away!”

The brook came laughing down the dell,

Yet sad to me its joyous swell;

And though its chime made others gay,

I only thought of “far away!”

And now, returned, how dear the hours,

Though chill the wind and bare the bowers;

Yet this is home; and that sad lay

I sing no more of--“far away!”

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 6.

[Illustration: _A lady listening to the notes of a harp._]

The sense of Hearing.

The sense of hearing lies in the ear, the organs of which are contrived

with admirable skill and ingenuity. The air is capable of being moved

so as to produce a rapid shaking or vibration. Such a movement of the

air is made by the explosion of a gun, by the human voice, &c. Thus

vibration of the air with the perception of it, is what we call sound.

Now at the bottom of a winding cavity in the ear is a delicate organ

called the drum, which is affected by every motion of the air, however

slight; and which, by means of nerves, conveys to the brain the

perception of such motion. It is by this means that we hear distant

as well as near sounds, and often know what is going on even beyond

the reach of sight. Hearing, then, is only perceiving vibrations or

quick motions of the air, and sound is only such vibration, with the

perception of it.

The delicacy and perfection of the mechanism of the ear are so great,

that by its power we not only are able to distinguish the vibrations

of the air, caused by the voice of one person, from those produced by

that of another, but even to distinguish the vibrations, produced by

one string of a musical instrument from those of another. It is owing

to the perfection of this mechanism that we are able to distinguish

musical notes, to judge of the distance of sounds, to discriminate

between the several songs of the orchard and the grove.

Most quadrupeds have long ears, which they can move forward and back

with great ease, so as to distinguish with quickness and accuracy

the species of sounds, and the nature and situation of the animals

or objects which produce them. If you notice a cat or dog, or even a

horse, you will observe that the ear is very active, seeking to gather

information as to what is going on around. The ears of the hare and

rabbit are peculiarly fitted to the use of such timid creatures.

We observe that children seem often inattentive to sounds, and that

they are very fond of noise. The reason is this: the bones of their

ears are soft, and therefore not sonorous; accordingly, their sense

of hearing is dull. When they appear inattentive, they do not hear;

yet the exercise of the sense is pleasant, and therefore loud noises

delight them. For this reason it is that they usually speak loud, and,

when several of them are together, they seem to be much gratified with

making an uproar.

The sense of hearing is not only of the greatest use to us in the

serious business or life, but it is the source of an infinite number of

pleasures. What gratification we sometimes enjoy at hearing the voice

of a dear friend! What enjoyment we derive from music! Beside all this,

language, which is the great vehicle of thought, is communicated by the

ear. It is true that after they are formed we commit words to paper;

but these are only signs of sounds previously formed. Without hearing

we could have no speech, and all would be dumb; without speech there

could be no writing, no books. How vastly, then, is the circle of our

knowledge and our pleasures enlarged by this sense, and how does the

goodness and the wisdom of the Creator appear in bestowing upon his

creatures such a wonderful and beneficent gift!

“Fresh Flowers.”

This is the pleasant title of a pleasant book, which a kind friend

has sent me. There is a resemblance between bright thoughts and

bright blossoms, between the world of poetry and the world of roses,

and honeysuckles, and lilacs, and lilies: and therefore the title of

this book is not only pretty, but appropriate. Let any one read the

following, and he will see that such a book may well bear the title of

“Fresh Flowers.”

A TALK AMONG THE FLOWERS.

“Do flowers talk?” said Caroline;

“I never hear

Voices from mine.

Mamma, you said the flowers told

Wondrous things, both new and old.”

“Sweet voices come from every flower,

That blooms in garden,

Wood or bower;

Sweet, silent voices, Caroline:

Come then and listen, daughter mine.”

“I will to you a story tell,

And you must mind

The moral well;

’T will teach you a bright lesson, child,

From garden flowers, and blossoms wild.”

Not far from the borders of a dark wood, was a bright and

cheerful-looking garden. Flowers were there, of every hue and form,

growing and rejoicing beneath the beams of the summer’s sun.

“Ah, how happy we are!” said the marigold to the larkspur.

“Here we bloom and soar upward almost to the very sun,” said a family

of sun-flowers.

“Yes, and climb as high as the sky,” cried a convolvolus and jasmine,

who had wound themselves round a tall princess-feather.

“How brilliant and stately we are,” said the proud dahlia. “We are

admired far more than those pale flowers that grow in yonder wood.”

“I pity the poor faded things,” whispered a bright coreopsis.

“I look down upon them,” said a fierce tiger-lily.

“The sun loves the garden flowers best,” said a pansy of great beauty,

to some sweet mignionette; “let us be glad that our home is in this

bright place.”

“I will ring a peal for very happiness,” replied a gay Canterbury bell;

“for how could we exist in the gloom of that forest?”

“Let us be merry and glad that we are not wood flowers,” shouted they

all, with a musical laugh that rung through the wood and made the

wild-flowers, wonder.

A bright golden-rod, that grew on the edge of the forest, with his

friend the aster, heard this conversation, and felt the injustice of

it. Gracefully bowing his yellow plumes, he exclaimed, “Indeed, you do

not know us; our life is the happiest in the world. In the deep woods,

sheltered from the storm and heat, by the towering trees that soar

above us like guardian angels, we live in peace and beauty. The sun

does not always bathe us in a flood of light as he does the garden

flowers, but he darts his beams through green boughs, and they come to

us in tenfold beauty, scattered in a golden shower; and in the still

night, the stars look down between the tops of the tall trees, and gaze

silently and lovingly upon us.”

