diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/53323-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53323-0.txt | 17363 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 17363 deletions
diff --git a/old/53323-0.txt b/old/53323-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cbfc5d2..0000000 --- a/old/53323-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17363 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Evening at Home, by John Aikin and Mrs. L. E. Barbauld - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Evening at Home - The Juvenile Budget Opened - -Author: John Aikin - Mrs. L. E. Barbauld - -Illustrator: Engravings after Harvey and Chapman, by Adams - -Release Date: October 19, 2016 [EBook #53323] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVENING AT HOME *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -[Illustration: - - A. C. CHAPMAN, Del J. A. ADAMS Sc - - CANUTE’S REPROOF. -] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -[Illustration: EVENINGS AT HOME OR, THE JUVENILE BUDGET OPENED.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - EVENINGS AT HOME; - OR, - THE JUVENILE BUDGET OPENED. - - - BY DR. AIKIN AND MRS. BARBAULD. - - Revised Edition. - - FROM THE FIFTEENTH LONDON EDITION. - - ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS AFTER HARVEY AND CHAPMAN, BY ADAMS. - - NEW YORK: - HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, - 82 CLIFF STREET. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PREFACE BY THE AMERICAN PUBLISHERS. - - -In presenting to the American public this new and beautiful edition of a -work that has been established as a favourite for nearly half a century, -the publishers do not think it needful to enlarge upon its merits, or to -point out the attractions which have secured for it a popularity so -universal and long continued. Fifteen editions in England, and probably -an equal or greater number in this country, have already borne testimony -in that behalf, much stronger than any praises which they can bestow. -Yet they may be permitted briefly to suggest a comparison between this -charming specimen of the good old school, and most of the illustrated -works that have recently been brought out in such profusion, professedly -for the entertainment and instruction of youth; works, in the majority -of which there is exhibited so little of that peculiar talent required -for imparting instruction with entertainment, and so little judgment in -the choice of subjects, as well as in the manner of dealing with them. -The great defect of these books—at least the greater portion of them—is -the total want of pure and unaffected simplicity; the principal -characteristic of well-trained youth, and therefore indispensable in -everything designed for youthful readers. Multitudes of authors have -written, of late years, for childhood; but small, indeed, is the number -of those who, like Mrs. Barbauld and Dr. Aikin, possess the faculty of -adaptation to the tastes and intellects of children; and in the effort -to make books suited to those tastes and intellects, they succeed only -in producing things too puerile for grown-up people, and so tainted with -the affectation of simplicity that the natural feelings of the child can -give to them no sympathy. And it would be a subject for rejoicing if -this were the worst or only fault with which some of them are -chargeable. - -The nearest approach to perfection that a book written for young people -can make, is to give the idea of having been written by one of them. -When a child reads a story, and fancies that he could write just such -another, we may be sure that the author has hit the mark. This test of -excellence the “Evenings at Home” bears with a success unrivalled, as -must be within the experience of many parents. There is scarcely another -book ever placed in the hands of children, from the age of four or five -years to that of twelve or fourteen, which they read with so much -delight, or remember so long and well, or by which they are so strongly -incited to the attempt at composition. - -Knowing the excellence of the work, and its enduring popularity, the -publishers have thought it worthy of a better style of publication than -it has ever enjoyed in this country; they have therefore brought out -this handsome edition on the best of paper, and for its embellishment -secured the valuable services of the same unrivalled engraver on wood -who illustrated their “Fairy Book,” and their editions of “Robinson -Crusoe,” the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” the “Life of Christ,” &c. - - - - - PREFACE TO THE FIFTEENTH LONDON EDITION. - - -The thirteenth edition of “Evenings at Home,” a work which has not been -superseded in general estimation by any later publication for the -instruction and amusement of youth, appeared in 1823, enriched with the -addition of some new pieces, and carefully revised and corrected -throughout by Mr. Arthur Aikin. Since that time, its venerable author, -and his distinguished sister and coadjutor, have both paid the debt of -nature; and it appears proper to introduce this posthumous -republication, by an account of their respective shares in its -production. The plan, then, of the work originated solely with Dr. -Aikin; the Introduction and Epilogue are both his, and about eleven -parts in twelve of the whole. The pieces written by Mrs. Barbauld, -including one found among her papers, and now first printed, are, the -Young Mouse; the Wasp and Bee; Alfred, a Drama; Animals and their -Countries; Canute’s Reproof to his Courtiers; the Mask of Nature; Things -by their Right Names; the Goose and Horse; On Manufactures; the -Flying-Fish; a Lesson on the Art of Distinguishing; the Phenix and Dove; -the Manufacture of Paper; the Four Sisters; and Live Dolls;—amounting to -fifteen out of one hundred and one. - -A new arrangement of the matter has been followed in this edition, for -which the editor is answerable. Her father was precluded from attending -to this point in the first instance, by the manner in which the work -grew under his hand. The volumes came out one or two at a time, with an -interval of several years between the earliest and the latest. He did -not at first contemplate so extensive a work; but his invention flowed -freely—the applause of parents and the delight of children invited him -to proceed; the slight thread by which he had connected the pieces was -capable of being drawn out indefinitely, and the plan was confessedly -that of a miscellany. Under these circumstances, it appeared allowable -on a view of the whole work, to change the order, so as to conduct the -young reader, in a gentle progress, from the easier pieces to the more -difficult; or rather, to adapt the different volumes to different ages, -by which the inconvenience might be avoided of either putting the whole -set into the hands of a child, while one portion of its contents would -not be intelligible to him, or withholding the whole until another -portion should have ceased to be interesting. This idea the editor has, -to the best of her ability, put in execution. Should she thus be the -humble means of extending, in any degree, the influence of her father’s -wisdom and genius—of his extensive knowledge, his manly principles, and -his genuine benevolence and tenderness of heart—her pains will be amply -rewarded. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - Introduction page 9 - The Young Mouse 11 - The Wasp and Bee 12 - The Goose and Horse 12 - The Flying-Fish 13 - The Little Dog 14 - Travellers’ Wonders 15 - The Discontented Squirrel 19 - On the Marten 22 - Mouse, Lapdog, and Monkey 24 - Animals and their Countries 25 - The Mask of Nature 25 - The Farmyard Journal 27 - The Price of Pleasure 30 - The Rat with a Bell 32 - The Dog balked of his Dinner 33 - The Kid 36 - How to make the Best of it 39 - Order and Disorder 40 - Live Dolls 43 - The Hog and other Animals 46 - The Bullies 49 - The Travelled Ant 50 - The Colonists 56 - The Dog and his Relations 60 - The History and Adventures of a Cat 62 - Canute’s Reproof to his Courtiers 67 - On Things to be Learned 68 - On the Oak 74 - Alfred 80 - On the Pine and Fir Tribe 85 - On Different Stations in Life 90 - The Rookery 94 - The Ship 97 - Things by their Right Names 103 - The Transmigrations of Indur 105 - The Swallow and Tortoise 117 - The Grass-Tribe 119 - A Tea-Lecture 122 - The Kidnappers 126 - On Manufactures 129 - On the Art of Distinguishing 138 - The Phenix and Dove 144 - The Manufacture of Paper 145 - The Two Robbers 148 - The Council of Quadrupeds 150 - Tit for Tat 158 - On Wines and Spirits 160 - The Boy without a Genius 166 - Half a Crown’s Worth 170 - Trial 172 - The Leguminous Plants 179 - On Man 183 - Walking the Streets 187 - The Compound-Flowered Plants 189 - Presence of Mind 192 - Phaeton Junior 198 - Why an Apple falls 203 - Nature and Education 206 - Aversion subdued 207 - The Little Philosopher 213 - What Animals are made for 216 - True Heroism 219 - On Metals 222 - Flying and Swimming 230 - The Female Choice 232 - On Metals 234 - Eyes and No Eyes 242 - Why the Earth moves round the Sun 249 - The Umbelliferous Plants 252 - Humble Life, or the Cottagers 256 - The Birthday Gift 261 - On Earths and Stones 263 - Show and Use, or the Two Presents 275 - The Cruciform-Flowered Plants 277 - The Native Village 281 - Perseverance against Fortune 287 - The Goldfinch and Linnet 297 - The Price of a Victory 300 - Good Company 304 - The Wanderer’s Return 306 - Difference and Agreement, or Sunday Morning 312 - The Landlord’s Visit 314 - On Emblems 320 - Ledyard’s Praise of Women 325 - Generous Revenge 327 - The Power of Habit 330 - The Cost of a War 333 - Great Men 337 - The Four Sisters 341 - The Gain of a Loss 344 - Wise Men 346 - A Friend in Need 349 - Earth and her Children 357 - A Secret Character Unveiled 359 - A Globe-Lecture 367 - Envy and Emulation 375 - Providence, or the Shipwreck 377 - Epilogue 382 - -[Illustration] - - - - - INTRODUCTION - - -The mansion-house of the pleasant village of _Beechgrove_, was inhabited -by the family of FAIRBORNE, consisting of the master and mistress, and a -numerous progeny of children of both sexes. Of these, part were educated -at home under their parents’ care, and part were sent out to school. The -house was seldom unprovided with visiters, the intimate friends or -relations of the owners, who were entertained with cheerfulness and -hospitality, free from ceremony and parade. They formed, during their -stay, part of the family; and were ready to concur with Mr. and Mrs. -Fairborne in any little domestic plan for varying their amusements, and -particularly for promoting the instruction and entertainment of the -younger part of the household. As some of them were accustomed to -writing, they would frequently produce a fable, a story, or dialogue, -adapted to the age and understanding of the young people. It was always -considered as a high favour when they would so employ themselves; and -when the pieces were once read over, they were carefully deposited by -Mrs. Fairborne in a box, of which she kept the key. None of these were -allowed to be taken out again till all the children were assembled in -the holydays. It was then made one of the evening amusements of the -family to _rummage the budget_, as their phrase was. One of the least -children was sent to the box, who putting in its little hand, drew out -the paper that came next, and brought it into the parlour. This was then -read distinctly by one of the older ones; and after it had undergone -sufficient consideration, another little messenger was despatched for a -fresh supply; and so on, till as much time had been spent in this manner -as the parents thought proper. Other children were admitted to these -readings; and as the _Budget of Beechgrove Hall_ became somewhat -celebrated in the neighbourhood, its proprietors were at length urged to -lay it open to the public. They were induced to comply; and thus, -without further preface, begins the “First Evening.” - -[Illustration: - - EVENING I. -] - - - - - THE YOUNG MOUSE.—A FABLE. - - -A young mouse lived in a cupboard where sweetmeats were kept; she dined -every day upon biscuit, marmalade, or fine sugar. Never had any little -mouse lived so well. She had often ventured to peep at the family while -they sat at supper; nay, she had sometimes stolen down on the carpet, -and picked up the crumbs, and nobody had ever hurt her. She would have -been quite happy, but that she was sometimes frightened by the cat, and -then she ran trembling to the hole behind the wainscot. One day she came -running to her mother in great joy. “Mother,” said she, “the good people -of this family have built me a house to live in; it is in the cupboard: -I am sure it is for me, for it is just big enough: the bottom is of -wood, and it is covered all over with wires! and I dare say they have -made it on purpose to screen me from that terrible cat, which ran after -me so often; there is an entrance just big enough for me, but puss -cannot follow; and they have been so good as to put in some toasted -cheese, which smells so deliciously, that I should have run in directly -and taken possession of my new house, but I thought I would tell you -first, that we might go in together, and both lodge there to-night, for -it will hold us both.” - -“My dear child,” said the old mouse, “it is most happy that you did not -go in, for this house is called a trap, and you would never have come -out again, except to have been devoured, or put to death in some way or -other. Though man has not so fierce a look as a cat, he is as much our -enemy, and has still more cunning.” - - - - - THE WASP AND BEE.—A FABLE. - - -A wasp met a bee, and said to him, “Pray, can you tell me what is the -reason that men are so ill-natured to me, while they are so fond of you? -We are both very much alike, only that the broad golden rings about my -body make me much handsomer than you are: we are both winged insects, we -both love honey, and we both sting people when we are angry, yet men -always hate me and try to kill me, though I am much more familiar with -them than you are, and pay them visits in their houses, and at their -tea-table, and at all their meals; while you are very shy, and hardly -ever come near them: yet they build you curious houses, thatched with -straw, and take care of and feed you in the winter very often:—I wonder -what is the reason?” - -The bee said, “Because you never do them any good, but, on the contrary, -are very troublesome and mischievous; therefore, they do not like to see -you, but they know that I am busy all day long in making them honey. You -had better pay them fewer visits, and try to be useful.” - - - - - THE GOOSE AND HORSE.—A FABLE. - - -A goose, who was plucking grass upon a common, thought herself affronted -by a _horse_ who fed near her, and in hissing accents thus addressed -him: “I am certainly a more noble and perfect animal than you, for the -whole range and extent of your faculties is confined to one element. I -can walk upon the ground as well as you: I have besides wings, with -which I can raise myself in the air; and when I please, I can sport in -ponds and lakes, and refresh myself in the cool waters: I enjoy the -different powers of a bird, a fish, and a quadruped.” - -The _horse_, snorting somewhat disdainfully, replied, “It is true you -inhabit three elements, but you make no very distinguished figure in any -one of them. You fly, indeed; but your flight is so heavy and clumsy, -that you have no right to put yourself on a level with the lark or the -swallow. You can swim on the surface of the waters, but you cannot live -in them as fishes do; you cannot find your food in that element, nor -glide smoothly along the bottom of the waves. And when you walk, or -rather waddle, upon the ground, with your broad feet, and your long neck -stretched out, hissing at every one who passes by, you bring upon -yourself the derision of all beholders. I confess that I am only formed -to move upon the ground; but how graceful is my make! how well turned my -limbs! how highly finished my whole body! how great my strength! how -astonishing my speed! I had far rather be confined to one element, and -be admired in that, than be a _goose_ in all.” - - - - - THE FLYING-FISH. - - -The flying-fish, says the fable, had originally no wings, but being of -an ambitious and discontented temper, she repined at being always -confined to the waters, and wished to soar in the air. “If I could fly -like the birds,” said she, “I should not only see more of the beauties -of nature, but I should be able to escape from those fish which are -continually pursuing me, and which render my life miserable.” She -therefore petitioned Jupiter for a pair of wings; and immediately she -perceived her fins to expand. They suddenly grew to the length of her -whole body, and became at the same time so strong as to do the office of -a pinion. She was at first much pleased with her new powers, and looked -with an air of disdain on all her former companions; but she soon -perceived herself exposed to new dangers. When flying in the air, she -was incessantly pursued by the tropic bird and the albatross; and when -for safety she dropped into the water, she was so fatigued with her -flight, that she was less able than ever to escape from her old enemies -the fish. Finding herself more unhappy than before, she now begged of -Jupiter to recall his present; but Jupiter said to her, “When I gave you -your wings, I well knew they would prove a curse; but your proud and -restless disposition deserved this disappointment. Now, therefore, what -you begged as a favour, keep as a punishment!” - - - - - THE LITTLE DOG.—A FABLE. - - -“What shall I do,” said a very little dog one day to his mother, “to -show my gratitude to our good master, and make myself of some value to -him? I cannot draw or carry burdens, like the horse, nor give him milk, -like the cow; nor lend him my covering for his clothing, like the sheep; -nor produce him eggs, like the poultry; nor catch mice and rats so well -as the cat. I cannot divert him with singing, like the canaries and -linnets; nor can I defend him against robbers, like our relation Towzer. -I should not be of use to him even if I were dead, as the hogs are. I am -a poor insignificant creature, not worth the cost of keeping; and I -don’t see that I can do a single thing to entitle me to his regard.” So -saying, the poor little dog hung down his head in silent despondency. - -“My dear child,” replied his mother, “though your abilities are but -small, yet a hearty good will is sufficient to supply all defects. Do -but love him dearly, and prove your love by all the means in your power, -and you will not fail to please him.” - -The little dog was comforted with this assurance; and on his master’s -approach, ran to him, licked his feet, gambolled before him, and every -now and then stopped, wagging his tail, and looking up to his master -with expressions of the most humble and affectionate attachment. The -master observed him. “Ah, little Fido,” said he, “you are an honest, -good-natured little fellow!”—and stooped down to pat his head. Poor Fido -was ready to go out of his wits for joy. - -Fido was now his master’s constant companion in his walks, playing and -skipping round him, and amusing him by a thousand sportive tricks. He -took care, however, not to be troublesome by leaping on him with dirty -paws, nor would he follow him into the parlour, unless invited. He also -attempted to make himself useful by a number of little services. He -would drive away the sparrows as they were stealing the chickens’ food, -and would run and bark with the utmost fury at any strange pigs or other -animals that offered to come into the yard. He kept the poultry, geese, -and pigs, from straying beyond their bounds, and particularly from doing -mischief in the garden. He was always ready to alarm Towzer if there was -any suspicious noise about the house, day or night. If his master pulled -off his coat in the field to help his workmen, as he would sometimes do, -Fido always sat by it, and would not suffer either man or beast to touch -it. By this means he came to be considered as a very trusty protector of -his master’s property. - -His master was once confined to his bed with a dangerous illness. Fido -planted himself at the chamber-door, and could not be persuaded to leave -it, even to take food; and as soon as his master was so far recovered as -to sit up, Fido being admitted into the room, ran up to him with such -marks of excessive joy and affection, as would have melted any heart to -behold. This circumstance wonderfully endeared him to his master; and, -some time after, he had an opportunity of doing him a very important -service. One hot day, after dinner, his master was sleeping in a -summer-house with Fido by his side. The building was old and crazy; and -the dog, who was faithfully watching his master, perceived the walls -shake, and pieces of mortar fall from the ceiling. He comprehended the -danger, and began barking to awake his master; and this not sufficing, -he jumped up and gently bit his finger. The master, upon this, started -up, and had just time to get out of the door before the whole building -fell down. Fido, who was behind, got hurt by some rubbish which fell -upon him; on which his master had him taken care of with the utmost -tenderness, and ever after acknowledged his obligation to this animal as -the preserver of his life. Thus his love and fidelity had their full -reward. - -MORAL.—The poorest man may repay his obligations to the richest and -greatest by faithful and affectionate service—the meanest creature may -obtain the favour and regard of the Creator himself, by humble gratitude -and steadfast obedience. - - - - - TRAVELLERS’ WONDERS. - - -One winter’s evening, as _Captain Compass_ was sitting by the fireside -with his children all around him, little Jack said to him, “Papa, pray -tell us some stories about what you have seen in your voyages. I have -been vastly entertained, while you were abroad, with Gulliver’s Travels, -and the Adventures of Sinbad the Sailor; and I think, as you have gone -round and round the world, you must have met with things as wonderful as -they did.”—“No, my dear,” said the captain, “I never met with -Lilliputians or Brobdignagians, I assure you, nor ever saw the black -loadstone mountain, or the valley of diamonds; but, to be sure, I have -seen a great variety of people, and their different manners and ways of -living; and if it will be any entertainment to you, I will tell you some -curious particulars of what I observed.”—“Pray do, papa,” cried Jack and -all his brothers and sisters: so they drew close round him, and he began -as follows:— - -“Well, then—I was once, about this time of the year, in a country where -it was very cold, and the poor inhabitants had much ado to keep -themselves from starving. They were clad partly in the skins of beasts, -made smooth and soft by a particular art, but chiefly in garments made -from the outward covering of a middle-sized quadruped, which they were -so cruel as to strip off his back while he was alive. They dwelt in -habitations, part of which was sunk underground. The materials were -either stones, or earth hardened by fire; and so violent in that country -were the storms of wind and rain, that many of them covered their roofs -all over with stones. The walls of their houses had holes to let in the -light: but to prevent the cold air and wet from coming in, they were -covered by a sort of transparent stone, made artificially of melted sand -or flints. As wood was rather scarce, I know not what they would have -done for firing, had they not discovered in the bowels of the earth a -very extraordinary kind of stone, which when put among burning wood, -caught fire and flamed like a torch.” - -“Dear me,” said Jack, “what a wonderful stone! I suppose it was somewhat -like what we call fire-stones, that shine so when we rub them -together.”—“I don’t think they would burn,” replied the captain; -“besides, these are of a darker colour.” - -“Well—but their diet too was remarkable. Some of them ate fish that had -been hung up in the smoke till they were quite dry and hard; and along -with it they ate either the roots of plants, or a sort of coarse black -cake made of powdered seeds. These were the poorer class; the richer had -a whiter kind of cake, which they were fond of daubing over with a -greasy matter that was the product of a large animal among them. This -grease they used, too, in almost all their dishes, and, when fresh, it -really was not unpalatable. They likewise devoured the flesh of many -birds and beasts when they could get it; and ate the leaves and other -parts of a variety of vegetables growing in the country, some absolutely -raw, others variously prepared by the aid of fire. Another great article -of food was the curd of milk, pressed into a hard mass and salted. This -had so rank a smell, that persons of weak stomachs often could not bear -to come near it. For drink, they made great use of the water in which -certain dry leaves had been steeped. These leaves, I was told, came from -a great distance. They had likewise a method of preparing a liquor of -the seeds of a grasslike plant steeped in water with the addition of a -bitter herb, and then set to work or ferment. I was prevailed upon to -taste it, and thought it at first nauseous enough, but in time I liked -it pretty well. When a large quantity of the ingredients is used, it -becomes perfectly intoxicating. But what astonished me most, was their -use of a liquor so excessively hot and pungent that it seems like liquid -fire. I once got a mouthful of it by mistake, taking it for water, which -it resembles in appearance, but I thought it would instantly have taken -away my breath. Indeed, people are not unfrequently killed by it; and -yet many of them will swallow it greedily whenever they can get it. -This, too, is said to be prepared from the seeds abovementioned, which -are innocent and even salutary in their natural state, though made to -yield such a pernicious juice. The strangest custom that I believe -prevails in any nation I found here, which was, that some take a mighty -pleasure in filling their mouths full of stinking smoke and others, in -thrusting a nasty powder up their nostrils.” - -“I should think it would choke them,” said Jack. “It almost did me,” -answered his father, “only to stand by while they did it—but use, it is -truly said, is second nature.” - -“I was glad enough to leave this cold climate; and about half a year -after, I fell in with a people enjoying a delicious temperature of air, -and a country full of beauty and verdure. The trees and shrubs were -furnished with a great variety of fruits, which, with other vegetable -products, constituted a large part of the food of the inhabitants. I -particularly relished certain berries growing in bunches, some white and -some red, of a very pleasant sourish taste, and so transparent that one -might see the seeds at their very centre. Here were whole fields full of -extremely odoriferous flowers, which they told me were succeeded by pods -bearing seeds, that afforded good nourishment to man and beast. A great -variety of birds enlivened the groves and woods; among which I was -entertained with one, that without any teaching spoke almost as -articulately as a parrot, though indeed it was only a repetition of a -single word. The people were tolerably gentle and civilized, and -possessed many of the arts of life. Their dress was very various. Many -were clad only in a thin cloth made of the long fibres of the stalk of a -plant cultivated for the purpose, which they prepared by soaking in -water, and then beating with large mallets. Others wore cloth woven from -a sort of vegetable wool, growing in pods upon bushes. But the most -singular material was a fine glossy stuff, used chiefly by the richer -classes, which, as I was credibly informed, is manufactured out of the -webs of caterpillars—a most wonderful circumstance, if we consider the -immense number of caterpillars necessary to the production of so large a -quantity of stuff as I saw used. This people are very fantastic in their -dress, especially the women, whose apparel consists of a great number of -articles impossible to be described, and strangely disguising the -natural form of the body. In some instances they seem very cleanly; but -in others, the Hottentots can scarce go beyond them; particularly in the -management of their hair, which is all matted and stiffened with the fat -of swine and other animals, mixed up with powders of various colours and -ingredients. Like most Indian nations, they use feathers in their -head-dress. One thing surprised me much, which was, that they bring up -in their houses an animal of the tiger-kind, with formidable teeth and -claws, which, notwithstanding its natural ferocity, is played with and -caressed by the most timid and delicate of their women.” - -“I am sure I would not play with it,” said Jack. “Why, you might chance -to get an ugly scratch if you did,” said the captain. - -“The language of this nation seems very harsh and unintelligible to a -foreigner, yet they converse among one another with great ease and -quickness. One of the oddest customs is that which men use on saluting -each other. Let the weather be what it will, they uncover their heads, -and remain uncovered for some time, if they mean to be extraordinarily -respectful.” - -“Why that’s like pulling off our hats,” said Jack.—“Ah, ah! papa,” cried -Betsy, “I have found you out. You have been telling us of our own -country, and what is done at home, all this while!”—“But,” said Jack, -“we don’t burn stones or eat grease and powdered seeds, or wear skins -and caterpillars’ webs, or play with tigers.”—“No?” said the -Captain—“pray, what are coals but stones? and is not butter, grease; and -corn, seeds: and leather, skins; and silk, the web of a kind of -caterpillar? And may we not as well call a cat an animal of the tiger -kind, as a tiger an animal of the cat-kind? So, if you recollect what I -have been describing, you will find, with Betsy’s help, that all the -other wonderful things I have told you of are matters familiar among -ourselves. But I meant to show you, that a foreigner might easily -represent everything as equally strange and wonderful among us as we -could do with respect to his country; and also to make you sensible that -we daily call a great many things by their names, without ever inquiring -into their nature and properties; so that, in reality, it is only their -names, and not the things themselves, with which we are acquainted.” - - - - - THE DISCONTENTED SQUIRREL. - - -In a pleasant wood, on the western side of a ridge of mountains, there -lived a _squirrel_, who had passed two or three years of his life very -happily. At length, he began to grow discontented, and one day fell into -the following soliloquy:— - -“What, must I spend all my time in this spot, running up and down the -same trees, gathering nuts and acorns, and dozing away months together -in a hole! I see a great many of the birds who inhabit this wood ramble -about to a distance wherever their fancy leads them; and, at the -approach of winter, set out for some remote country, where they enjoy -summer weather all the year round. My neighbour cuckoo tells me he is -just going; and even little nightingale will soon follow. To be sure, I -have not wings like them, but I have legs nimble enough; and if one does -not use them, one might as well be a mole or a dormouse. I dare say I -could easily reach to that blue ridge which I see from the tops of the -trees, which no doubt must be a fine place; for the sun comes directly -from it every morning, and it often appears all covered with red and -yellow, and the finest colours imaginable. There can be no harm, at -least, in trying; for I can soon get back again if I don’t like it. I am -resolved to go, and I will set out to-morrow morning.” - -When squirrel had taken this resolution, he could not sleep all night -for thinking of it; and at peep of day, prudently taking with him as -much provision as he could conveniently carry, he began his journey in -high spirits. He presently got to the outside of the wood, and entered -upon the open moors that reached to the foot of the hills. These he -crossed before the sun was gotten high; and then, having eaten his -breakfast with an excellent appetite, he began to ascend. It was heavy -toilsome work scrambling up the steep sides of the mountains; but -squirrel was used to climbing; so for awhile he proceeded expeditiously. -Often, however, was he obliged to stop and take breath; so that it was a -good deal past noon before he had arrived at the summit of the first -cliff. Here he sat down to eat his dinner; and looking back, was -wonderfully pleased with the fine prospect. The wood in which he lived -lay far beneath his feet; and he viewed with scorn the humble habitation -in which he had been born and bred. - -When he looked forward, however, he was somewhat discouraged to observe -that another eminence rose above him, full as distant as that to which -he had already reached; and he now began to feel stiff and fatigued. -However, after a little rest, he set out again, though not so briskly as -before. The ground was rugged, brown, and bare; and to his great -surprise, instead of finding it warmer as he got nearer the sun, he felt -it grow colder and colder. He had not travelled two hours before his -strength and spirits were almost spent; and he seriously thought of -giving up the point, and returning before night should come on. While he -was thus deliberating with himself, clouds began to gather round the -mountain, and to take away all view of distant objects. Presently, a -storm of mingled snow and hail came down, driven by a violent wind, -which pelted poor squirrel most pitifully, and made him quite unable to -move forward or backward. Besides, he had completely lost his road, and -did not know which way to turn toward that despised home which it was -now his only desire again to reach. The storm lasted till the approach -of night; and it was as much as he could do, benumbed and weary as he -was, to crawl to the hollow of a rock at some distance, which was the -best lodging he could find for the night. His provisions were spent; so -that, hungry and shivering, he crept into the farthest corner of the -cavern, and rolling himself up, with his bushy tail over his back, he -got a little sleep, though disturbed by the cold, and the shrill -whistling of the wind among the stones. - -The morning broke over the distant tops of the mountains, when squirrel, -half frozen and famished, came out of his lodging, and advanced, as well -as he could, toward the brow of the hill, that he might discover which -way to take. As he was slowly creeping along, a hungry kite, soaring in -the air above, descried him, and making a stoop carried him off in her -talons. Poor squirrel, losing his senses with the fright, was borne away -with vast rapidity, and seemed inevitably doomed to become food for the -kite’s young ones: when an eagle, who had seen the kite seize her prey, -pursued her in order to take it from her; and overtaking her, gave her -such a buffet, as caused her to drop the squirrel in order to defend -herself. The poor animal kept falling through the air a long time, till -at last he alighted in the midst of a thick tree, the leaves and tender -boughs of which so broke his fall, that, though stunned and breathless, -he escaped without material injury, and after lying a while, came to -himself again. But what was his pleasure and surprise, to find himself -in the very tree which contained his nest. “Ah!” said he, “my dear -native place and peaceful home! if ever I am again tempted to leave you, -may I undergo a second time all the miseries and dangers from which I -have now so wonderfully escaped.” - -[Illustration: - - The Mask of Nature, p. 25. - - EVENING II. -] - - - - - ON THE MARTEN. - - -“Look up, my dear,” said his papa to Little William, “at those -birds’nests above the chamber-windows, beneath the eaves of the house. -Some, you see, are just begun—nothing but a little clay stuck against -the wall. Others are half finished; and others are quite built—close and -tight—leaving nothing but a small hole for the birds to come in and go -out at.” - -“What are they?” said William. - -“They are martens’ nests,” replied his father; “and there you see the -owners. How busily they fly backward and forward, bringing clay and dirt -in their bills, and laying it upon their work, forming it into shape -with their bills and feet! The nests are built very strong and thick, -like a mud wall, and are lined with feathers to make a soft bed for the -young. Martens are a kind of swallows. They feed on flies, gnats, and -other insects; and always build in towns and villages about the houses. -People do not molest them, for they do good rather than harm, and it is -very amusing to view their manners and actions. See how swiftly they -skim through the air in pursuit of their prey! In the morning they are -up by daybreak, and twitter about your window while you are asleep in -bed; and all day long they are upon the wing, getting food for -themselves and their young. As soon as they have caught a few flies, -they hasten to their nests, pop into the hole, and feed their little -ones. I’ll tell you a story about the great care they take of their -young. A pair of martens once built their nest in a porch; and when they -had young ones, it happened that one of them climbing up to the hole -before he was fledged, fell out, and, lighting upon the stones, was -killed. The old birds, perceiving this accident, went and got short bits -of strong straw, and stuck them with mud, like palisades, all round the -hole of the nest, in order to keep the other little ones from tumbling -after their poor brother.” - -“How cunning that was!” cried William. - -“Yes,” said his father; “and I can tell you another story of their -sagacity, and also of their disposition to help one another. A saucy -cock-sparrow (you know what impudent rogues they are!) had got into a -marten’s nest while the owner was abroad; and when he returned, the -sparrow put his head out of the hole and pecked at the marten with open -bill, as he attempted to enter his own house. The poor marten was sadly -provoked at this injustice, but was unable by his own strength to right -himself. So he flew away and gathered a number of his companions, who -all came with bits of clay in their bills, with which they plastered up -the hole of the nest, and kept the sparrow in prison, who died miserably -for want of food and air.” - -“He was rightly served,” said William. - -“So he was,” rejoined his papa. “Well; I have more to say about the -sagacity of these birds. In autumn, when it begins to be cold weather, -the other swallows assemble upon the roofs of high buildings, and -prepare for their departure to a warmer country; for as all the insects -here die in the winter, they would have nothing to live on if they were -to stay. They take several short flights in flocks round and round, in -order to try their strength, and then on some fine calm day, they set -out together for a long journey southward, over sea and land, to a very -distant country.” - -“But how do they find their way?” said William. - -“We say,” answered his father, “that they are taught by _instinct_; that -is, God has implanted in their minds a desire of travelling at the -season which he knows to be proper, and has also given them an impulse -to take the right road. They steer their course through the wide air -directly to the proper spot. Sometimes, however, storms and contrary -winds meet them and drive the poor birds about till they are quite spent -and fall into the sea, unless they happen to meet with a ship, on which -they can light and rest themselves. The swallows from this country are -supposed to go as far as the middle of Africa to spend the winter, where -the weather is always warm, and insects are to be met with all the year. -In spring they take another long journey back again to these northern -countries. Sometimes, when we have fine weather very early, a few of -them come too soon; for when it changes to frost and snow again, the -poor creatures are starved for want of food, or perish from the cold. -Hence arises the proverb, - - ‘One swallow does not make a summer.’ - -But when a great many of them are come, we may be sure that winter is -over, so that we are always very glad to see them again. The martens -find their way back over a great length of sea and land to the very same -villages and houses where they were bred. This has been discovered by -catching some of them, and marking them. They repair their old nests, or -build new ones, and then set about laying eggs and hatching their young. -Pretty things! I hope you will never knock down their nests, or take -their eggs or young ones! for, as they come such a long way to visit us, -and lodge in our houses without fear, we ought to use them kindly.” - - - - - MOUSE, LAPDOG, AND MONKEY.—A FABLE. - - -A poor little mouse, being half starved, ventured one day to steal from -behind the wainscot while the family were at dinner, and, trembling all -the while, picked up a few crumbs which were scattered on the ground. -She was soon observed, however; everybody was immediately alarmed; some -called for the cat; others took up whatever was at hand, and endeavoured -to crush her to pieces; and the poor terrified animal was driven round -the room in an agony of terror. At length, however, she was fortunate -enough to gain her hole, where she sat panting with fatigue. When the -family were again seated, a lapdog and a monkey came into the room. The -former jumped into the lap of his mistress, fawned upon every one of the -children, and made his court so effectually, that he was rewarded with -some of the best morsels of the entertainment. The monkey, on the other -hand, forced himself into notice by his grimaces. He played a thousand -little mischievous tricks, and was regaled, at the appearance of the -dessert, with plenty of nuts and apples. The unfortunate little mouse, -who saw from her hiding-place everything that passed, sighed in anguish -of heart, and said to herself, “Alas! how ignorant was I, to imagine -that poverty and distress were sufficient recommendations to the charity -of the opulent. I now find, that whoever is not master of fawning and -buffoonery, is but ill qualified for a dependant, and will not be -suffered even to pick up the crumbs that fall from the table.” - - - - - ANIMALS AND THEIR COUNTRIES. - - - O’er Afric’s sand the tawny lion stalks: - On Phasis’ banks the graceful pheasant walks: - The lonely eagle builds on Kilda’s shore: - Germania’s forests feed the tusky boar: - From Alp to Alp the sprightly ibex bounds: - With peaceful lowings Britain’s isle resounds: - The Lapland peasant o’er the frozen meer - Is drawn in sledges by the swift raindeer: - The river-horse and scaly crocodile - Infest the reedy banks of fruitful Nile: - Dire dipsas hiss o’er Mauritania’s plain: - And seals and spouting whales sport in the northern Main. - - - - - THE MASK OF NATURE. - - -Who is this beautiful Virgin that approaches clothed in a robe of light -green? She has a garland of flowers on her head, and flowers spring up -wherever she sets her foot. The snow, which covered the fields, and the -ice, which was in the rivers, melt away when she breathes upon them. The -young lambs frisk about her, and the birds warble in their little -throats to welcome her coming; and when they see her, they begin to -choose their mates, and to build their nests. Youths and maidens have -you seen this beautiful Virgin? If you have, tell me who she is, and -what is her name. - -Who is this that cometh from the south, thinly clad in a light -transparent garment; her breath is hot and sultry; she seeks the -refreshment of the cool shade; she seeks the clear streams, and crystal -brooks, to bathe her languid limbs? The brooks and rivulets fly from -her, and are dried up at her approach. She cools her parched lips with -berries, and the grateful acid of all fruits,—the seedy melon, the sharp -apple, and the red pulp of the juicy cherry, which are poured out -plentifully around her. The tanned haymakers welcome her coming; and the -sheepshearer, who clips the fleeces off his flock with his sounding -shears. When she cometh let me lie under the thick shade of a spreading -beach-tree—let me walk with her in the early morning, when the dew is -yet upon the grass—let me wander with her in the soft twilight, when the -shepherd shuts his fold, and the star of evening appears. Who is she -that cometh from the south? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, -who she is, and what is her name. - -Who is he that cometh with sober pace, stealing upon us unawares? His -garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples are bound -with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fall, and the -auburn is mixed with mournful gray. He shakes the brown nuts from the -tree. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters to their sport. The gun -sounds:—the trembling partridge and the beautiful pheasant flutter, -bleeding in the air, and fall dead at the sportsman’s feet. Who is he -that is crowned with a wheat-sheaf? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you -know, who he is, and what is his name. - -Who is he that cometh from the north, clothed in furs and warm wool? He -wraps his cloak close about him. His head is bald; his beard is made of -sharp icicles. He loves the blazing fire high piled upon the hearth, and -the wine sparkling in the glass. He binds skates to his feet, and skims -over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and cold, and no little -flower dares to peep above the surface of the ground, when he is by. -Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were to stroke you with his cold -hand, you would be quite stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths -and maidens, do you see him? He is coming fast upon us, and soon he will -be here. Tell me, if you know, who he is, and what is his name. - - - - - THE FARMYARD JOURNAL. - - - “DEAR TOM:— - - “Since we parted at the breaking up I have been for most of the - time at a pleasant farm in Hertfordshire, where I have employed - myself in rambling about the country and assisting, as well as I - could, in the work going on at home and in the fields. On wet - days, and in the evenings, I have amused myself with keeping a - journal of all the great events that have happened among us; and - hoping that, when you are tired of the bustle of your busy town, - you may receive some entertainment from comparing our transactions - with yours, I have copied out for your perusal, one of the days in - my memorandum-book. - - “Pray, let me know in return what you are doing, and believe me, - - “Your very affectionate friend, - - “_Hazel Farm_.” - - “RICHARD MARKWELL.” - - - JOURNAL. - -_June 10th._ Last night we had a dreadful alarm. A violent scream was -heard from the henroost; the geese all set up a cackle, and the dogs -barked. Ned, the boy who lies over the stable, jumped up, and ran into -the yard, when he observed a fox galloping away with a chicken in his -mouth, and the dogs in full chase after him. They could not overtake -him, and soon returned. Upon further examination, the large white cock -was found lying on the ground, all bloody, with his comb torn almost -off, and his feathers all ruffled, and the speckled hen and three -chickens lay dead beside him. The cock recovered, but appeared terribly -frightened. It seems that the fox had jumped over the garden-hedge, and -then crossing part of the yard behind the straw, had crept into the -henroost through a broken pale. John the carpenter was sent for, to make -all fast, and prevent the like mischief again. - -Early this morning the brindled cow was delivered of a fine bull-calf. -Both are likely to do well. The calf is to be fattened for the butcher. - -The duck-eggs that were sat upon by the old black hen, were hatched this -day, and the ducklings all directly ran into the pond, to the great -terror of the hen, who went round and round, clucking with all her might -in order to call them out, but they did not regard her. An old drake -took the little ones under his care, and they swam about very merrily. - -As Dolly this morning was milking the new cow that was bought at the -fair, she kicked with her hind legs, and threw down the milk-pail, at -the same time knocking Dolly off her stool into the dirt. For this -offence the cow was sentenced to have her head fastened to the rack, and -her legs tied together. - -A kite was observed to hover a long while over the yard with an -intention of carrying off some of the young chickens, but the hens -called their broods together under their wings, and the cocks put -themselves in order of battle, so that the kite was disappointed. At -length, one chicken, not minding its mother, but straggling heedlessly -to a distance, was descried by the kite, who made a sudden swoop, and -seized it in his talons. The chicken cried out, and the cocks and hens -all screamed; when Ralph, the farmer’s son, who saw the attack, snatched -up a loaded gun, and just as the kite was flying off with his prey, -fired and brought him dead to the ground, along with the poor chicken, -who was killed in the fall. The