The wood flowers heard the silvery tones of the golden-rod with glee,

as he recounted their blessed sources of delight.

“We have music too,” said he, “such as never floats through garden

airs. We listen to the wind, as it sighs through the pines, and waves

the bowery branches of the oak and maple; for each tree is a separate

harp, that gives forth its own sweet melodies.”

Then all the flowers that grew by the brook said, “Hear the music of

the waters, as they dash along over the rocks, and look on them as they

reflect the sunlight upon us, and make us bright and beautiful.”

And the little mosses called out from the shades, “O let us always grow

in the greenwood, and live in its shadows, and delight in its sweet

voices.”

Then the ferns waved joyfully, and the clematis clung round the elder

in a close embrace; and they blessed themselves that they lived amid

the lights and shades of the forest.

Then spoke the “lilies of the field” to the little blue-eyed grass,

that was looking up into the sky: “How merry are we in the meadows,

where grows all that is greenest and freshest. Happiness pervades and

fills the universe. It is above us with the birds and the clouds,

around us with every flower and green leaf and blade of grass. Let man

take a lesson from our kingdom and be wise; for all here are _happiest_

in the place allotted to them by their Creator.”

* * * * *

The following contains a very beautiful thought, and it is expressed

with a simplicity that reminds us of Dr. Watts’ songs for children.

GOOD NIGHT, LITTLE STAR.

Good night, little star;

I will go to my bed,

And leave you to burn,

While I lay down my head

On my pillow to sleep,

Till the morning light;

Then you will be fading,

And I shall be bright.

We make one more quotation, and take leave of this little book,

recommending it to all our young readers, who will find it at all the

bookstores.

WHAT IS IT MAKES ME HAPPIEST?

What is it makes me happiest?

Is it my last new play?

Is it my bounding ball, or hoop

I follow every day?

Is it my puzzles or my blocks?

My pleasant _solitaire_?

My dolls, my kitten, or my books,

My flowers fresh and fair?

What is it makes me happiest?

It is not one of these;

Yet they are treasures dear to me,

And never fail to please.

O, it is looks and tones of love,

From those I love the best,

That follow me _when I do right_;

These make me happiest!

[Illustration]

June.

June is the first of the summer months, and it is, in our climate, the

brightest and pleasantest of the year. The poet Thomson describes it as

the season when

------------------Heaven descends

In universal bounty, shedding herbs,

And fruits, and flowers in Nature’s ample lap.

It is said that Juno, the goddess, who was wife of Jupiter, in the

fantastic religion of the ancients, claimed June as her month, and it

is said, therefore, to have been named after her. Now, though the story

of Jupiter and Juno is mainly a fiction, there is perhaps some truth

in it. Very likely some old king had a headstrong wife, who tormented

him very much. After many years, the poets began to write verses about

them, and called one a god and the other a goddess. Thus, no doubt, it

was, that the people learnt to believe in them as divine beings. Still,

according to all accounts, Juno was a pretty selfish kind of a person,

and it is very likely that, if she took a notion to have a month, or a

year, to herself, she would have teased Jupiter till he had given it

to her. Thus it may seem very likely that June is named after Juno, as

being her month.

But there is another story about the name of this favorite month. Some

writers say that it comes from a Latin word, _junioribus_, as if it was

the month of the young. Whether this was the origin of the name or not,

we believe it is the favorite season of children. The two girls, and

even the little dog, at the beginning of this article, seem to think

that everything is made for them--the sunshine, the green grass, the

blushing flowers. How happy is that period of life, when everything

gives pleasure! How happy is childhood, the June of life, when the

heart is as bright as the season, and the mind as full of flowers as

the meadow. Sweet June--blest childhood--farewell!

[Illustration: _Mexicans of the present day._]

Sketches of the Manners, Customs, &c., of the Indians of America.

CHAPTER XVII.

_Personal appearance of the Mexicans.--Dress.--Houses.--Floating

gardens.--Hunting.--Commerce.--Music and dancing.--Games.--

Painting._

In appearance the Mexican Indians much resemble the other aborigines

of America. They are tall and well made, with bright black eyes, high

cheek-bones, and thick, coarse, black hair, which they commonly wear

long. Their skin is of an olive color. They are very active, but not so

strong as most Europeans; so that, whenever the Spaniards attempted to

run a race with them, they were sure to be beaten; but in wrestling,

they were generally the victors.

The Mexicans are, by nature, of a silent and serious disposition, and

seldom allow their emotions to appear in their countenances; while as

a nation they are cruel in their wars and their punishments, and very

superstitious in matters of religion. They are extremely generous, but

do not always appear grateful for favors. According to some, the reason

of their apparent want of gratitude is this: the Indians say, “If you

give me this, it is because you have no need of it yourself; and as

for me, I never part with that which I think is necessary to me.” This

also accounts for their great liberality; for, as their wants are few,

and they never think of hoarding, they can always give away everything

they receive, without feeling as though they conferred a favor.

We have said before, that, at the time of the arrival of the Spaniards,

the Mexican nation was the most civilized of all in North America.