dead body of the kite was nailed up -against the wall, by way of a warning to his wicked comrades. - -In the forenoon we were alarmed with strange noises approaching us, and -looking out we saw a number of people with frying-pans, warming-pans, -tongs, and pokers, beating, ringing, and making all possible din. We -soon discovered them to be our neighbours of the next farm, in pursuit -of a swarm of bees which was hovering in the air over their heads. The -bees at length alighted on the tall pear-tree in our orchard, and hung -in a bunch from one of the boughs. A ladder was got, and a man -ascending, with gloves on his hands, and an apron tied over his head, -swept them into a hive which was rubbed on the inside with honey and -sweet herbs. But as he was descending, some bees, which had got under -his gloves, stung him in such a manner, that he hastily threw down the -hive, upon which the greater part of the bees fell out, and began in a -rage to fly among the crowd, and sting all whom they lit upon. Away -scampered the people, the women shrieking, the children roaring; and -poor Adam, who had held the hive, was assailed so furiously, that he was -obliged to throw himself on the ground, and creep under the -gooseberry-bushes. At length, the bees began to return to the hive, in -which the queen-bee had remained; and after a while, all being quietly -settled, a cloth was thrown over it, and the swarm was carried home. - -About noon, three pigs broke into the garden, where they were rioting -upon the carrots and turnips, and doing a great deal of mischief by -trampling the beds and rooting up the plants with their snouts, when -they were spied by old Towzer the mastiff, who ran among them, and -laying hold of their long ears with his teeth, made them squeal most -dismally, and get out of the garden as fast as they could. - -Roger the ploughman, when he came for his dinner, brought word that he -had discovered a partridge’s nest with sixteen eggs in the home-field. -Upon which the farmer went out and broke them all; saying, that he did -not choose to rear birds upon his corn, which he was not allowed to -catch, but must leave to some qualified sportsman, who would besides -break down his fences in the pursuit. - -A sheep-washing was held this day at the mill-pool, when seven-score -were well washed, and then penned in the high meadow to dry. Many of -them made great resistance at being thrown into the water; and the old -ram being dragged to the brink by a boy at each horn, and a third -pushing behind, by a sudden spring threw two of them into the water, to -the great diversion of the spectators. - -Toward the dusk of the evening, the squire’s mongrel greyhound, which -had been long suspected of worrying sheep, was caught in the fact. He -had killed two lambs, and was making a hearty meal upon one of them, -when he was disturbed by the approach of the shepherd’s boy, and -directly leaped the hedge and made off. The dead bodies were taken to -the squire’s, with an endictment of wilful murder against the dog. But -when they came to look for the culprit, he was not to be found in any -part of the premises, and is supposed to have fled his country through -consciousness of his heinous offence. - -Joseph, who sleeps in the garret at the old end of the house, after -having been some time in bed, came down stairs in his shirt, as pale as -ashes, and frightened the maids, who were going up. It was some time -before he could tell what was the matter; at length, he said he had -heard some dreadful noises overhead, which he was sure must be made by -some ghost or evil spirit; nay, he thought he had seen something moving, -though he owned he durst hardly lift up his eyes. He concluded with -declaring, that he would rather sit up all night in the kitchen than go -to his room again. The maids were almost as much alarmed as he, and did -not know what to do; but their master overhearing their talk, came out -and insisted upon their accompanying him to the spot, in order to search -into the affair. They all went into the garret, and for a while heard -nothing; when their master ordered the candle to be taken away, and -every one to keep quite still. Joseph and the maids stuck close to each -other, and trembled every limb. At length, a kind of groaning or snoring -began to be heard, which grew louder and louder, with intervals of a -strange sort of hissing. “That’s it!” whispered Joseph, drawing back -toward the door—the maids were ready to sink, and even the farmer -himself was a little disconcerted. The noise seemed to come from the -rafters near the thatch. In a while a glimpse of moonlight shining -through a hole at the place, plainly discovered the shadow of something -stirring; and on looking intently, something like feathers was -perceived. The farmer now began to suspect what the case was; and -ordering up a short ladder bid Joseph climb to the spot, and thrust his -hand into the hole. This he did rather unwillingly, and soon drew it -back, crying loudly that he was bit. However, gathering courage, he put -it in again, and pulled out a large white owl, another at the same time -being heard to fly away. The cause of the alarm was now made clear -enough; and poor Joseph, after being heartily jeered by the maids, -though they had been as much frightened as he, sneaked into bed, and the -house soon became quiet. - - - - - THE PRICE OF PLEASURE. - - -“I think I will take a ride,” said the little _Lord Linger_, after -breakfast; “bring me my boots, and let my horse be brought to the door.” - -The horse was saddled, and his lordship’s spurs were putting on. - -“No,” said he, “I’ll have my low chair and the ponies, and take a drive -round the park.” - -The horse was led back, and the ponies were almost harnessed, when his -lordship sent his valet to countermand them. He would walk into the -cornfield, and see how the new pointer hunted. - -“After all,” says he, “I think I will stay at home, and play a game or -two at billiards.” - -He played half a game, but could not make a stroke to please himself. -His tutor, who was present, now thought it a good opportunity to ask his -lordship if he would read a little. - -“Why—I think—I will; for I am tired of doing nothing. What shall we -have?” - -“Your lordship left off last time in one of the finest passages of the -Æneid. Suppose we finish it?” - -“Well—ay; but—no—I had rather go on with Hume’s history. Or—suppose we -do some geography?” - -“With all my heart. The globes are upon the study-table.” - -They went to the study; and the little lord, leaning upon his elbows, -looked at the globe—then twirled it round two or three times—and then -listened patiently while the tutor explained some of its parts and uses. -But while he was in the midst of a problem, “Come,” said his lordship, -“now for a little Virgil.” - -The book was brought; and the pupil, with a good deal of help, got -through twenty lines. - -“Well,” said he, ringing the bell, “I think we have done a good deal. -Tom! bring my bow and arrows.” - -The fine London-made bow, in its green case, and the quiver with all its -appurtenances, were brought, and his lordship went down to the place -where the shooting-butts were erected. He aimed a few shots at the -target, but not coming near it, he shot all the remainder at random, and -then ordered out his horse. - -He sauntered, with a servant at his heels, for a mile or two through the -lanes, and came, just as the clock struck twelve, to a village-green, -close by which a school was kept. A door flew open, and out burst a -shoal of boys, who, spreading over the green, with immoderate -vociferation, instantly began a variety of sports. Some fell to marbles, -some to trap-ball, some to leap-frog. In short, not one of the whole -crew but was eagerly employed. Everything was noise, motion, and -pleasure. Lord Linger, riding slowly up, espied one of his tenants’ -sons, who had been formerly admitted as a playfellow of his, and called -him from the throng. - -“Jack,” said he, “how do you like school?” - -“O, pretty well, my lord.” - -“What—have you a good deal of play?” - -“O no! We have only from twelve to two for playing and eating our -dinners; and then an hour before supper.” - -“That is very little, indeed!” - -“But _we play heartily when we do play, and work when we work_. Good-by, -my lord! it is my turn to go in at trap!” - -So saying, Jack ran off. - -“I wish I was a school-boy!” cried the little lord to himself. - - - - - THE RAT WITH A BELL.—A FABLE. - - -A large old house in the country was so extremely infested with rats -that nothing could be secured from their depredations. They scaled the -walls to attack flitches of bacon, though hung as high as the ceiling. -Hanging shelves afforded no protection to the cheese and pastry. They -penetrated by sap into the store-room, and plundered it of preserves and -sweetmeats. They gnawed through cupboard-doors, undermined floors, and -ran races behind the wainscots. The cats could not get at them; they -were too cunning and too well fed to meddle with poison; and traps only -now and then caught a heedless straggler. One of these, however, on -being taken, was the occasion of practising a new device. This was, to -fasten a collar with a small bell about the prisoner’s neck, and then -turn him loose again. - -Overjoyed at the recovery of his liberty, the rat ran into the nearest -hole, and went in search of his companions. They heard at a distance the -bell tinkle-tinkle through the dark passages, and suspecting some enemy -had got among them, away they scoured, some one way and some another. -The bell-bearer pursued; and soon guessing the cause of their flight, he -was greatly amused by it. Wherever he approached, it was all -hurry-scurry, and not a tail of one of them was to be seen. He chased -his old friends from hole to hole, and room to room, laughing all the -while at their fears, and increasing them by all the means in his power. -Presently, he had the whole house to himself. “That’s right,” quoth he, -“the fewer the better cheer.” So he rioted alone among the good things, -and stuffed till he could hardly walk. - -For two or three days this course of life went on very pleasantly. He -ate, and ate, and played the bugbear to perfection. At length, he grew -tired of this lonely condition, and longed to mix with his companions -again upon the former footing. But the difficulty was, how to get rid of -his bell. He pulled and tugged with his fore-feet, and almost wore the -skin off his neck in the attempt, but all in vain. The bell was now his -plague and torment. He wandered from room to room earnestly desiring to -make himself known to one of his companions, but they all kept out of -his reach. At last, as he was moping about disconsolate he fell in -puss’s way, and was devoured in an instant. - -He who is raised so much above his fellow-creatures as to be the object -of their terror, must suffer for it in losing all the comforts of -society. He is a solitary being in the midst of crowds. He keeps them at -a distance, and they equally shun him. Dread and affection cannot -subsist together. - - - - - THE DOG BALKED OF HIS DINNER.—A TALE. - - - _Think yourself sure of nothing till you’ve got it_: - This is the lesson of the day. - In metaphoric language I might say, - Count not your bird before you’ve shot it. - Quoth Proverb, “’Twixt the cup and lip - There’s many a slip.” - Not every guest invited sits at table, - So says _my_ fable. - - A man once gave a dinner to his friend; - His friend!—his patron I should rather think - By all the loads of meat and drink, - And fruits and gellies without end, - Sent home the morning of the feast. - _Jowler_, his dog, a social beast, - Soon as he smelt the matter out, away - Scampers to old acquaintance _Tray_, - And, with expressions kind and hearty, - Invites him to the party. - Tray wanted little pressing to a dinner; - He was, in truth, a gormandizing sinner. - He lick’d his chops, and wagg’d his tail, - “Dear friend!” he cried, “I will not fail - But what’s your hour?” - “We dine at four; - But if you come an hour too soon, - You’ll find there’s something to be done.” - - His friend withdrawn, Tray, full of glee, - As blithe as blithe could be, - Skipp’d, danced, and play’d full many an antic - Like one half frantic, - Then sober in the sun lay winking, - But could not sleep for thinking. - He thought o’er every dainty dish, - Fried, boil’d and roast, - Flesh, fowl, and fish, - With tripes and toast, - Fit for a dog to eat; - And in his fancy made a treat, - Might grace a bill of fare - For my lord-mayor. - At length, just on the stroke of three, - Forth sallied he; - And through a well-known hole - He slyly stole - Pop on the scene of action. - Here he beheld, with wondrous satisfaction - All hands employ’d in drawing, stuffing, - Skewering, spitting, and basting; - The red-faced cook sweating and puffing, - Chopping, mixing, and tasting. - Tray skulk’d about, now here, now there - Peep’d into this, and smelt at that, - And lick’d the gravy, and the fat, - And cried, “O rare! how I shall fare!” - - But Fortune, spiteful as Old Nick, - Resolved to play our dog a trick; - She made the cook - Just cast a look - Where Tray, beneath the dresser lying, - His promised bliss was eying. - A cook while cooking is a sort of fury, - A maxim worth remem’bring, I assure ye. - Tray found it true, - And so may you, - If e’er you choose to try. - “How now!” quoth she, “what’s this I spy? - A nasty cur! who let him in? - Would he were hang’d with all his kin! - A pretty kitchen-guest, indeed! - But I shall pack him off with speed.” - - So saying, on poor Tray she flew, - And dragg’d the culprit forth to view; - Then, to his terror and amazement, - Whirl’d him like lightning through the casement. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING III. -] - - - - - THE KID. - - -One bleak day in March, _Sylvia_, returning from a visit to the -sheepfold, met with a young kidling deserted by its dam on the naked -heath. It was bleating piteously, and was so benumbed with the cold that -it could scarcely stand. Sylvia took it up in her arms, and pressed it -close to her bosom. She hastened home, and showing her little foundling -to her parents, begged she might rear it for her own. They consented; -and Sylvia immediately got a basketful of clean straw, and made a bed -for him on the hearth. She warmed some milk, and held it to him in a -platter The poor creature drank it up eagerly, and then licked her hand -for more. _Sylvia_ was delighted. She chafed his tender legs with her -warm hands, and soon saw him jump out of his basket and frisk across the -room. When full, he lay down again, and took a comfortable nap. - -The next day, the kid had a name bestowed upon him. As he gave tokens of -being an excellent jumper, it was _Capriole_. He was introduced to all -the rest of the family, and the younger children were allowed to stroke -and pat him; but Sylvia would let nobody be intimate with him out -herself. The great mastiff was charged not to hurt him, and indeed, he -had no intention to do it. - -Within a few days, Capriole followed Sylvia all about the house; trotted -by her side into the yard; ran races with her in the home-field; fed out -of her hand; and was declared pet and favourite. As the spring advanced, -Sylvia roamed in the fields, and gathered wild flowers, with which she -wove garlands, and hung them round the kid’s neck. He could not be kept, -however, from munching his finery when he could reach it with his mouth. -He was likewise rather troublesome in thrusting his nose into the -meal-tub and flour-box, and following people into the dairy, and sipping -the milk that was set for cream. He now and then got a blow for his -intrusion; but his mistress always took his part, and indulged him in -every liberty. - -Capriole’s horns now began to bud, and a little white beard sprouted at -the end of his chin. He grew bold enough to put himself into a fighting -posture whenever he was offended. He butted down little Colin into the -dirt; quarrelled with the geese for their allowance of corn; and held -many a stout battle with the old turkey-cock. Everybody said, “Capriole -is growing too saucy; he must be sent away, or taught better manners.” -But Sylvia still stood his friend, and he repaid her love with many -tender caresses. - -The farmhouse where Sylvia lived was situated in a sweet valley, by the -side of a clear stream bordered with trees. Above the house rose a -sloping meadow, and beyond that, was an open common covered with purple -heath and yellow furze. Farther on, at some distance, rose a steep hill, -the summit of which was a bare craggy rock, scarcely accessible to human -feet. Capriole, ranging at his pleasure, often got upon the common, and -was pleased with browsing the short grass and wild herbs which grew -there. Still, however, when his mistress came to see him, he would run -bounding at her call and accompany her back to the farm. - -One fine summer’s day, Sylvia, after having finished the business of the -morning, wanted to play with her kid; and missing him, she went to the -side of the common, and called aloud, “Capriole! Capriole!” expecting to -see him come running to her as usual. No Capriole came. She went on and -on, still calling her kid with the most endearing accents; but nothing -was to be seen of him. Her heart began to flutter. “What can be come of -him? Surely somebody must have stolen him; or perhaps the neighbours’ -dogs have worried him. Oh, my poor Capriole! my dear Capriole! I shall -never see you again!” and Sylvia began to weep. - -She still went on, looking wistfully all around, and making the place -echo with “Capriole! Capriole! where are you, my Capriole?” till, at -length, she came to the foot of the steep hill. She climbed up its sides -to get a better view. No kid was to be seen. She sat down and wept and -wrung her hands. After a while she fancied she heard a bleating like the -well-known voice of her Capriole. She started up, and looked toward the -sound, which seemed a great way overhead. At length, she spied, just on -the edge of a steep crag, her Capriole peeping over. She stretched out -her hands to him, and began to call, but with a timid voice, lest in his -impatience to return to her, he should leap down and break his neck. But -there was no such danger. Capriole was inhaling the fresh breeze of the -mountains, and enjoying with rapture the scenes for which nature -designed him. His bleating was the expression of joy, and he bestowed -not a thought on his kind mistress, nor paid the least attention to her -call. Sylvia ascended as high as she could toward him, and called louder -and louder, but all in vain. Capriole leaped from rock to rock, cropped -the fine herbage in the clefts, and was quite lost in the pleasure of -his new existence. - -Poor Sylvia stayed till she was tired, and then returned disconsolate to -the farm, to relate her misfortune. She got her brothers to accompany -her back to the hill, and took with her a slice of white bread and some -milk to tempt the little wanderer home. But he had mounted still higher, -and had joined a herd of companions of the same species, with whom he -was frisking and sporting. He had neither eyes nor ears for his old -friends of the valley. All former habits were broken at once, and he had -commenced free commoner of nature. Sylvia came back crying, as much from -vexation as sorrow. “The little ungrateful thing,” said she; “so well as -I loved him, and so kindly as I treated him, to desert me in this way at -last!—But he was always a rover.” - -“Take care, then, Sylvia,” said her mother, “how you set your heart upon -_rovers_ again!” - - - - - HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF IT. - - -Robinet, a peasant of Lorraine, after a hard day’s work at the next -market-town, was running home with a basket in his hand. “What a -delicious supper shall I have!” said he to himself. “This piece of kid -well stewed down, with my onions sliced, thickened with my meal, and -seasoned with my salt and pepper, will make a dish for the bishop of the -diocese. Then I have a good piece of barley-loaf at home to finish with. -How I long to be at it!” - -A noise in the hedge now attracted his notice, and he spied a squirrel -nimbly running up a tree, and popping into a hole between the branches. -“Ha!” thought he, “what a nice present a nest of young squirrels will be -to my little master! I’ll try if I can get it.” Upon this, he set down -his basket in the road, and began to climb the tree. He had half -ascended, when casting a look at his basket, he saw a dog with his nose -in it, ferreting out the piece of kid’s flesh. He made all possible -speed down, but the dog was too quick for him, and ran off with the meat -in his mouth. Robinet looked after him. “Well,” said he, “then I must be -contented with soupe maigre—and no bad thing neither.” - -He travelled on, and came to a little public-house by the roadside, -where an acquaintance of his was sitting on a bench drinking. He invited -Robinet to take a draught. Robinet seated himself by his friend, and set -his basket on the bench close by him. A tame raven, which was kept at -the house, came slyly behind him, and perching on the basket, stole away -the bag in which the meal was tied up, and hopped off with it to his -hole. Robinet did not perceive the theft till he had got on his way -again. He returned to search for his bag, but could hear no tidings of -it. “Well,” says he, “my soup will be the thinner; but I will boil a -slice of bread with it, and that will do it some good at least.” - -He went on again, and arrived at a little brook, over which was laid a -narrow plank. A young woman coming up to pass at the same time, Robinet -gallantly offered his hand. As soon as she was got to the middle, either -through fear or sport, she shrieked out, and cried she was falling. -Robinet hastening to support her with his other hand, let his basket -drop into the stream. As soon as she was safe over, he jumped in and -recovered it; but when he took it out he perceived that all the salt was -melted, and the pepper washed away. Nothing was now left but the onions. -“Well!” says Robinet, “then I must sup to-night upon roasted onions and -barley-bread. Last night I had the bread alone. To-morrow morning it -will not signify what I had.” So saying, he trudged on singing as -before. - - - - - ORDER AND DISORDER.—A FAIRY TALE. - - -Juliet was a clever, well-disposed girl, but apt to be heedless. She -could learn her lessons very well, but commonly as much time was taken -up in getting her things together as in doing what she was set about. If -she was at work, there was generally the housewife to seek in one place, -and the thread-papers in another. The scissors were left in her pocket -upstairs, and the thimble was rolling about the floor. In writing, the -copybook was generally missing, the ink dried up, and the pens, new and -old, all tumbled about the cupboard. The slate and slate-pencil were -never found together. In making her exercises, the English dictionary -always came to hand instead of the French grammar; and when she was to -read a chapter, she usually got hold of Robinson Crusoe, or the World -Displayed, instead of the Testament. - -Juliet’s mamma was almost tired of teaching her, so she sent her to make -a visit to an old lady in the country, a very good woman, but rather -strict with young folks. Here she was shut up in a room above stairs by -herself after breakfast every day, till she had quite finished the tasks -set her. This house was one of the very few that are still haunted by -fairies. One of these, whose name was _Disorder_, took a pleasure in -plaguing poor Juliet. She was a frightful figure to look at, being -crooked and squint-eyed, with her hair hanging about her face, and her -dress put on all awry, and full of rents and tatters. She prevailed on -the old lady to let her set Juliet her tasks; so one morning she came up -with a workbag full of threads of silk of all sorts of colours, mixed -and entangled together, and a flower very nicely worked to copy. It was -a pansy, and the gradual melting of its hues into one another was -imitated with great accuracy and beauty. “Here, miss,” said she, “my -mistress has sent you a piece of work to do, and she insists upon having -it done before you come down to dinner. You will find all the materials -in this bag.” - -Juliet took the flower and the bag, and turned out all the silks upon -the table. She slowly pulled out a red and a purple, and a blue and a -yellow, and at length fixed upon one to begin working with. After taking -two or three stitches, and looking at her model, she found another shade -was wanted. This was to be hunted out from the bunch, and a long while -it took her to find it. It was soon necessary to change it for another. -Juliet saw that, in going on at this rate, it would take days instead of -hours to work the flower, so she laid down the needle and fell a crying. -After this had continued some time, she was startled at the sound of -something stamping on the floor; and taking her handkerchief from her -eyes, she spied a diminutive female figure advancing toward her. She was -upright as an arrow, and had not so much as a hair out of its place, or -the least article of her dress rumpled or discomposed. When she came up -to Juliet, “My dear,” said she, “I heard you crying, and knowing you to -be a good girl in the main, I am come to your assistance. My name is -_Order_: your mamma is well acquainted with me, though this is the first -time you ever saw me; but I hope we shall know one another better for -the future.” She then jumped upon the table, and with a wand gave a tap -upon the heap of entangled silk.—Immediately the threads separated, and -arranged themselves in a long row consisting of little skeins, in which -all of the same colour were collected together, those approaching -nearest in shade being placed next each other. This done, she -disappeared. Juliet, as soon as her surprise was over, resumed her work, -and found it go on with ease and pleasure. She finished the flower by -dinner-time, and obtained great praise for the neatness of the -execution. - -The next day the ill-natured fairy came up, with a great book under her -arm. “This,” said she, “is my mistress’s house-book, and she says you -must draw out against dinner an exact account of what it has cost her -last year in all the articles of housekeeping, including clothes, rent, -taxes, wages, and the like. You must state separately the amount of -every article, under the heads of baker, butcher, milliner, shoemaker, -and so forth, taking special care not to miss a single thing entered -down in the book. Here is a quire of paper and a parcel of pens.” So -saying, with a malicious grin, she left her. - -Julia turned pale at the very thought of the task she had to perform. -She opened the great book, and saw all the pages closely written, but in -the most confused manner possible. Here was, “Paid Mr. Crusty for a -week’s bread and baking” so much. Then, “Paid Mr. Pinchtoe for shoes,” -so much. “Paid half a year’s rent,” so much. Then came a butcher’s bill, -succeeded by a milliner’s, and that by a tallow-chandler’s. “What shall -I do?” cried poor Juliet—“where am I to begin, and how can I possibly -pick out all these things? Was ever such a tedious, perplexing task? O -that my good little creature were here again with her wand!” - -She had but just uttered these words when the fairy Order stood before -her. “Don’t be startled, my dear,” said she; “I knew your wish, and made -haste to comply with it. Let me see your book.” She turned over a few -leaves, and then cried, “I see my crossgrained sister has played you a -trick. She has brought you the _daybook_ instead of the _leger_; but I -will set the matter to rights instantly.” She vanished, and presently -returned with another book, in which she showed Juliet every one of the -articles required, standing at the tops of the pages, and all the -particulars entered under them from the daybook; so that there was -nothing for her to do but cast up the sums, and copy out the heads with -their amount in single lines. As Juliet was a ready accountant, she was -not long in finishing the business, and produced her account neatly -written on one sheet of paper, at dinner. - -The next day, Juliet’s tormentor brought her up a large box full of -letters stamped upon small bits of ivory, capitals and common letters of -all sorts, but jumbled together promiscuously, as if they had been -shaken in a bag. “Now, miss,” said she, “before you come down to dinner, -you must exactly copy out this poem in these ivory letters, placing them -line by line on the floor of your room.” - -Juliet thought at first that this task would be pretty sport enough; but -when she set about it, she found such trouble in hunting out the letters -she wanted, every one seeming to come to hand before the right one, that -she proceeded very slowly; and the poem being a long one, it was plain -that night would come before it was finished. Sitting down and crying -for her kind friend was, therefore, her only resource. - -Order was not far distant, for, indeed, she had been watching her -proceedings all the while. She made herself visible, and giving a tap on -the letters with her wand, they immediately arranged themselves -alphabetically in little double heaps, the small in one, and the great -in the other. After this operation, Juliet’s task went on with such -expedition, that she called up the old lady an hour before dinner, to be -witness to its completion. - -The good lady kissed her, and told her, that as she hoped she was now -made fully sensible of the benefits of order, and the inconveniences of -disorder, she would not confine her any longer to work by herself at set -tasks, but she should come and sit with her. Juliet took such pains to -please her, by doing everything with the greatest neatness and -regularity, and reforming all her careless habits, that when she was -sent back to her mother, the following presents were made her, -constantly to remind her of the beauty and advantage of order:— - -A cabinet of English coins, in which all the gold and silver money of -the kings was arranged in the order of their reigns. - -A set of plaster casts of the Roman emperors. - -A cabinet of beautiful shells, displayed according to the most approved -system. - -A very complete box of water-colours, and another of crayons, sorted in -all the shades of the primary colours. - -And a very nice housewife, with all the implements belonging to a -seamstress, and a good store of the best needles in sizes. - - - - - LIVE DOLLS. - - -Mrs. Lacour was accustomed to lay out for her daughter, a girl about -eight years old, a great deal of money in playthings. One morning Eliza -(that was her name) was in raptures over a new wax-doll, which her mamma -had given two guineas for in Fleet street. By means of a concealed wire, -it had been made to open and shut its eyes, to the no small surprise of -the little girl, not unmixed with a certain degree of terror, when her -mother first exhibited the phenomenon; but having had the principle -explained to her, she had spent the greatest part of the morning in -moving the wires up and down, and making them alternately open and shut -the eyelids. It is true the mechanism had one defect, which we record, -in hopes that the ingenuity of future doll-makers may find a remedy for -it. The doll shut her eyes after the manner of a bird, by drawing up the -membrane over the eye, instead of letting the eyelid fall over it, as is -the custom in human creatures; but as Eliza had not studied comparative -anatomy, this slight irregularity was not noticed. She was still in -raptures over her new acquisition, when she was surprised by a visit -from Mrs. Dorcas, a maiden sister of her father, who sometimes called -upon her. “Look here, my dear aunt,” said she, “what a charming doll I -have got; see, now its eyes are shut, now they are open again—how -curious! I dare say you cannot guess how I do it. I can hardly help -fancying it alive. To-morrow I shall begin to dress it, for it must have -a fine worked cap, with a laced border, and a long muslin robe and -shoes. I do not know whether it should have shoes yet, for it is only a -baby; and I shall lay it in the cradle, and rock it; and when I want it -to go to sleep, its eyes shall be shut, and in the morning they shall be -open again, just as if it were really alive: I wish it could eat and -drink—why could they not make its mouth to open?” - -_Mrs. D._ Your doll is very pretty, indeed, and I commend you for -intending to make its clothes yourself, but would not you like better to -have a real live doll to dress? - -_Eliza._ O yes! that I should, indeed; but I believe—I am afraid there -is no such doll. - -_Mrs. D._ I will find you such a one if you will dress it. - -_Eliza._ And will it open its mouth and eat? - -_Mrs. D._ Yes, it will. - -_Eliza._ And can it speak, too? - -_Mrs. D._ I do not say it can speak yet; it has not been taught; but you -shall hear its voice, and you shall see it breathe; your doll does not -breathe. [Eliza took her doll and placed her hand upon its waxen bosom, -as if she expected to feel it heave.] And the clothes you will make will -warm it too. A wax-doll is not warmed by its clothes. Your doll is as -cold when she is wrapped up in a quilt and placed in the cradle as if -she were laid naked upon a marble slab. - -_Eliza._ Is she? - -_Mrs. D._ Yes; you may convince yourself of that whenever you please; -but this live doll will not only be warmed by the clothes you make, but -perhaps she may die if you do not make them. - -_Eliza._ O! do not let her die—I will set about making the clothes -directly. - -_Mrs. D._ Then come along with me. - -Eliza sallied forth with her aunt Dorcas: she was all the way silent, -and breathless with expectation. After leading her through a few -streets, her aunt stopped at a house, and asked to be shown into the -workroom. It was a room where a number of young girls were sitting at a -long table, with cheerful and busy looks. The table was covered with -workbags, needlecases, thread-papers, and such like sewing implements, -and spread with flannel, calico, dimity, and old linen; one of the girls -was making a cap, another a petticoat, a third a frock—the elder ones -were cutting out the cloth—some of the little ones were stretching out -their hands to hold a skein of thread for the others to wind; not one -was unemployed. “What are they all doing?” said Eliza. - -_Mrs. D._ They are all working for live dolls. - -_Eliza._ But where are the dolls? - -_Mrs. D._ You cannot see them yet; they would suffer if the clothes were -not prepared for them before they came. - -_Eliza._ But here are no laces nor worked muslins; here is nothing very -pretty. - -_Mrs. D._ No, because pretty things seldom have the property of keeping -the wearers warm. - -_Eliza._ But who are they working for? - -At that instant, a woman, with a child upon her bosom, pale, but with a -countenance shining with joy and gratitude, entered the workroom, -pouring out her thanks to the good young ladies, as she truly called -them, for their well-timed bounty. “But for you,” she said, “this dear -little infant might perhaps have perished, or at least its little limbs -would have been chilled with cold for want of good and substantial -clothing. My husband was ill, and could not work, and I had no money to -buy anything but necessary food. If I could have bought the materials, -or if you had given them me, I could not have cut them out and contrived -them, and made them up myself: for I was never taught to be handy at my -needle as you have been, ladies. I was only set to coarse work. Look -what a sweet little infant it is, and how comfortable he looks. God -bless you, dear ladies! and make you all happy wives and mothers, when -the time comes!” The girls, with great pleasure, rose when she had -finished her address to them; and after congratulating the mother, took -the infant, and handing it from one to another, kissed and played with -it. Eliza, too, advanced, but timidly, and as if she had not yet earned -a right to caress it. “Approach, my niece,” said Mrs. Dorcas, “kiss the -lips of this infant, and imbibe that affection which is one of the -characteristics of your sex. Women are made to love children, and they -should begin to love them while they themselves are children; nor is -there any surer way of learning to love a being, than by doing good to -it. You see now why I brought you hither. This is the live doll I -promised you; its limbs are not the work of a clumsy mechanic, they are -fashioned by consummate wisdom and skill, and it will not always remain -as it is: this little frame has a principle of improvement in it—it has -powers that will unfold themselves by degrees—the limbs will stretch and -grow; after a while it will walk, it will speak, it will play, it will -be like one of you. How precious then is the life of such a creature! -But it has pleased the Creator of all things that this excellent being -should come into the world naked and helpless; it has neither hair, nor -wool, nor fur, nor feathers to keep it warm; if not clothed and -cherished, it would soon be killed with the cold. It is, therefore, very -desirable to help those poor people who cannot afford to clothe their -infants, lest so admirable a work of God as a human creature should -perish for want of care. There is a great deal of pain and danger in -bearing children in any situation of life; but when people are poor as -well as sick, the distress is very much increased. These good young -ladies, Eliza, have formed a society among themselves for making -baby-linen for the poor. Nobody bid them do it; it was entirely of their -own accord. They have agreed to subscribe a penny a week out of their -little pocket-money. A penny is a very small matter; girls who have a -great deal of money perhaps would not suppose it worth thinking about, -but a great many pennies every week will in time come to a sum that is -not so contemptible. With this they buy the materials, such as warm -flannels, coarse printed cottons, and dimity. Their mammas give them, -every now and then, some fine old linen and cast-off clothes; but the -value of their work is a great deal more than that of the materials: if -they did not cut and contrive, and make them up, they would be of little -service comparatively to the poor people; besides, the doing so will -make them clever managers when they come to have children of their own. -None of these good girls are above fourteen; and they have clothed a -number of little helpless infants, and made, as you have seen, the -mothers’ hearts very glad. Now, if you wish it, I dare say they will let -you work with them; but here is no finery, and if you like better to -work for your wax-doll, do so.”—“O, no!” said Eliza, “the live doll for -me;” and she bespoke a place at the long worktable. - - - - - THE HOG AND OTHER ANIMALS. - - -A debate once arose among the animals in a farmyard, which of them was -most valued by their common master. After the horse, the ox, the cow, -the sheep, and the dog, had stated their several pretensions, the hog -took up the discourse. - -“It is plain,” said he, “that the greatest value must be set upon that -animal which is kept most for his own sake, without expecting from him -any return of use and service. Now, which of you can boast so much in -that respect as I can? - -“As for you, horse, though you are very well fed and lodged, and have -servants to attend upon you, and make you sleek and clean, yet all this -is for the sake of your labour. Do not I see you taken out early every -morning, put in chains, or fastened to the shafts of a heavy cart, and -not brought back till noon; when, after a short respite, you are taken -to work again till late in the evening? I may say just the same to the -ox, except that he works for poorer fare. - -“For you, Mrs. Cow, who are so dainty over your chopped straw and -grains, you are thought worth keeping only for your milk, which is -drained from you twice a day to the last drop, while your poor young -ones are taken from you, and sent I know not whither. - -“You, poor innocent sheep, who are turned out to shift for yourselves -upon the bare hills, or penned upon the fallows with now and then a -withered turnip or some musty hay, you pay dearly enough for your keep -by resigning your warm coat every year, for want of which you are liable -to be frozen to death on some of the cold nights before summer. - -“As for the dog, who prides himself so much on being admitted to our -master’s table, and made his companion, that he will scarce condescend -to reckon himself one of us, he is obliged to do all the offices of a -domestic servant by day, and to keep watch during the night, while we -are quietly asleep. - -“In short, you are all of you creatures maintained for use—poor -subservient things, made to be enslaved or pillaged. I, on the contrary, -have a warm stye and plenty of provisions all at free cost. I have -nothing to do but grow fat and follow my amusement; and my master is -best pleased when he sees me lying at ease in the sun, or filling my -belly.” - -Thus argued the hog, and put the rest to silence by so much logic and -rhetoric. This was not long before winter set in. It proved a very -scarce season for fodder of all kinds; so that the farmer began to -consider how he was to maintain all his live stock till spring. “It will -be impossible for me,” thought he, “to keep them all; I must therefore -part with those I can best spare. As for my horses and working oxen, I -shall have business enough to employ them; they must be kept, cost what -it will. My cows will not give me much milk in the winter, but they will -calve in the spring, and be ready for the new grass. I must not lose the -profit of my dairy. The sheep, poor things, will take care of themselves -as long as there is a bite upon the hills; and if deep snow comes, we -must do with them as well as we can by the help of a few turnips and -some hay, for I must have their wool at shearing-time to make out my -rent with. But my hogs will eat me out of house and home, without doing -me any good. They must go to pot, that’s certain; and the sooner I get -rid of the fat ones, the better.” - -So saying, he singled out the orator as one of the prime among them, and -sent him to the butcher the very next day. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING IV. -] - - - - - THE BULLIES. - - -As young Francis was walking through a village with his tutor, they were -annoyed by two or three cur-dogs, that came running after them with -looks of the utmost fury, snarling and barking as if they would tear -their throats, and seeming every moment ready to fly upon them. Francis -every now and then stopped and shook his stick at them, or stooped down -to pick up a stone, upon which the curs retreated as fast as they came; -but as soon as he turned about, they were after his heels again. This -lasted till they came to a farmyard, through which their road lay. A -large mastiff was lying down in it at his ease in the sun. Francis was -almost afraid to pass him, and kept as close to his tutor as possible. -However, the dog took not the least notice of them. - -Presently, they came upon a common, where, going near a flock of geese, -they were assailed with hissings, and pursued some way by these foolish -birds, which, stretching out their long necks, made a very ridiculous -figure. Francis only laughed at them, though he was tempted to give the -foremost a switch across his neck. A little further was a herd of cows -with a bull among them, upon which Francis looked with some degree of -apprehension; but they kept quietly grazing, and did not take their -heads from the ground as he passed. - -“It is a lucky thing,” said Francis to his tutor, “that mastiffs and -bulls are not so quarrelsome as curs and geese; but what can be the -reason of it?” - -“The reason,” replied the tutor, “is, that paltry and contemptible -animals, possessing no confidence in their own strength and courage, and -knowing themselves liable to injury from most of those that come in -their way, think it safer to take the part of bullies, and to make a -show of attacking those of whom in reality they are afraid: whereas, -animals which are conscious of force sufficient for their own -protection, suspecting no evil designs from others, entertain none -themselves, but maintain dignified composure. - -“Thus you will find it among mankind. Weak, mean, petty characters are -suspicious, snarling, and petulant. They raise an outcry against their -superiors in talents and reputation, of whom they stand in awe, and put -on airs of defiance and insolence through mere cowardice. But the truly -great are calm and inoffensive. They fear no injury, and offer none. -They even suffer slight attacks to go unnoticed, conscious of their -power to right themselves whenever the occasion shall seem to require -it.” - - - - - THE TRAVELLED ANT. - - -There was a garden enclosed with high brick walls, and laid out somewhat -in the old fashion. Under the walls were wide beds planted with flowers, -garden-stuff, and fruit-trees. Next to them was a broad gravel-walk -running round the garden; and the middle was laid out in grass-plots, -and beds of flowers and shrubs with a fish-pond in the centre. - -Near the root of one of the wall fruit-trees, a numerous colony of ants -was established, which had extended its subterraneous works over great -part of the bed in its neighbourhood. One day, two of the inhabitants, -meeting in a gallery under ground, fell into the following -conversation:— - -“Ha! my friend,” said the first, “is it you? I am glad to see you. Where -have you been this long time? All your acquaintance have been in pain -about you, lest some accident should have befallen you.” - -“Why,” replied the other, “I am, indeed, a sort of stranger, for you -must know I am but just returned from a long journey.” - -“A journey! whither, pray, and on what account?” - -“A tour of mere curiosity. I had long felt dissatisfied with knowing so -little about this world of ours; so, at length, I took a resolution to -explore it. And I may now boast that I have gone round its utmost -extremities, and that no considerable part of it has escaped my -researches.” - -“Wonderful! What a traveller you have been, and what sights you must -have seen!” - -“Why, yes—I have seen more than most ants, to be sure; but it has been -at the expense of so much toil and danger, that I know not whether it -was worth the pains.” - -“Would you oblige me with some account of your adventures?” - -“Willingly: I set out, then, early one sunshiny morning; and, after -crossing our territory and the line of plantation by which it is -bordered; I came upon a wide open plain, where, as far as the eye could -reach, not a single green thing was to be descried, but the hard soil -was everywhere covered with huge stones, which made travelling equally -painful to the eye and the feet. As I was toiling onward, I heard a -rumbling noise behind me, which became louder and louder. I looked back, -and with the utmost horror beheld a prodigious rolling mountain -approaching me so fast that it was impossible to get out of the way. I -threw myself flat on the ground behind a stone, and lay expecting -nothing but present death. The mountain soon passed over me, and I -continued (I know not how long) in a state of insensibility. When I -recovered, I began to stretch my limbs one by one, and, to my surprise, -found myself not in the least injured! but the stone beside me was -almost buried in the earth by the crash!” - -“What an escape!” - -“A wonderful one, indeed. I journeyed on over the desert, and at length -came to the end of it, and entered upon a wide green tract consisting -chiefly of tall, narrow, pointed leaves, which grew so thick and -entangled, that it was with the greatest difficulty I could make my way -between them; and I should continually have lost my road, had I not -taken care to keep the sun in view before me. When I had got near the -middle of this region, I was startled with the sight of a huge -four-legged monster, with a yellow speckled skin, which took a flying -leap directly over me. Somewhat farther, before I was aware, I ran upon -one of those long, round, crawling creatures, without head, tail, or -legs, which we sometimes meet with under ground, near our settlement. As -soon as he felt me upon him, he drew back into his hole so swiftly, that -he was near drawing me in along with him. However, I jumped off, and -proceeded on my way. - -“With much labour I got, at last, to the end of this perplexed tract, -and came to an open space like that in which we live, in the midst of -which grew trees so tall that I could not see to their tops. Being -hungry, I climbed the first I came to, in expectation of finding some -fruit; but after a weary search I returned empty. I tried several others -with no better success. There were, indeed, leaves and flowers in -plenty, but nothing of which I could make a meal; so that I might have -been famished, had I not found some sour harsh berries upon the ground, -on which I made a poor repast. While I was doing this, a greater danger -than any of the former befell me. One of those two-legged feathered -creatures, which we often see to our cost, jumped down from a bough, and -picked up in his enormous beak the very berry on which I was standing. -Luckily, he did not swallow it immediately, but flew up again with it to -the tree; and, in the meantime, I disengaged myself, and fell from a -vast height to the ground, but received no hurt. - -“I crossed this plantation, and came to another entangled green like the -first. After I had laboured through it, I came on a sudden to the side -of a vast glittering plain, the nature of which I could not possibly -guess at. I walked along a fallen leaf which lay on the side, and coming -to the farther edge of it, I was greatly surprised to see another ant -coming from below to meet me. I advanced to give him a fraternal -embrace; but instead of what I expected, I met a cold yielding matter, -in which I should have sunk, had I not speedily turned about, and caught -hold of the leaf, by which I drew myself up again. And now I found this -great plain to consist of that fluid which sometimes falls from the sky, -and causes so much trouble by filling our holes. - -“As I stood considering how to proceed on my journey, a gentle breeze -arose, which, before I was aware, carried the leaf I was upon away from -the solid land into this yielding fluid, which, however, bore it up and -me along with it. At first, I was greatly alarmed, and ran round and -round my leaf in order to find some way of getting back; but perceiving -this to be impracticable, I resigned myself to my fate, and even began -to take some pleasure in the easy motion by which I was borne forward. -But what new and wonderful forms of living creatures did I see -inhabiting this liquid land! Bodies of prodigious bulk, covered with -shining scales of various colours, shot by me with vast rapidity, and -sported a thousand ways. They had large heads and staring eyes, -tremendous wide mouths, but no legs; and they seemed to be carried on by -the action of something like small wings planted on various parts of the -body, and especially at the end of the tail, which continually waved -about. Other smaller creatures, of a great variety of extraordinary -forms, were moving through the clear fluid, or resting upon its surface; -and I saw with terror numbers of them continually seized and swallowed -by the larger ones before-mentioned. - -“When I had got near the middle, the smooth surface of this plain was -all roughened, and moved up and down, so as to toss about my leaf, and -nearly overset it. I trembled to think what would become of me, should I -be thrown amidst all these terrible monsters. At last, however, I got -safe to the other side, and with joy set my feet on dry land again. I -ascended a gentle green slope, which led to a tall plantation like that -I had before passed through. Another green plain, and another stony -desert, succeeded; which brought me, at length, to the opposite boundary -of our world, enclosed by the same immense mound rising to the heavens, -which limits us on this side. - -“Here I fell in with another nation of our species differing little in -way of life from ourselves. They invited me to their settlement, and -entertained me hospitably, and I accompanied them in several excursions -in the neighbourhood. There was a charming fruit-tree at no great -distance, to which we made frequent visits. One day as I was regaling -deliciously on the heart of a green-gage plum, I felt myself on a sudden -carried along with great swiftness, till I got into a dark place, where -a horrid crash threw me upon a soft moist piece of flesh, whence I was -soon driven forth in a torrent of wind and moisture, and found myself on -the ground all covered with slime. I disengaged myself with difficulty -and looking up, descried one of those enormous two-legged animals, which -often shake the ground over our heads, and put us in terror. - -“My new friends now began to hint to me that it was time to depart, ‘for -you know we are not fond of naturalizing strangers.’ And lucky, indeed, -it was for me that I received the hint when I did; for I had but just -left the place, and was travelling over a neighbouring eminence, when I -heard behind me a tremendous noise; and looking back I saw the whole of -their settlement blown into the air with a prodigious explosion of fire -and smoke. Numbers of half-burnt bodies, together with the ruins of -their habitations, were thrown to a vast distance around; and such a -suffocating vapour arose, that I lay for some time deprived of sense and -motion. From some of the wretched fugitives I learned that the disaster -was attributed to subterranean fire bursting its way to the surface: the -cause of which, however, was supposed to be connected with the -machinations of that malignant two-legged monster, from whose jaws I had -so narrowly escaped, who had been observed, just before the explosion, -to pour through the holes leading to the great apartment of the -settlement, a number of black shining grains. - -“On my return from this remote country, I kept along the boundary-wall, -which I knew by observation must at length bring me back to my own home. -I met with several wandering tribes of our species in my road, and -frequently joined their foraging parties in search of food. One day, a -company of us, allured by the smell of something sweet, climbed some -lofty pillars, on which was placed a vast round edifice, having only one -entrance. At this, were continually going in and coming out those winged -animals, somewhat like ourselves in form, but many times bigger, and -armed with a dreadful sting, which we so often meet with sipping the -juices of flowers; but whether they were the architects of this great -mansion, or it was built for them by some beneficent being of great -powers, I am unable to decide. It seemed, however, to be the place where -they deposited what they so industriously collect; for they were -perpetually arriving loaded with a fragrant substance, which they -carried in, and then returned empty. We had a great desire to enter with -them, but were deterred by their formidable appearance, and a kind of -angry hum, which continually proceeded from the house. At length two or -three of the boldest of our party, watching a time when the entrance was -pretty free, ventured to go in: but we soon saw them driven out in great -haste, and trampled down and massacred at the gateway. The rest of us -made a speedy retreat. - -“Two more adventures which happened to me had very nearly prevented my -return to my own country. Having one evening, together with a companion, -taken up my quarters in an empty snail-shell, there came on such a -shower of rain in the night, that the shell was presently filled. I -awaked just suffocated; but, luckily, having my head turned towards the -mouth of the shell, I rose to the top, and made a shift to crawl to a -dry place. My companion, who had got farther into the shell, never rose -again. - -“Not long after, as I was travelling under the wall, I descried a -curious pit, with a circular orifice, gradually growing narrower to the -bottom. On coming close to the brink in order to survey it, the edge, -which was of fine sand, gave way and I slid down the pit. As soon as I -had reached the bottom, a creature with a huge pair of horns and -dreadful claws made his appearance from beneath the sand, and attempted -to seize me. I flew back, and ran up the side of the pit; when he threw -over me such a shower of sand as blinded me, and had like to have -brought me down again. However, by exerting all my strength, I got out -of his reach, and did not cease running till I was at a considerable -distance. I was afterward informed that this was the den of an antlion, -a terrible foe of our species, which, not equalling us in speed, is -obliged to make use of this crafty device to entrap his heedless prey. - -“This was the last of my perils. To my great joy, I reached my native -place last night, where I mean to stay content for the future. I do not -know how far I have benefited from my travels, but one important -conclusion I have drawn from them.” - -“What is that?” said his friend. - -“Why, you know it is the current opinion with us, that everything in -this world was made for our use. Now, I have seen such vast tracts not -at all fit for our residence, and peopled with creatures so much larger -and stronger than ourselves, that I cannot help being convinced that the -Creator had in view their accommodation as well as ours, in making this -world.” - -“I confess this seems probable enough; but you had better keep your -opinion to yourself.” - -“Why so?” - -“You know we ants are a vain race, and make high pretensions to wisdom -as well as antiquity. We shall be affronted with any attempts to lessen -our importance in our own eyes.” - -“But there is no wisdom in being deceived.” - -“Well—do as you think proper. Meantime, farewell, and thanks for the -entertainment you have given me.” - -“Farewell!” - - - - - THE COLONISTS. - - -“Come,” said Mr. Barlow to his boys, “I have a new play for you. I will -be the founder of a colony; and you shall be people of different trades -and professions coming to offer yourselves to go with me. What are you, -_A._?” - -_A._ I am a farmer, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Very well! Farming is the chief thing we have to depend upon, -so we cannot have too much of it. But you must be a working farmer, not -a gentleman-farmer. Labourers will be scarce among us, and every man -must put his own hand to the plough. There will be woods to clear, and -marshes to drain, and a great deal of stubborn work to do. - -_A._ I shall be ready to do my part, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Well, then, I shall entertain you willingly, and as many more -of your profession as you can bring. You shall have land enough, and -utensils; and you may fall to work as soon as you please. Now for the -next. - -_B._ I am a miller, sir. - -_Mr. B._ A very useful trade! The corn we grow must be ground, or it -will do us little good. But what will you do for a mill, my friend? - -_B._ I suppose we must make one, sir. - -_Mr. B._ True; but then you must bring with you a millwright for the -purpose. As for millstones, we will take them out with us. Who is next? - -_C._ I am a carpenter, sir. - -_Mr. B._ The most necessary man that could offer! We shall find you work -enough, never fear. There will be houses to build, fences to make, and -all kinds of wooden furniture to provide. But our timber is all growing. -You will have a great deal of hard work to do in felling trees, and -sawing planks, and shaping posts and the like. You must be a -field-carpenter as well as a house-carpenter. - -_C._ I will, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Very well! then I engage you, but you had better bring two or -three able hands along with you. - -_D._ I am a blacksmith, sir. - -_Mr. B._ An excellent companion for the carpenter! We cannot do without -either of you; so you may bring your great bellows and anvil, and we -will set up a forge for you as soon as we arrive. But, by-the-by, we -shall want a mason for that purpose. - -_E._ I am one, sir. - -_Mr. B._ That’s well. Though we may live in loghouses at first, we shall -want brick or stone work for chimneys, and hearths, and ovens; so there -will be employment for a mason. But if you can make bricks and burn -lime, too, you will be still more useful. - -_E._ I will try what I can do, sir. - -_Mr. B._ No man can do more. I engage you. Who is next? - -_F._ I am a shoemaker, sir. - -_Mr. B._ And shoes we cannot well do without. But can you make them, -like Eumæus in the Odyssey, out of a raw hide? for I fear we shall get -no leather. - -_F._ But I can dress hides, too. - -_Mr. B._ Can you?—then you are a clever fellow, and I will have you, -though I give you double wages. - -_G._ I am a tailor, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Well—though it will be some time before we want holyday-suits, -yet we must not go naked; so there will be work for the tailor But you -are not above mending and botching, I hope, for we must not mind patched -clothes while we work in the woods. - -_G._ I am not, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Then I engage you, too. - -_H._ I am a weaver, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Weaving is a very useful art, but I question if we can find -room for it in our colony for the present. We shall not grow either hemp -or flax for some time to come, and it will be cheaper for us to import -our cloth than to make it. In a few years, however, we may be very glad -of you. - -_J._ I am a silversmith and jeweller, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Then, my friend, you cannot go to a worse place than a new -colony to set up your trade in. You will break us, or we shall starve -you. - -_J._ But I understand clock and watch making, too. - -_Mr. B._ That is somewhat more to our purpose, for we shall want to know -how time goes. But I doubt we cannot give you sufficient encouragement -for a long time to come. For the present you had better stay where you -are. - -_K._ I am a barber and hairdresser, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Alas! what can we do with you? If you will shave our men’s -rough beards once a week, and crop their hair once a quarter, and be -content to help the carpenter, or follow the plough the rest of your -time, we shall reward you accordingly. But you will have no ladies and -gentlemen to dress for a ball, or wigs to curl and powder for Sundays, I -assure you. Your trade will not stand by itself with us for a great time -to come. - -_L._ I am a medical man, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Then, sir, you are very welcome. Health is the first of -blessings, and if you can give us that, you will be a valuable man -indeed. But I hope you understand surgery as well as physic, for we are -likely enough to get cuts and bruises, and broken bones occasionally. - -_L._ I have had experience in that branch too, sir. - -_Mr. B._ And if you understand the nature of plants, and their uses both -in medicine and diet, it will be a great addition to your usefulness. - -_L._ Botany has been a favourite study with me, sir; and I have some -knowledge of chymistry, and the other parts of natural history, too. - -_Mr. B._ Then you will be a treasure to us, sir, and I shall be happy to -make it worth your while to go with us. - -_M._ I, sir, am a lawyer. - -_Mr. B._ Sir, your most obedient servant. When we are rich enough to go -to law, we will let you know. - -_N._ I am a schoolmaster, sir. - -_Mr. B._ That is a profession which I am sure I do not mean to -undervalue; and as soon as ever we have young folks in our colony, we -shall be glad of your services. Though we are to be hard-working, plain -people, we do not intend to be ignorant, and we shall make it a point to -have every one taught reading and writing, at least. In the meantime, -till we have employment enough for you in teaching, you may keep the -accounts and records of the colony: and on Sunday you may read prayers -to all those that choose to attend upon you. - -_N._ With all my heart, sir. - -_Mr. B._ Then I engage you. Who comes here with so bold an air? - -_O._ I am a soldier, sir; will you have me? - -_Mr. B._ We are peaceable people, and I hope shall have no occasion to -fight. We mean honestly to purchase our land from the natives, and to be -just and fair in all our dealings with them. William Penn, the founder -of Pennsylvania followed that plan; and when the Indians were at war -with all the other European settlers, a person in a quaker’s habit might -pass through all their most ferocious tribes without the least injury. -It is my intention, however, to make all my colonists soldiers, so far -as to be able to defend themselves if attacked, and that being the case, -we shall have no need of _soldiers by trade_. - -_P._ I am a gentleman, sir; and I have a great desire to accompany you, -because I hear game is very plentiful in that country. - -_Mr. B._ A gentleman! And what good will you do us, sir? - -_P._ O, sir, that is not at all my intention. I only mean to amuse -myself. - -_Mr. B._ But do you mean, sir, that we should pay for your amusement? - -_P._ As to maintenance, I expect to be able to kill game enough for my -own eating, with a little bread and garden-stuff, which you will give -me. Then I will be content with a house somewhat better than the common -ones; and your barber shall be my valet; so I shall give very little -trouble. - -_Mr. B._ And pray, sir, what inducement can we have for doing all this -for you? - -_P._ Why, sir, you will have the credit of having _one gentleman_ at -least in your colony. - -_Mr. B._ Ha, ha, ha! A facetious gentleman, truly! Well, sir, when we -are ambitious of such a distinction, we will send for you. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING V. -] - - - - - THE DOG AND HIS RELATIONS. - - -Keeper was a farmer’s mastiff, honest, brave, and vigilant. One day, as -he was ranging at some distance from home, he espied a wolf and a fox -sitting together at the corner of a wood. Keeper, not much liking their -looks, though by no means fearing them, was turning another way, when -they called after him, and civilly desired him to stay, “Surely, sir,” -says Reynard, “you wo’n’t disown your relations. My cousin Gaunt and I -were just talking over family-matters, and we both agreed that we had -the honour of reckoning you among our kin. You must know that, according -to the best accounts, the wolves and dogs were originally one race in -the forests of Armenia; but the dogs, taking to living with man, have -since become inhabitants of towns and villages, while the wolves have -retained their ancient mode of life. As to my ancestors, the foxes, they -were a branch of the same family, who settled farther northward, where -they became stinted in their growth, and adopted the custom of living in -holes under ground. The cold has sharpened our noses, and given us a -thicker fur and bushy tails to keep us warm. But we have all a family -likeness which it is impossible to mistake; and I am sure it is our -interest to be good friends with each other.” - -The wolf was of the same opinion; and Keeper, looking narrowly at them, -could not help acknowledging their relationship. As he had a generous -heart, he readily entered into friendship with them. They took a ramble -together; but Keeper was rather surprised at observing the suspicious -shyness with which some of the weaker sort of animals surveyed them, and -wondered at the hasty flight of a flock of sheep as soon as they came -within view. However, he gave his cousins a cordial invitation to come -and see him at his yard, and then took his leave. - -They did not fail to come the next day about dusk. Keeper received them -kindly, and treated them with part of his own supper. They stayed with -him till after dark, and then marched off with many compliments. The -next morning word was brought to the farm that a goose and three -goslings were missing, and that a couple of lambs were found almost -devoured in the home-field. Keeper was too honest himself readily to -suspect others, so he never thought of his kinsmen on the occasion. Soon -after, they paid him a second evening visit; and next day, another loss -appeared, of a hen and her chickens, and a fat sheep. Now Keeper could -not help mistrusting a little, and blamed himself for admitting -strangers without his master’s knowledge. However, he still did not love -to think ill of his own relations. - -They came a third time. Keeper received them rather coldly; and hinted -that he should like better to see them in the daytime; but they excused -themselves for want of leisure. When they took their leave he resolved -to follow at some distance and watch their motions. A litter of young -pigs happened to be lying under a haystack without the yard. The wolf -seized one by the back, and ran off with him. The pig set up a most -dismal squeal; and Keeper, running up at the noise, caught his dear -cousin in the fact. He flew at him and made him relinquish his prey, -though not without much snarling and growling. The fox, who had been -prowling about the henroost, now came up, and began to make -protestations of his own innocence, with heavy reproaches against the -wolf for thus disgracing the family. “Begone, scoundrels both!” cried -Keeper; “I know you now too well. You may be of my blood, but I am sure -you are not of my spirit. Keeper holds no kindred with villains.” So -saying, he drove them from the premises. - - - - - THE HISTORY AND ADVENTURES OF A CAT. - - -Some days ago died GRIMALKIN, the favourite tabby-cat of Mrs. Petlove. -Her disorder was a shortness of breath, proceeding partly from old age, -and partly from fat. As she felt her end approaching, she called her -children to her, and with a great deal of difficulty spoke as follows:— - -“Before I depart from this world, my children, I mean, if my breath will -give me leave, to relate to you the principal events of my life, as the -variety of scenes I have gone through may afford you some useful -instruction for avoiding those dangers to which our species are -particularly exposed. - -“Without further preface, then, I was born at a farmhouse, in a village -some miles hence; and almost as soon as I came into the world, I was -very near leaving it again. My mother brought five of us at a litter; -and as the frugal people of the house only kept cats to be useful, and -were already sufficiently stocked, we were immediately doomed to be -drowned; and accordingly, a boy was ordered to take us all and throw us -into the horsepond. This commission he performed with the pleasure boys -seem naturally to take in acts of cruelty, and we were presently set a -swimming. While we were struggling for life, a little girl, daughter to -the farmer, came running to the pond-side, and begged very hard that she -might save one of us, and bring him up for her own. After some dispute -her request was granted; and the boy, reaching out his arm, took hold of -me, who was luckily nearest him, and brought me out when I was just -spent. I was laid on the grass, and it was some time before I recovered. -The girl then restored me to my mother, who was overjoyed to get again -one of her little ones; and for fear of another mischance, she took me -in her mouth to a dark hole, where she kept me till I could see, and was -able to run by her side. As soon as I came to light again, my little -mistress took possession of me, and tended me very carefully. Her -fondness, indeed, was sometimes troublesome, as she pinched my sides -with carrying me, and once or twice hurt me a good deal by letting me -fall. Soon, however, I became strong and active, and played and -gambolled all day long, to the great delight of my mistress and her -companions. - -“At this time I had another narrow escape. A man brought into the house -a strange dog, who had been taught to worry all the cats that came in -his way. My mother slunk away at his entrance; but I, thinking, like a -little fool as I was, that I was able to protect myself, stayed on the -floor, growling, and setting up my back by way of defiance. The dog -instantly ran at me, and before I could get my claws ready, seized me -with his mouth, and began to gripe and shake me most terribly. I -screamed out, and, by good luck, my mistress was within hearing. She ran -to us, but was not able to disengage me; however, a servant, seeing her -distress took a great stick, and gave the dog such a bang on the back, -that he was forced to let me go. He had used me so roughly, that I was -not able to stand for some time; but by care and a good constitution I -recovered. - -“I was now running after everybody’s heels, by which means I got one day -locked up in the dairy. I was not sorry for this accident, thinking to -feast upon the cream and other good things. But having climbed a shelf -to get at a bowl of cream, I unluckily fell backward into a large vessel -of buttermilk, where I should probably have been drowned, had not the -maid heard the noise, and come to see what was the matter. She took me -out, scolding bitterly at me, and after making me undergo a severe -discipline at the pump to clean me, she dismissed me with a good -whipping. I took care not to follow her into the dairy again. - -“After a while I began to get into the yard, and my mother took me into -the barn on a mousing expedition. I shall never forget the pleasure this -gave me. We sat by a hole, and presently out came a mouse with a brood -of young ones. My mother darted among them, and first demolished the old -one, and then pursued the little ones, who ran about squeaking in -dreadful perplexity. I now thought it was time for me to do something, -and accordingly ran after a straggler, and soon overtook it. O, how -proud was I, as I stood over my trembling captive, and patted him with -my paws! My pride, however, soon met with a check; for seeing one day a -large rat I courageously flew at him; but instead of running from me, he -gave me such a bite on the nose, that I ran away to my mother mewing -piteously, with my face all bloody and swelled. For some time I did not -meddle with rats again; but at length, growing stronger and more -skilful, I feared neither rats nor any other vermin, and acquired the -reputation of an excellent hunter. - -“I had some other escapes about this time. Once I happened to meet with -some poisoned food laid for the rats, and eating it, I was thrown into a -disorder that was very near killing me. At another time, I chanced to -set my foot in a rat-trap, and received so many deep wounds from its -teeth, that though I was loosened as gently as possible by the people -who heard me cry, I was rendered lame for some weeks after. - -“Time went on, and I arrived at my full growth; and forming an -acquaintance with a male-cat about my age, after a decent resistance by -scolding, biting, and scratching, we made a match of it. I became a -mother in due time, and had the mortification of seeing several broods -of my kittens disposed of in the same manner as my brothers and sisters -had been. I shall mention two or three more adventures in the order I -remember them. I was once prowling for birds along a hedge at some -distance from home, when the ‘squire’s grayhounds came that way a -coursing. As soon as they spied me, they set off full speed, and running -much faster than I could do, were just behind me, when I reached a tree, -and saved myself by climbing it. But a greater danger befell me on -meeting with a parcel of boys returning from school. They surrounded me -before I was aware, and obliged me to take refuge in a tree; but I soon -found that a poor defence against such enemies; for they assembled about -it, and threw stones on all sides, so that I could not avoid receiving -many hard blows, one of which brought me senseless to the ground. The -biggest boy now seized me, and proposed to the rest making what he -called rare sport with me. This sport was to tie me to a board, and -launching me on a pond, to set some water-dogs at me, who were to duck -and half drown me, while I was to defend myself by biting their noses, -and scratching their eyes. Already was I bound, and just ready to be set -a sailing when the schoolmaster taking a walk that way, and seeing the -bustle, came up, and obliged the boys to set me at liberty, severely -reprimanding them for their cruel intentions. - -“The next remarkable incident of my life was the occasion of my removal -from the country. My mistress’s brother had a tame linnet, of which he -was very fond; for it would come and light on his shoulder when he -called for it, and feed out of his hand; and it sung well besides. This -bird was usually either in its cage or upon a high perch; but one -unlucky day, when he and I were alone in the room together, he came down -on the table to pick up crumbs. I spied him, and not being able to -resist the temptation, sprung at him, and catching him in my claws, soon -began to devour him. I had almost finished when his master came into the -room; and seeing me with the remains of poor linnet in my mouth, he ran -to me in the greatest fury, and after chasing me several times round the -room, at length caught me. He was proceeding instantly to hang me, when -his sister, by many entreaties and tears, persuaded him, after a good -whipping, to forgive me, upon the promise that I should be sent away. -Accordingly, the next market-day I was despatched in the cart to a -relation of theirs in this town, who wanted a good cat, as the house was -overrun with mice. - -“In the service of this family I continued a good while, performing my -duty as a mouser extremely well, so that I was in high esteem. I soon -became acquainted with all the particulars of a town life, and -distinguished my activity in climbing walls and houses, and jumping from -roof to roof, either in pursuit of prey, or upon gossiping parties with -my companions. Once, however, I had like to have suffered for my -venturing; for having made a great jump from one house to another, I lit -upon a loose tile, which giving way with me, I fell from a vast height -into the street, and should certainly have been killed, had I not had -the luck to light in a dung-cart, whence I escaped with no other injury -but being half stifled with filth. - -“Notwithstanding the danger I had run from killing the linnet, I am -sorry to confess that I was again guilty of a similar offence. I -contrived one night to leap down from a roof upon the board of some -pigeon-holes, which led to a garret inhabited by those birds. I entered, -and finding them asleep, made sad havoc among all that were within my -reach, killing and sucking the blood of near a dozen. I was near paying -dearly for this, too; for on attempting to return, I found it was -impossible for me to leap up again to the place whence I had descended, -so that, after several dangerous trials, I was obliged to wait trembling -in the place where I had committed all these murders, till the owner -came up in the morning to feed his pigeons. I rushed out between his -legs as soon as the door was opened, and had the good fortune to get -safe down stairs, and make my escape through a window unknown; but never -shall I forget the horrors I felt that night! Let my double danger be a -warning to you, my children, to control your savage appetites, and on no -account to do harm to those creatures which, like ourselves, are under -the protection of man. We cats all lie under a bad name for treacherous -dispositions in this respect, and with shame I must acknowledge it is -but too well merited. - -“Well—but my breath begins to fail me, and I must hasten to a -conclusion. I still lived in the same family, when our present kind -mistress, Mrs. Petlove, having lost a favourite tabby, advertised a very -handsome price for another, that should as nearly as possible resemble -her dead darling. My owners, tempted by the offer, took me for the good -lady’s inspection, and I had the honour of being preferred to a -multitude of rivals. I was immediately settled in the comfortable -mansion we now inhabit, and had many favours and indulgences bestowed -upon me, such as I had never before experienced. Among these I reckon -one of the principal that of being allowed to rear all my children, and -to see them grow up in peace and plenty. My adventures here have been -few; for after the monkey had spitefully bit off the last joint of my -tail, (for which I had the satisfaction to see him soundly corrected,) I -kept beyond the length of his chain; and neither the parrot nor lapdogs -ever dared to molest me. One of the greatest afflictions I have felt -here was the stifling of a whole litter of my kittens by a fat old lady, -a friend of my mistress, who sat down on the chair where they lay, and -never perceived the mischief she was doing till she rose, though I -pulled her clothes and used all the means in my power to show my -uneasiness. This misfortune my mistress took to heart almost as much as -myself, and the lady has never since entered our doors. Indeed, both I -and mine had ever been treated here with the utmost kindness—perhaps -with too much; for, to the pampering me with delicacies, together with -Mrs. Abigail’s frequent washings, I attribute this asthma, which is now -putting an end to my life rather sooner than its natural period. But I -know all was meant well; and with my last breath I charge you all to -show your gratitude to our worthy mistress, by every return in your -power. - -“And now, my dear children, farewell; we shall perhaps meet again in a -land where there are no dogs to worry us, or boys to torment us—Adieu!” - -Having thus said, Grimalkin became speechless, and presently departed -this life, to the great grief of all the family. - - - - - CANUTE’S REPROOF TO HIS COURTIERS. - - - PERSONS. - - CANUTE King of England. - OSWALD, OFFA Courtiers. - - - Scene—_The seaside, near Southampton. The tide coming in._ - -_Canute._ Is it true, my friends, what you have so often told me, that I -am the greatest of monarchs? - -_Offa._ It is true, my liege; you are the most powerful of all kings. - -_Oswald._ We are all your slaves; we kiss the dust of your feet. - -_Offa._ Not only we, but even the elements, are your slaves. The land -obeys you from shore to shore; and the sea obeys you. - -_Canute._ Does the sea, with its loud boisterous waves, obey me? Will -that terrible element be still at my bidding? - -_Offa._ Yes, the sea is yours; it was made to bear your ships upon its -bosom, and to pour the treasures of the world at your royal feet. It is -boisterous to your enemies, but it knows you to be its sovereign. - -_Canute._ Is not the tide coming up? - -_Oswald._ Yes, my liege; you may perceive the swell already. - -_Canute._ Bring me a chair, then; set it here upon the sands. - -_Offa._ Where the tide is coming up, my gracious lord? - -_Canute._ Yes, set it just here. - -_Oswald_ (_aside_). I wonder what he is going to do! - -_Offa_ (_aside_). Surely, he is not such a fool as to believe us! - -_Canute._ O, mighty ocean! thou art my subject: my courtiers tell me so; -and it is thy bounden duty to obey me. Thus, then, I stretch my sceptre -over thee, and command thee to retire. Roll back thy swelling waves, nor -let them presume to wet the feet of me, thy royal master. - -_Oswald_ (_aside_). I believe the sea will pay very little regard to his -royal commands. - -_Offa._ See how fast the tide rises! - -_Oswald._ The next wave will come up to the chair. It is folly to stay; -we shall be covered with salt water. - -_Canute._ Well, does the sea obey my commands? If it be my subject, it -is a very rebellious subject. See how it swells and dashes the angry -foam and salt spray over my sacred person. Vile sycophants! did you -think I was the dupe of your base lies? that I believed your abject -flatteries? Know, there is only one Being whom the sea will obey. He is -sovereign of heaven and earth, King of kings, and Lord of lords. It is -only he who can say to the ocean—“Thus far shalt thou go, but no -farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.” A king is but a man; -and a man is but a worm. Shall a worm assume the power of the great God, -and think the elements will obey him? Take away this crown, I will never -wear it more. May kings learn to be humble from my example, and -courtiers learn truth from your disgrace. - - - - - DIALOGUE, ON THINGS TO BE LEARNED, - BETWEEN MAMMA AND KITTY. - - -_Kitty._ Pray, mamma, may I leave off working? I am tired. - -_Mamma._ You have done very little, my dear; you know you were to finish -all that hem. - -_K._ But I had rather write now, mamma, or read, or get my French -grammar. - -_M._ I know very well what that means, Kitty; you had rather do anything -than what I set you about. - -_K._ No, mamma; but you know I can work very well already, and I have a -great many more things to learn. There’s Miss Rich that cannot sew half -so well as I, and she is learning music and drawing already, besides -dancing, and I don’t know how many other things. She tells me that they -hardly work at all in their school. - -_M._ Your tongue runs at a great rate, my dear; but, in the first place, -you cannot sew very well for if you could, you would not have been so -long in doing this little piece. Then I hope you will allow that mammas -know better what is proper for their little girls to learn than they do -themselves? - -_K._ To be sure, mamma; but as I suppose I must learn all these things -some time or other, I thought you would like to have me begin them soon, -for I have often heard you say that children cannot be set too early -about what is necessary for them to do. - -_M._ That’s very true; but all things are not equally necessary to every -one; for some that are very fit for one, are scarcely proper at all for -others. - -_K._ Why, mamma? - -_M._ Because, my dear, it is the purpose of all education to fit persons -for the station in which they are hereafter to live; and you know there -are very great differences in that respect, both among men and women. - -_K._ Are there? I thought all _ladies_ lived alike. - -_M._ It is usual to call all well-educated women, who have no occasion -to work for their livelihood, _ladies_; but, if you will think a little, -you must see that they live very differently from each other, for their -fathers and husbands are in very different ranks and situations in the -world, you know. - -_K._ Yes, I know that some are lords, and some are ‘squires, and some -are clergymen, and some are merchants, and some are doctors, and some -are shopkeepers. - -_M._ Well: and do you think the wives and daughters of these persons can -have just the same things to do, and the same duties to perform? You -know how I spend my time. I have to go to market and provide for the -family, to look after the servants, to help in taking care of you -children, and in teaching you to see that your clothes are in proper -condition, and assist in making and mending for myself, and you, and -your papa. All this is my necessary duty; and besides this, I must go -out a visiting to keep up our acquaintance; this I call partly business, -and partly amusement. Then when I am tired, and have done all that I -think necessary, I may amuse myself with reading, or in any other proper -way. Now a great many of these employments do not belong to Lady -Wealthy, or Mrs. Rich, who keep housekeepers and governesses, and -servants of all kinds, to do everything for them. It is very proper, -therefore, for them to pay more attention to music, drawing, ornamental -work, and any other elegant manner of passing their time and making -themselves agreeable. - -_K._ And shall I have all the same things to do, mamma, that you have? - -_M._ It is impossible, my dear, to foresee what your future station will -be; but you have no reason to expect that if you have a family you will -have fewer duties to perform than I have. This is the way of life for -which your education should prepare you; and everything will be useful -and important for you to learn, in proportion as it will make you fit -for this. - -_K._ But when I am grown a young lady, shall I not have to visit, and go -to assemblies and plays, as Miss Wilsons and Miss Johnsons do? - -_M._ It is very likely you may enter into some amusement of this sort: -but even then you will have several more serious employments, which will -take up a much greater part of your time; and if you do not do them -properly, you will have no right to partake of the others. - -_K._ What will they be, mamma? - -_M._ Why, don’t you think it proper that you should assist me in my -household affairs a little, as soon as you are able? - -_K._ O yes, mamma, I should be very glad to do that. - -_M._ Well, consider what talents will be necessary for that purpose; -will not a good hand at your needle be one of the very first qualities? - -_K._ I believe it will. - -_M._ Yes, and not only in assisting _me_, but in making things for -_yourself_. You know how we admired Miss Smart’s ingenuity when she was -with us, in contriving and making so many articles of her dress, for -which she must otherwise have gone to the milliner’s, which would have -cost a great deal of money. - -_K._ Yes; she made my pretty bonnet, and she made you a very handsome -cap. - -_M._ Very true; she was so clever as not only to furnish herself with -these things, but to oblige her friends with some of her work. And I -dare say she does a great deal of plain work also for herself and her -mother. Well, then, you are convinced of the importance of this -business, I hope. - -_K._ Yes, mamma. - -_M._ Reading and writing are such necessary parts of education, that I -need not say much to you about them. - -_K._ O no, for I love reading dearly. - -_M._ I know you do, if you can get entertaining stories to read, but -there are many things also to be read for instruction, which perhaps may -not be so pleasant at first. - -_K._ But what need is there of so many books of this sort? - -_M._ Some are to teach you your duty to your Maker, and your -fellow-creatures, of which I hope you are sensible you ought not to be -ignorant. Then it is very right to be acquainted with geography; for you -remember how poor Miss Blunder was laughed at for saying that if ever -she went to France, it should be by land. - -_K._ That was because England is an island, and all surrounded with -water, was it not? - -_M._ Yes, Great Britain, which contains both England and Scotland, is an -island. Well, it is very useful to knew something of the nature of -plants, and animals, and minerals, because we are always using some or -other of them. Something, too, of the heavenly bodies is very proper to -be known, both that we may admire the power and wisdom of God in -creating them, and that we may not make foolish mistakes, when their -natures and properties are the subject of conversation. The knowledge of -history too, is very important, especially that of our own country; and -in short, everything that makes part of the discourse of rational and -well-educated people, ought in some degree to be studied by every one -who has proper opportunities. - -_K._ Yes, I like some of those things very well. But pray, mamma, what -do I learn French for—am I ever to live in France? - -_M._ Probably not, my dear; but there are a great many books written in -French that are very well worth reading; and it may every now and then -happen that you may be in company with foreigners who cannot speak -English, and as they almost all talk French, you may be able to converse -with them in that language. - -_K._ Yes, I remember there was a gentleman here that came from Germany, -I think, and he could hardly speak a word of English, but papa and you -could talk to him in French; and I wished very much to be able to -understand what you were saying, for I believe part of it was about me. - -_M._ It was. Well, then, you see the use of French. But I cannot say -this is a _necessary_ part of knowledge to young women in general, only -it is well worth acquiring, if a person has leisure and opportunity. I -will tell you, however, what is quite necessary for one in your station, -and that is, to write a good hand, and to cast accounts well. - -_K._ I should like to write well, because then I should send letters to -my friends when I pleased, and it would not be such a scrawl as our maid -Betty writes, that I dare say her friends can hardly make it out. - -_M._ She had not the advantage of learning when young, for you know she -taught herself since she came to us, which was a very sensible thing of -her, and I suppose she will improve. Well, but accounts are almost as -necessary as writing; for how could I cast up all the market-bills and -tradesman’s accounts, and keep my housebooks, without it? - -_K._ And what is the use of that, mamma? - -_M._ It is of use to prevent our being overcharged in anything, and to -know exactly how much we spend, and whether or not we are exceeding our -income, and in what articles we ought to be more saving. Without keeping -accounts the richest man might soon come to be ruined, before he knew -that his affairs were going wrong. - -_K._ But do women always keep accounts? I thought that was generally the -business of the men. - -_M._ It is their business to keep the accounts belonging to their trade, -or profession, or estate; but it is the business of their wives to keep -all the household accounts; and a woman almost in any rank, unless, -perhaps, some of the highest of all, is to blame if she does not take -upon her this necessary office. I remember a remarkable instance of the -benefit which a young lady derived from an attention to this point. An -eminent merchant in London failed for a great sum! - -_K._ What does that mean, mamma? - -_M._ That he owed a great deal more than he could pay. His creditors, -that is, those to whom he was indebted, on examining his accounts, found -great deficiencies which they could not make out; for he had kept his -books very irregularly, and had omitted to put down many things that he -had bought and sold. They suspected, therefore, that great waste had -been made in the family expenses; and they were the more suspicious of -this, as a daughter, who was a very genteel young lady, was his -housekeeper, his wife being dead. She was told of this; upon which, when -the creditors were all met, she sent them her housebooks for their -examination. They were all written in a very fair hand, and every single -article was entered with the greatest regularity, and the sums were all -cast up with perfect exactness. The gentlemen were so highly pleased -with the proof of the young lady’s ability, that they all agreed to make -her a handsome present out of the effects; and one of the richest of -them, who was in want of a clever wife, soon after paid his addresses to -her, and married her. - -_K._ That was very lucky, for I suppose she took care of her poor father -when she was rich. But I shall have nothing of that sort to do a great -while. - -_M._ No; but young women should keep their own account of clothes and -pocket-money, and other expenses, as I intend you shall do when you grow -up. - -_K._ Am I not to learn dancing, and music, and drawing, too, mamma? - -_M._ Dancing you shall certainly learn pretty soon, because it is not -only an agreeable accomplishment in itself, but is useful in forming the -body to ease and elegance in all its motions. As to the other two, they -are merely ornamental accomplishments, which, though a woman of middling -station may be admired for possessing, yet she will never be censured -for being without. The propriety of attempting to acquire them must -depend on natural genius for them, and upon leisure and other accidental -circumstances. For some they are too expensive, and many are unable to -make such progress in them as will repay the pains of beginning. It is -soon enough, however, for us to think about these things, and at any -rate they are not to come in till you have made a very good proficiency -in what is useful and necessary. But I see you have now finished what I -set you about, so you shall take a walk with me into the marketplace, -where I have two or three things to buy. - -_K._ Shall we not call at the bookseller’s, to inquire for those new -books that Miss Reader was talking about? - -_M._ Perhaps we may. Now lay up your work neatly, and get on your hat -and tippet. - -[Illustration: - - Alfred the Great, _p. 80_ - - EVENING VI. -] - - - - - ON THE OAK.—A DIALOGUE. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_. - - -_Tutor._—Come, my boys, let us sit down awhile under yon shady tree. I -don’t know how your young legs feel, but mine are almost tired. - -_Geo._ I am not tired, but I am very hot. - -_Har._ And I am hot and very dry, too. - -_Tut._ When you have cooled yourself, you may drink out of that clear -brook. In the meantime, we will read a little out of a book I have in my -pocket. [_They go and sit down at the foot of the tree._] - -_Har._ What an amazing large tree! How wide its branches spread! Pray -what tree is it? - -_Geo._ I can tell you that. It is an oak. Don’t you see the acorns? - -_Tut._ Yes, it is an oak—the noblest tree this country produces; not -only grand and beautiful to the sight, but of the greatest importance -from its uses. - -_Har._ I should like to know something about it? - -_Tut._ Very well; then instead of reading we will sit and talk about -oaks. George, who knew the oak by its acorns—should you have known it if -there had been none? - -_Geo._ I don’t know; I believe not. - -_Tut._ Observe, then, in the first place, that its bark is very rugged. -Then see in what manner it grows: its great arms run out almost -horizontally from its trunk, giving the whole tree a sort of round form, -and making it spread far on every side. Its branches are also subject to -be crooked or kneed. By these marks you might guess at an oak even in -winter, when quite bare of leaves. But its leaves afford a surer mark of -distinction, since they differ a good deal from those of other English -trees, being neither whole and even at the edges, nor yet cut like the -teeth of a saw, but rather deeply scolloped, and formed into several -rounded divisions. Their colour is a fine deep green. Then the fruit— - -_Har._ Fruit! - -_Tut._ Yes; all kinds of plants have what may properly be called fruit, -though we are apt to give that name only to such as are food for man. -The fruit of a plant is the seed, with what contains it. This, in the -oak, is called an acorn, which is a kind of nut, partly enclosed in a -cup. - -_Geo._ Acorn-cups are very pretty things. I have made boats of them, and -set them swimming in a basin. - -_Tut._ And if you were no bigger than a fairy, you might use them for -drinking cups, as those imaginary little beings are said to do. - - Pearly drops of dew we drink, - In acorn-cups filled to the brink. - -_Har._ Are acorns good to eat? - -_Geo._ No; that they are not. I have tried, and did not like them at -all. - -_Tut._ In the early ages of man, before he cultivated the earth, but -lived upon such wild products as Nature afforded, we are told that -acorns made a considerable part of his food; and at this day they are -eaten in Spain and Greece, and in some other of the southern countries -of Europe. But they are sweeter and better flavoured than ours, and are -produced by a different species of oak. The chief use which we make of -those which grow in this country is to feed hogs. In those parts of -England where oak-woods are common, great herds of swine are kept, which -are driven into the woods in autumn, when the acorns fall, and provide -for themselves plentifully for two or three months. This, however, is a -small part of the praise of the oak. You will be surprised when I tell -you that to this tree our country owes its chief glory and security. - -_Har._ Ay! how can that be? - -_Tut._ I don’t know whether in your reading you have ever met with the -story, that Athens, a famous city in Greece, consulting the oracle how -it might best defend itself against its enemies, was advised to trust to -wooden walls. - -_Har._ Wooden walls? that’s odd. I should think stone-walls better; for -wooden ones might be set on fire. - -_Tut._ True: but the meaning was, that as Athens was a place of great -trade, and its people were skilled in maritime affairs, they ought to -trust to their ships. Well, this is the case with Great Britain. As it -is an island, it has no need of walls and fortifications, while it -possesses ships to keep all enemies at a distance. Now, we have the -greatest and finest navy in the world, by which we both defend -ourselves, and attack other nations, when they insult us; and this is -all built of oak. - -_Geo._ Would no other wood do to build ships? - -_Tut._ None nearly so well, especially for men-of-war; for it is the -stoutest and strongest wood we have; and, therefore, best fitted, both -to keep sound under water, and to bear the blows and shocks of the -waves, and the terrible strokes of cannon-balls. It is a peculiar -excellence for this last purpose, that oak is not so liable to splinter -or shiver as other woods, so that a ball can pass through it without -making a large hole. Did you never hear the old song, - - Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, &c.? - -_Geo._ No. - -_Tut._ It was made at a time when England was more successful in war -than had ever before been known, and our success was properly attributed -chiefly to our fleet, the great support of which is the British oak so I -hope you will look upon oaks with due respect. - -_Har._ Yes; it shall always be my favourite tree. - -_Tut._ Had not Pope reason, when he said, in his _Windsor Forest_, - - “Let India boast her plants, nor envy we - The weeping amber, or the balmy tree, - While by our oaks the precious loads are borne, - And realms commanded which those trees adorn!” - -These lines refer to its use as well for merchant-ships as for -men-of-war; and, in fact, all our ships are for the most part built -either of native or foreign oak. - -_Geo._ Are the masts of ships made of oak? - -_Tut._ No; it would be too heavy. Besides, it would not be easy to find -trunks of oak long and straight enough for that purpose. They are made -of various sorts of fir or pine, which grow very tall and taper. - -_Geo._ Is oak wood used for anything besides ship-building? - -_Tut._ O yes; it is one of the principal woods of the carpenter, being -employed wherever great strength and durability are required. It is used -for door and window frames, and the beams that are laid in walls to -strengthen them. Floors and staircases are sometimes made with it; and -in old houses in the country, which were built when oak was more -plentiful than at present, almost all the timber about them was oak. It -is also occasionally used for furniture, as tables, chairs, drawers, and -bedsteads; though mahogany has now much taken its place for the better -sort of goods, and the lighter and softer woods for the cheaper; for the -hardness of oak renders it difficult and expensive to work. It is still, -however, the chief material used in mill-work, in bridge and water -works, for wagon and cart bodies, for threshing-floors, for large casks -and tubs, and for the last piece of furniture a man has occasion for. -What is that, do you think, George? - -_Geo._ I don’t know. - -_Har._ A coffin. - -_Tut._ So it is. - -_Har._ But why should that be made of such strong wood? - -_Tut._ There can be no other reason than that weak attachment we are apt -to have for our bodies when we are done with them, which has made men in -various countries desirous of keeping them as long as possible from -decay. But I have not yet done with the uses of the oak. Were either of -you ever in a tanner’s yard? - -_Geo._ We often go by one at the end of the town; but we dare not go in -for fear of the great dog. - -_Tut._ But he is always chained in the daytime. - -_Har._ Yes; but he barks so loud and looks so fierce, that we were -afraid he would break his chain. - -_Tut._ I doubt you are a couple of cowards. However, I suppose you came -near enough to observe great stacks of bark in the yard. - -_Geo._ O yes; there are several. - -_Tut._ Those are oak-bark, and it is used in tanning the hides. - -_Har._ What does it do to them? - -_Tut._ I’ll tell you. The hide, when taken from the animal, after being -steeped in lime and water to get off the hair and grease, is put to soak -in a liquor made by steeping oak-bark in water. This liquor is strongly -astringent, or binding, and has the property of converting skin into -leather. The change which the hide thus undergoes renders it at the same -time less liable to decay, and soft and pliable when dry; for raw skins, -by drying, acquire nearly the hardness and consistence of horn. Other -things are also tanned for the purpose of preserving them, as -fishing-nets and boat-sails. This use of the bark of the oak makes it a -very valuable commodity; and you may see people in the woods carefully -stripping the oaks when cut down, and piling up the bark in heaps. - -_Geo._ I have seen such heaps of bark, but I thought they were only to -burn. - -_Tut._ No; they are much too valuable for that. Well, but I have another -use of the oak to mention, and that is in dying. - -_Har._ Dying! I wonder what colour it can die? - -_Tut._ Oak sawdust is a principal ingredient in dying fustians. By -various mixtures and management it is made to give them all the -different shades of drab and brown. Then, all the parts of the oak, like -all other astringent vegetables, produce a dark blue or black by the -addition of any preparation of iron. The bark is sometimes used in this -way for dying black. And did you never see what the boys call an -oak-apple? - -_Geo._ Yes; I have gathered them myself. - -_Tut._ Do you know what they are? - -_Geo._ I thought they were the fruit of the oak. - -_Tut._ No; I have told you that the acorns are the fruits. These are -excrescences formed by an insect. - -_Geo._ An insect! how can they make such a thing? - -_Tut._ It is a sort of fly, that has the power of piercing the outer -skin of the oak boughs, under which it lays its eggs. The part then -swells into a kind of ball, and the young insects, when hatched, eat -their way out. Well this ball or apple is a pretty strong astringent, -and is sometimes used in dying black. But in the warm countries there is -a species of oak which bears round excrescences of the same kind, called -galls, which become hard, and are the strongest astringents known. They -are the principal ingredients in the black dies, and common ink is made -with them, together with a substance called green vitriol, or copperas, -which contains iron. - -I have now told you the chief uses that I can recollect of the oak; and -these are so important, that whoever drops an acorn into the ground, and -takes proper care of it when it comes up, may be said to be a benefactor -to his country. Besides, no sight can be more beautiful and majestic -than a fine oak-wood. It is an ornament fit for the habitation of the -first nobleman in the land. - -_Har._ I wonder, then, that all rich gentlemen who have ground enough do -not cover it with oaks. - -_Tut._ Many of them, especially of late years, have made great -plantations of these trees. But all soils do not suit them; and then -there is another circumstance which prevents many from being at this -trouble and expense, which is the long time an oak takes in growing, so -that no person can reasonably expect to profit by those of his own -planting. An oak of fifty years is greatly short of its full growth, and -they are scarcely arrived at perfection under a century. However, it is -our duty to think of posterity as well as ourselves; and they who -receive oaks from their ancestors, ought certainly to furnish others to -their successors. - -_Har._ Then I think that every one who cuts down an oak should be -obliged to plant another. - -_Tut._ Very right—but he should plant two or three for one, for fear of -accidents in their growing. - -I will now repeat to you some verses describing the oak in its state of -full growth, or rather of beginning to decay, with the various animals -living upon it—and then we will walk. - - “See where yon _Oak_ its awful structure rears, - The massy growth of twice a hundred years; - Survey his rugged trunk with moss o’ergrown, - His lusty arms in rude disorder thrown, - His forking branches wide at distance spread, - And dark’ning half the sky, his lofty head. - A mighty castle, built by Nature’s hands, - Peopled by various living tribes, he stands. - His airy top the clamorous rooks invest, - And crowd the waving boughs with many a nest. - Midway the nimble squirrel builds his bower; - And sharp-billed pies the insect tribes devour - That gnaw beneath the bark their secret ways, - While unperceived the stately pile decays.” - - - - - ALFRED.—A DRAMA. - - - PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. - - ALFRED King of England. - GUBBA a Farmer. - GANDELIN his Wife. - ELLA an Officer of Alfred. - - - Scene—_The Isle of Athelney_. - -_Alfred._ How retired and quiet is everything in this little spot! The -river winds its silent waters round this retreat; and the tangled bushes -of the thicket fence it from the attack of an enemy. The bloody Danes -have not yet pierced into this wild solitude. I believe I am safe from -their pursuit. But I hope I shall find some inhabitants here, otherwise -I shall die of hunger. Ha! here is a narrow path through the wood, and I -think I see the smoke of a cottage rising between the trees. I will bend -my steps thither. - - - Scene—_Before the Cottage_. - - GUBBA _coming forward_. GANDELIN, _within_. - -_Alfred._ Good even to you, good man. Are you disposed to show -hospitality to a poor traveller? - -_Gubba._ Why truly there are so many poor travellers now-a-days, that if -we entertain them all, we shall have nothing left for ourselves. -However, come along to my wife, and we will see what can be done for -you. Wife, I am very weary: I have been chopping wood all day. - -_Gandelin._ You are always ready for your supper, but it is not ready -for you, I assure you: the cakes will take an hour to bake, and the sun -is yet high; it has not yet dipped behind the old barn. But who have you -with you, I trow? - -_Alfred._ Good mother, I am a stranger; and entreat you to afford me -food and shelter. - -_Gandelin._ Good mother, quotha! Good wife, if you please, and welcome. -But I do not love strangers; and the land has no reason to love them. It -has never been a merry day for Old England since strangers came into it. - -_Alfred._ I am not a stranger in England, though I am a stranger here. I -am a trueborn Englishman. - -_Gubba._ And do you hate those wicked Danes, that eat us up, and burn -our houses, and drive away our cattle? - -_Alfred._ I do hate them. - -_Gandelin._ Heartily! he does not speak heartily, husband. - -_Alfred._ Heartily I hate them; most heartily. - -_Gubba._ Give me thy hand, then; thou art an honest fellow. - -_Alfred._ I was with King Alfred in the last battle he fought. - -_Gandelin._ With King Alfred? Heaven bless him! - -_Gubba._ What is become of our good king? - -_Alfred._ Did you love him, then? - -_Gubba._ Yes, as much as a poor man may love a king; and kneeled down -and prayed for him every night, that he might conquer those Danish -wolves; but it was not to be so. - -_Alfred._ You could not love Alfred better than I did. - -_Gubba._ But what is become of him? - -_Alfred._ He is thought to be dead. - -_Gubba._ Well, these are sad times; Heaven help us! Come, you shall be -welcome to share the brown loaf with us; I suppose you are too sharp set -to be nice. - -_Gandelin._ Ay, come with us; you shall be as welcome as a prince! But -hark ye, husband; though I am very willing to be charitable to this -stranger, (it would be a sin to be otherwise,) yet there is no reason he -should not do something to maintain himself: he looks strong and -capable. - -_Gubba._ Why, that’s true. What can you do, friend? - -_Alfred._ I am very willing to help you in anything you choose to set me -about. It will please me best to earn my bread before I eat it. - -_Gubba._ Let me see. Can you tie up fagots neatly? - -_Alfred._ I have not been used to it. I am afraid I should be awkward. - -_Gubba._ Can you thatch? There is a piece blown off the cowhouse. - -_Alfred._ Alas! I cannot thatch. - -_Gandelin._ Ask him if he can weave rushes: we want some new baskets. - -_Alfred._ I have never learned. - -_Gubba._ Can you stack hay? - -_Alfred._ No. - -_Gubba._ Why, here’s a fellow! and yet he hath as many pair of hands as -his neighbours. Dame, can you employ him in the house? He might lay wood -on the fire, and rub the tables. - -_Gandelin._ Let him watch these cakes, then: I must go and milk the -kine. - -_Gubba._ And I’ll go and stack the wood, since supper is not ready. - -_Gandelin._ But pray, observe, friend; do not let the cakes burn; turn -them often on the hearth. - -_Alfred._ I shall observe your directions. - - ALFRED _alone_. - -_Alfred._ For myself, I could bear it: but England, my bleeding country, -for thee my heart is wrung with bitter anguish!—From the Humber to the -Thames the rivers are stained with blood. My brave soldiers cut to -pieces! My poor people—some massacred, others driven from their warm -homes, stripped, abused, insulted; and I, whom Heaven appointed their -shepherd, unable to rescue my defenceless flock from the ravenous jaws -of these devourers! Gracious Heaven! if I am not worthy to save this -land from the Danish sword, raise up some other hero to fight with more -success than I have done, and let me spend my life in this obscure -cottage, in these servile offices: I shall be content if England is -happy. O! here come my blunt host and hostess. - - _Enter_ GUBBA _and_ GANDELIN. - -_Gandelin._ Help me down with the pail, husband. This new milk, with the -cakes, will make an excellent supper: but, mercy on us, how they are -burnt! black as my shoe; they have not once been turned: you oaf, you -lubber, you lazy loon— - -_Alfred._ Indeed, dame, I am sorry for it: but my mind was full of sad -thoughts. - -_Gubba._ Come, wife, you must forgive him; perhaps he is in love. I -remember when I was in love with thee—— - -_Gandelin._ You remember! - -_Gubba._ Yes, dame, I do remember it, though it is many a long year -since; my mother was making a kettle of furmety— - -_Gandelin._ Pr’y thee, hold thy tongue, and let us eat our suppers. - -_Alfred._ How refreshing is this sweet new milk, and this wholesome -bread! - -_Gubba._ Eat heartily, friend. Where shall we lodge him, Gandelin? - -_Gandelin._ We have but one bed you know; but there is fresh straw in -the barn. - -_Alfred_ (_aside_). If I shall not lodge like a king, at least I shall -lodge like a soldier. Alas! how many of my poor soldiers are stretched -on the bare ground! - -_Gandelin._ What noise do I hear! It is the tramping of horses. Good -husband, go and see what is the matter! - -_Alfred._ Heaven forbid my misfortunes should bring destruction on this -simple family! I had rather have perished in the wood. - - GUBBA _returns, followed by_ ELLA, _with his sword drawn_. - -_Gandelin._ Mercy defend us, a sword! - -_Gubba._ The Danes! the Danes! O, do not kill us! - -_Ella_ (_kneeling_). My liege, my lord, my sovereign! have I found you? - -_Alfred_ (_embracing him_). My brave Ella! - -_Ella._ I bring you good news, my sovereign! Your troops that were shut -up in Kinwith Castle made a desperate sally—the Danes were slaughtered. -The fierce Hubba lies gasping on the plain. - -_Alfred._ Is it possible! Am I yet a king! - -_Ella._ Their famous standard, the Danish raven, is taken; their troops -are panic-struck; the English soldiers call aloud for _Alfred_. Here is -a letter which will inform you of more particulars. (_Gives a letter._) - -_Gubba_ (_aside_). What will become of us? Ah! dame, that tongue of -thine has undone us! - -_Gandelin._ O, my poor dear husband! we shall all be hanged, that’s -certain. But who could have thought it was the king? - -_Gubba._ Why, Gandelin, do you see we might have guessed he was born to -be a king, or some such great man, because, you know, he was fit for -nothing else. - -_Alfred_ (_coming forward_). God be praised for these tidings! Hope is -sprung up out of the depth of despair. O, my friend! shall I again shine -in arms—again fight at the head of my brave Englishmen—lead them on to -victory! Our friends shall now lift their heads again. - -_Ella._ Yes, you have many friends, who have long been obliged, like -their master, to skulk in deserts and caves, and wander from cottage to -cottage. When they hear you are alive and in arms again, they will leave -their fastnesses, and flock to your standard. - -_Alfred._ I am impatient to meet them: my people shall be revenged. - -_Gubba and Gandelin_ (_throwing themselves at the feet of_ ALFRED). O, -my lord—— - -_Gandelin._ We hope your majesty will put us to a merciful death. -Indeed, we did not know your majesty’s grace. - -_Gubba._ If your majesty could but pardon my wife’s tongue; she means no -harm, poor woman! - -_Alfred._ Pardon you, good people! I not only pardon you, but thank you. -You have afforded me protection in my distress; and if ever I am seated -again on the throne of England, my first care shall be to reward your -hospitality. I am now going to protect _you_. Come, my faithful Ella, to -arms! to arms! My bosom burns to face once more the haughty Dane; and -here I vow to Heaven, that I will never sheath the sword against these -robbers, till either I lose my life in this just cause, or - - “Till dove-like peace return to England’s shore, - And war and slaughter vex the land no more.” - -[Illustration: - - EVENING VII. -] - - - - - ON THE PINE AND FIR TRIBE.—A DIALOGUE. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_. - - -_Tutor._ Let us sit down awhile on this bench, and look about us. What a -charming prospect! - -_Harry._ I admire those pleasure-grounds. What beautiful clumps of trees -there are in that lawn! - -_George._ But what a dark gloomy wood that is at the back of the house! - -_Tut._ It is a fir plantation; and those trees always look dismal in the -summer, when there are so many finer greens to compare them with. But -the winter is their time for show, when other trees are stripped of -their verdure. - -_Geo._ Then they are evergreens. - -_Tut._ Yes; most of the fir tribe are evergreens; and as they are -generally natives of cold mountainous countries, they contribute greatly -to cheer the wintry landscape. - -_Geo._ You were so good when we walked out last, to tell us a great deal -about oaks. I thought it one of the prettiest lessons I ever heard. I -should be glad if you would give us such another about firs. - -_Har._ So should I, too, I’m sure. - -_Tut._ With all my heart, and I am pleased that you ask me. Nothing is -so great an encouragement to a tutor as to find his pupils of their own -accord seeking after useful knowledge. - -_Geo._ And I think it is very useful to know such things as these. - -_Tut._ Certainly it is. Well, then—you may know the pine or fir tribe in -general at first sight, as most of them are of a bluish-green colour, -and all have leaves consisting of a strong narrow pointed blade, which -gives them somewhat of a stiff appearance. Then all of them bear a hard -scaly fruit, of a longish or conical form. - -_Har._ Are they what we call fir-apples? - -_Tut._ Yes; that is one of the names boys give them. - -_Har._ We often pick them up under trees, and throw them at each other. - -_Geo._ I have sometimes brought home my pocket full to burn. They make a -fine clear flame. - -_Tut._ Well—do you know where the seeds lie in them. - -_Geo._ No—have they any? - -_Tut._ Yes—at the bottom of every scale lie two winged seeds; but when -the scales open, the seeds fall out: so that you can seldom find any in -those you pick up. - -_Har._ Are the seeds good for anything? - -_Tut._ There is a kind of pine in the south of Europe called the -_stone-pine_, the kernels of which are eaten, and said to be as sweet as -an almond. And birds pick out the seeds of other sorts, though they are -so well defended by the woody scales. - -_Har._ They must have good strong bills then. - -_Tut._ Of this tribe of trees a variety of species are found in -different countries, and are cultivated in this. But the only kind -native here is the _wild-pine_ or _Scotch-fir_. Of this, there are large -natural forests in the Highlands of Scotland; and the principal -plantations consist of it. It is a hardy sort, fit for barren and -mountainous soils, but grows slowly. - -_Geo._ Pray, what are those very tall trees that grow in two rows before -the old hall in our village? - -_Tut._ They are the _common_ or _spruce fir_, a native of Norway, and -other northern countries, and one of the loftiest of the tribe. But -observe those trees that grow singly in the grounds opposite to us with -widespread branches spreading downward, and trailing on the ground, -thence gradually lessening till the top of the tree ends almost in a -point. - -_Har._ What beautiful trees! - -_Tut._ They are the Pines called _Larches_, natives of the Alps and -Apennines, introduced into this country about the middle of the last -century, for the purpose, at first, of decorating our gardens, and of -which extensive plantations for timber have since been made, both in -England and Scotland. These are not properly evergreens, as they shed -their leaves in winter, but quickly recover them again. Then we have -besides the _Weymouth pine_, which is the tallest species in America—the -_silver fir_, so called from the silvery hue of its foliage—the -_pinaster_—and a tree of ancient fame, the _cedar of Lebanon_. - -_Geo._ I suppose that is a very great tree? - -_Tut._ It grows to a large size, but is slow in coming to its full -growth. - -_Geo._ Are pines and firs very useful trees? - -_Tut._ Perhaps the most so of any. By much the greatest part of the wood -at present used among us comes from them. - -_Har._ What—more than from the oak? - -_Tut._ Yes, much more. Almost all the timber used in building houses, -for floors, beams, rafters, and roofs, is fir. - -_Geo._ Does it all grow in this country? - -_Tut._ Scarcely any of it. Norway, Sweden, and Russia, are the countries -from which we draw our timber, and a vast trade there is in it. You have -seen timber-yards? - -_Geo._ O yes—several. - -_Tut._ In them you would observe some very long thick beams, called -balks. These are whole trees, only stripped of the bark and squared. You -would also see great piles of planks and boards, of different lengths -and thickness. Those are called _deal_, and are brought over ready sawn -from the countries where they grow. They are of different colours. The -white are chiefly from the fir-tree; the yellow and red from the pine. - -_Har._ I suppose there must be great forests of them in those countries, -or else they could not send us so much. - -_Tut._ Yes: the mountains of Norway are overrun with them, enough for -the supply of all Europe; but on account of their ruggedness, and the -want of roads, it is found impossible to get the trees, when felled, -down to the seacoast, unless they grow near some river. - -_Geo._ How do they manage then? - -_Tut._ They take the opportunity when the rivers are swelled with rains -or melted snow, and tumble the trees into them, when they are carried -down to the mouth of the rivers, where they are stopped by a kind of -pens. - -_Har._ I should like to see them swimming down the stream. - -_Tut._ Yes—it would be curious enough; for in some places these torrents -roll over rocks, making steep waterfalls, down which the trees are -carried headlong, and do not rise again till they are got to a great -distance; and many of them are broken, and torn to pieces in the -passage. - -_Geo._ Are these woods used for anything besides building? - -_Tut._ For a variety of purposes; such as boxes, trunks, packing-cases, -pales, wainscots, and the like. Deal is a very soft wood, easily worked, -light, and cheap, which makes it preferred for so many uses, though it -is not very durable, and is very liable to split. - -_Har._ Yes—I know my box is made of deal, and the lid is split all to -pieces with driving nails into it. - -_Geo._ Are ships ever built with fir? - -_Tut._ It was one of the first woods made use of for naval purposes; and -in the poets you will find the words _pine_ and _fir_ frequently -employed to signify _ship_. But as navigation has improved, the stronger -and more durable woods have generally taken its place. However, in the -countries where fir is very plentiful, large ships are still built with -it; for though they last but a short time, they cost so little in -proportion, that the profit of a few voyages is sufficient to repay the -expense. Then, from the great lightness of the wood, they swim higher in -the water, and consequently will bear more loading. Most of the large -ships that bring timber from Archangel, in Russia, are built of fir. As -for the masts of ships, those I have already told you are all made of -fir or pine, on account of their straightness and lightness. - -_Geo._ Are there not some lines in Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ about that? - -_Tut._ Yes: the spear of Satan is magnified by a comparison with a lofty -pine. - - His spear, to equal which the tallest pine, - Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast - Of some great admiral, were but a wand. - -_Har._ I remember, too, that the walking-staff of the giant Polypheme -was a pine. - -_Tut._ Ay—so Homer and Ovid tell us, and he must have been a giant -indeed, to use such a stick. Well, so much for the wood of these trees. -But I have more to say about their uses. - -_Har._ I am glad of it. - -_Tut._ All of the tribe contain a juice of a bitterish taste and strong -fragrant smell. This, in some, is so abundant as to flow out from -incisions; when it is called _turpentine_. The larch, in particular, -yields a large quantity. Turpentine is one of the substances called -resinous; it is sticky, transparent, very inflammable, and will not mix -_with_ water, but will dissolve in spirits of wine. - -_Geo._ What is it used for? - -_Tut._ It is used medicinally, particularly in the composition of -plasters and ointments. It also is an ingredient in varnishes, cements, -and the like. An oil distilled from turpentine is employed in medicine, -and is much used by painters for mixing up their colours. What remains -after getting this oil is common _resin_. All these substances take fire -very easily, and burn with a great flame; and the wood of the pine has -so much of this quality, when dry, that it is often used for torches. - -_Har._ I know deal shavings burn very briskly. - -_Geo._ Yes; and matches are made of bits of deal dipped in brimstone. - -_Tut._ True,—and when it was the custom to burn the bodies of the dead, -as you read in Homer and other old authors, the pines and pitch-trees -composed great part of the funeral pile. - -_Har._ But what are pitch-trees? Does pitch grow upon trees? - -_Tut._ I was going on to tell you about that. _Tar_ is a product of the -trees of this kind, especially of one species, called the pitch-pine. -The wood is burnt in a sort of oven made in the earth, and the resinous -juice sweats out, and acquires a peculiar taste and a black colour from -the fire. This is tar. Tar when boiled down to dryness becomes _pitch_. - -_Geo._ Tar and pitch are chiefly used about ships; are they not? - -_Tut._ They resist moisture, and therefore are of great service in -preventing things from decaying that are exposed to wet. For this -reason, the cables and other ropes of ships are well soaked with tar; -and the sides of ships are covered with pitch mixed with other -ingredients. Their seams, too, or the places where the planks join, are -filled with tow dipped in a composition of resin, tallow, and pitch, to -keep out the water. Wood for paling, for piles, for coverings of roofs -and other purposes of the like nature, is often tarred over. Cisterns -and casks are pitched to prevent leaking. - -_Har._ But what are sheep tarred for after they are sheared? - -_Tut._ To cure wounds and sores in their skin. For the like purposes an -ointment made with tar is often rubbed upon children’s heads. Several -parts of the pine are medicinal. The tops and green cones of the -spruce-fir are fermented with treacle, and the liquor, called -_spruce-beer_, is much drunk in America, particularly for the scurvy. - -_Geo._ Is it pleasant? - -_Tut._ Not to those who are unaccustomed to it. Well—I have now finished -my lesson, so let us walk. - -_Har._ Shall we go through the grounds? - -_Tut._ Yes; and then we will view some of the different kinds of fir and -pine more closely, and I will show you the difference of their leaves -and cones, by which they are distinguished. - - - - - ON DIFFERENT STATIONS IN LIFE.—A DIALOGUE. - - -Little Sally Meanwell had one day been to pay an afternoon’s visit to -Miss Harriet, the daughter of Sir Thomas Pemberton. The evening proving -rainy, she was sent home in Sir Thomas’s coach; and on her return, the -following conversation passed between her and her mother:— - -_Mrs. Meanwell._ Well, my dear, I hope you have had a pleasant visit? - -_Sally._ O yes, mamma, very pleasant; you cannot think how many fine -things I have seen. And then it is so charming to ride in a coach! - -_Mrs. M._ I suppose Miss Harriet showed you all her playthings? - -_Sally._ O yes, such fine large dolls, so smartly dressed as I never saw -in my life before. Then she has a baby-house, and all sorts of furniture -in it; and a grotto all made of shells, and shining stones. And then she -showed me all her fine clothes for the next ball; there’s a white slip -all full of spangles, and pink ribands; you can’t think how beautiful it -looks! - -_Mrs. M._ And what did you admire most of all these fine things? - -_Sally._ I don’t know—I admired them all; and I think I liked riding in -the coach better than all the rest. Why don’t we keep a coach; and why -have I not such fine clothes and playthings as Miss Harriet? - -_Mrs. M._ Because we cannot afford it, my dear. Your papa is not so rich -by a great deal, as Sir Thomas; and if we were to lay out our money upon -such things, we should not be able to procure food and raiment and other -necessaries for you all. - -_Sally._ But why is not papa as rich as Sir Thomas? - -_Mrs. M._ Sir Thomas had a large estate left him by his father; but your -papa has little but what he gains by his own industry. - -_Sally._ But why should not papa be as rich as anybody else? I am sure -he deserves it as well. - -_Mrs. M._ Do you not think that there are a great many people poorer -than he, that are also very deserving? - -_Sally._ Are there? - -_Mrs. M._ Yes, to be sure. Don’t you know what a number of poor people -there are all around us, who have few of the comforts we enjoy? What do -you think of Ploughman the labourer? I believe you never saw him idle in -your life. - -_Sally._ No; he is gone to work long before I am up, and he does not -return till almost bedtime, unless it be for his dinner. - -_Mrs. M._ Well! how do you think his wife and children live? should you -like that we should change places with them? - -_Sally._ O, no! they are so dirty and ragged. - -_Mrs. M._ They are, indeed, poor creatures; but I am afraid they suffer -worse evils than that. - -_Sally._ What mamma? - -_Mrs. M._ Why I am afraid they often do not get as much victuals as they -could eat. And then in winter they must be half frozen for want of fire -and warm clothing. How do you think you could bear all this? - -_Sally._ Indeed, I don’t know. But I have seen Ploughman’s wife carry -great brown loaves into the house; and I remember once eating some brown -bread and milk, and I thought it very good. - -_Mrs. M._ I believe you would not much like it constantly; besides, they -can hardly get enough of that. But you seem to know almost as little of -the poor as the young French princess did. - -_Sally._ What was that, mamma? - -_Mrs. M._ Why, there had been one year so bad a harvest in France that -numbers of the poor were famished to death. This calamity was so much -talked of, that it reached the court, and was mentioned before the young -princesses. “Dear me!” said one of them, “how _silly_ that was! Why, -rather than be famished, I would eat bread and cheese.” Her governess -was then obliged to acquaint her that the greatest part of her father’s -subjects scarcely ever eat anything better than black bread all their -lives; and that vast numbers would now think themselves very happy to -get only half their usual pittance of that. Such wretchedness as this -was what the princess had not the least idea of; and the account shocked -her so much, that she was glad to sacrifice all her finery to afford -some relief to the sufferings of the poor. - -_Sally._ But I hope there is nobody famished in our country. - -_Mrs. M._ I hope not, for we have laws by which every person is entitled -to relief from the parish, if he is unable to gain a subsistence; and -were there no laws about it, I am sure it would be our duty to part with -every superfluity, rather than let a fellow-creature perish for want of -necessaries. - -_Sally._ Then do you think it was wrong for Miss Pemberton to have all -those fine things? - -_Mrs. M._ No, my dear, if they are suitable to her fortune, and do not -consume the money which ought to be employed in more useful things to -herself and others. - -_Sally._ But why might she not be contented with such things as I have; -and give the money that the rest cost to the poor? - -_Mrs. M._ Because she can afford both to be charitable to the poor, and -also to indulge herself in these pleasures. But do you recollect that -the children of Mr. White the baker, and Mr. Shape the tailor, might -just ask the same questions about you? - -_Sally._ How so? - -_Mrs. M._ Are not you as much better dressed, and as much more -plentifully supplied with playthings than they are, as Miss Harriet is -than you? - -_Sally._ Why, I believe I may, for I remember Polly White was very glad -of one of my old dolls; and Nancy Shape cried for such a sash as mine, -but her mother would not let her have one. - -_Mrs. M._ Then you see, my dear, that there are many who have fewer -things to be thankful for than _you_ have; and you may also learn what -ought to be the true measure of the expectations of children, and the -indulgences of parents. - -_Sally._ I don’t quite understand you, mamma. - -_Mrs. M._ Everything ought to be suited to the station in which we live -or are likely to live, and the wants and duties of it. Your papa and I -do not grudge laying out part of our money to promote the innocent -pleasure of our children: but it would be very wrong in us to lay out so -much on this account as would oblige us to spare in more necessary -articles; as in their education, and the common household expenses -required in our way of living. Besides, it would be so far from making -you happier, that it would be doing you the greatest injury. - -_Sally._ How could that be, mamma? - -_Mrs. M._ If you were now to be dressed like Miss Pemberton, don’t you -think you would be greatly mortified at being worse dressed when you -came to be a young woman? - -_Sally._ I believe I should, mamma; for then perhaps I might go to -assemblies; and to be sure I should like to be as smart then as at any -time. - -_Mrs. M._ Well, but it would be still more improper for us to dress you -then beyond our circumstances, because your necessary clothes will then -cost more, you know. Then, if we were now to hire a coach or chair for -you to go visiting in, should you like to leave it off ever afterward? -But you have no reason to expect that you will be able to have those -indulgences when you are a woman. And so it is in everything else. The -more fine things, and the more gratifications you have now, the more you -will require hereafter: for custom makes things so familiar to us, that -while we enjoy them less we want them more. - -_Sally._ How is that, mamma? - -_Mrs. M._ Why, don’t you think you have enjoyed your ride in the coach -this evening more than Miss Harriet should have done? - -_Sally._ I suppose I have; because if Miss Harriet liked it so well, she -would be always riding, for I know she might have the coach whenever she -pleased. - -_Mrs. M._ But if you were both told that you were never to ride in a -coach again, which would think it the greater hardship? You could walk, -you know, as you have always done before; but she would rather stay at -home, I believe, than expose herself to the cold wind, and trudge -through the wet and dirt in pattens. - -_Sally._ I believe so, too; and now, mamma, I see that all you have told -me is very right. - -_Mrs. M._ Well, my dear, let it dwell upon your mind, so as to make you -cheerful and contented in your station, which you see is so much happier -than that of many and many other children. So now we will talk no more -on the subject. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING VIII. -] - - - - - THE ROOKERY. - - - “There the hoarse-voiced hungry rook, - Near her stick-built nest doth croak, - Waving on the topmost bough.” - -These lines Mr. Stangrove repeated pointing up to a rookery, as he was -walking in an avenue of tall trees, with his son Francis. - -_Francis._ Is that a rookery, papa? - -_Mr. Stangrove._ It is. Do you hear what a cawing the birds make? - -_Fr._ Yes; and I see them hopping about among the boughs. Pray, are not -rooks the same with crows? - -_Mr. St._ They are a species of crow; but they differ from the carrion -crow and raven in not living upon dead flesh, but upon corn and other -seeds, and grass. They indeed pick up beetles and other insects and -worms. See what a number of them have lighted on yonder ploughed field, -almost blackening it over. - -_Fr._ What are they doing? - -_Mr. St._ Searching for grubs and worms. You see the men in the field do -not molest them, for they do a great deal of service by destroying -grubs, which, if they were suffered to grow to winged insects, would do -much mischief to the trees and plants. - -_Fr._ But do they hurt the corn? - -_Mr. St._ Yes, they tear up a good deal of green corn, if they are not -driven away. But upon the whole, rooks are reckoned the farmers’ -friends; and they do not choose to have them destroyed. - -_Fr._ Do all rooks live in rookeries? - -_Mr. St._ It is the general nature of them to associate together, and -build in numbers on the same or adjoining trees. But this is often in -the midst of woods or natural groves. However, they have no objections -to the neighbourhood of man, but readily take to a plantation of tall -trees, though it be close to a house; and this is commonly called a -rookery. They will even fix their habitations on trees in the midst of -towns; and I have seen a rookery in a churchyard in one of the closest -parts of London. - -_Fr._ I think a rookery is a sort of town itself. - -_Mr. St._ It is: a village in the air, peopled with numerous -inhabitants; and nothing can be more amusing than to view them all in -motion, flying to and fro, and busied in their several occupations. The -spring is their busiest time. Early in the year they begin to repair -their nests or build new ones. - -_Fr._ Do they all work together or every one for itself? - -_Mr. St._ Each pair, after they have coupled, build their own nest; and -instead of helping, they are very apt to steal the materials from one -another. If both birds go out at once in search of sticks, they often -find at their return, the work all destroyed, and the materials carried -off; so that one of them generally stays at home to keep watch. However, -I have met with a story which shows that they are not without some sense -of the criminality of thieving. There was in a rookery a lazy pair of -rooks, who never went out to get sticks for themselves, but made a -practice of watching when their neighbours were abroad, and helped -themselves from their nests. They had served most of the community in -this manner and by these means had just finished their own nest; when -all the other rooks in a rage, fell upon them at once, pulled their nest -in pieces, beat them soundly, and drove them from their society. - -_Fr._ That was very right—I should have liked to have seen it. But why -do they live together if they do not help one another? - -_Mr. St._ They probably receive pleasure from the company of their own -kind, as men and various other creatures do. Then, though they do not -assist one another in building, they are mutually serviceable in many -ways. If a large bird of prey hovers about a rookery for the purpose of -carrying off any of the young ones, they all unite to drive him away. -When they are feeding in a flock, several are placed as sentinels upon -the trees all round, who give the alarm if any danger approaches. They -often go a long way from home to feed; but every evening the whole flock -returns, making a loud cawing as they fly, as if to direct and call in -the stragglers. The older rooks take the lead: you may distinguish them -by the whiteness of their bills, occasioned by their frequent digging in -the ground, by which the black feathers at the root of the bill are worn -off. - -_Fr._ Do rooks always keep to the same trees? - -_Mr. St._ Yes; they are much attached to them, and when the trees happen -to be cut down, they seem greatly distressed, and keep hovering about -them as they are falling, and will scarcely desert them when they lie on -the ground. - -_Fr._ Poor things! I suppose they feel as we should if our town was -burnt down or overthrown by an earthquake. - -_Mr. St._ No doubt. The societies of animals greatly resemble those of -men; and that of rooks is like those of men in a savage state, such as -the communities of the North American Indians. It is a sort of league -for mutual aid and defence, but in which every one is left to do as he -pleases, without any obligation to employ himself for the whole body. -Others unite in a manner resembling more civilized societies of men. -This is the case with the beavers. They perform great public works by -the united efforts of the whole community, such as damming up streams, -and constructing mounds for their habitations. As these are works of -great art and labour, some of them must probably act under the direction -of others, and be compelled to work whether they will or not. Many -curious stories are told to this purpose by those who have observed them -in their remotest haunts, where they exercise their full sagacity. - -_Fr._ But are they all true? - -_Mr. St._ That is more than I can answer for; yet what we certainly know -of the economy of bees may justify us in believing extraordinary things -of the sagacity of animals. The society of bees goes farther than that -of beavers, and, in some respects, beyond most among men themselves. -They not only inhabit a common dwelling, and perform great works in -common, but they lay up a store of provision, which is the property of -the whole community, and is not used except at certain seasons, and -under certain regulations. A beehive is a true image of a commonwealth, -where no member acts for himself alone, but for the whole body. - -_Fr._ But there are drones among them who do not work at all. - -_Mr. St._ Yes; and at the approach of winter they are driven out of the -hive, and left to perish with cold and hunger. But I have not leisure at -present to tell you more about bees. You shall one day see them at work -in a glass hive. In the meantime, remember one thing, which applies to -all the societies of animals; and I wish it did as well to all those of -men likewise. - -_Fr._ What is that? - -_Mr. St._ The principle upon which they all associate, is to obtain some -benefit for the _whole body_, not to give particular advantages to a -few. - - - - - THE SHIP. - - -Charles Osborn, when at home in the holydays, had a visit from a -schoolfellow who was just entered as a midshipman on board of a -man-of-war. _Tom Hardy_ (that was his name) was a free-hearted, spirited -lad, and a favourite among his companions; but he never liked his book, -and had left school ignorant of almost everything he came there to -learn. What was worse, he had got a contempt for learning of all kinds, -and was fond of showing it. “What does your father mean,” says he, to -Charles, “to keep you moping and studying over things of no use in the -world but to plague folks?—Why can’t you go into his majesty’s service -like me, and be made a gentleman of? You are old enough, and I know you -are a lad of spirit.” This kind of talk made some impression upon young -_Osborn_. He became less attentive to the lessons his father set him, -and less willing to enter into instructive conversation. This change -gave his father much concern; but as he knew the cause, he thought it -best, instead of employing direct authority, to attempt to give a new -impression to his son’s mind, which might counteract the effect of his -companion’s suggestions. - -Being acquainted with an East India captain, who was on the point of -sailing, he went with his son to pay him a farewell visit on board his -ship. They were shown all about the vessel, and viewed all the -preparations for so long a voyage. They saw her weigh anchor and unfurl -her sails; and they took leave of their friend amid the shouts of the -seamen and all the bustle of departure. - -Charles was highly delighted with this scene, and as they were returning -could think and talk of nothing else. It was easy, therefore, for his -father to lead him into the following train of discourse:— - -After Charles had been warmly expressing his admiration of the grand -sight of a large ship completely fitted out and getting under sail, “I -do not wonder,” said his father, “that you are so much struck with it; -it is, in reality, one of the finest spectacles created by human skill, -and the noblest triumph of art over untaught nature. Near two thousand -years ago, when Julius Cesar came over to this island, he found the -natives in possession of no other kind of vessel than a sort of canoe, -formed of wickerwork covered with hides, no bigger than a man or two -could carry. But the largest ship in Cesar’s fleet was not more superior -to these, than the Indiaman you have been seeing is to what that was. -Our savage ancestors ventured only to paddle along the rivers and -coasts, or cross small arms of the sea in calm weather; and Cesar -himself would have been alarmed to be a few days out of sight of land. -But the ship we have just left is going by itself to the opposite side -of the globe, prepared to encounter the tempestuous winds and -mountainous waves of the vast Southern ocean, and to find its way to its -destined port, though many weeks must pass with nothing in view but sea -and sky. Now what do you think can be the cause of this prodigious -difference in the powers of man at one period and another?” - -Charles was silent. - -_Fa._ Is it not that there is a great deal more knowledge in one than in -the other? - -_Ch._ To be sure it is. - -_Fa._ Would it not, think you, be as impossible for any number of men -untaught, by their utmost efforts, to build and navigate such a ship as -we have seen, as to fly through the air? - -_Ch._ I suppose it would. - -_Fa._ That we may be the more sensible of this, let us consider how many -arts and professions are necessary for this purpose. Come—you shall -begin to name them, and if you forget any, I will put you in mind. What -is the first? - -_Ch._ The ship-carpenter, I think. - -_Fa._ True—what does he do? - -_Ch._ He builds the ship. - -_Fa._ How is that done? - -_Ch._ By fastening the planks and beams together. - -_Fa._ But do you suppose he can do this as a common carpenter makes a -box or set of shelves? - -_Ch._ I do not know. - -_Fa._ Do you not think that such a vast bulk requires a good deal of -contrivance to bring it into shape, and fit it for all its purposes? - -_Ch._ Yes. - -_Fa._ Some ships, you have heard, sail quicker than others—some bear -storms better—some carry more lading—some draw less water—and so on. You -do not suppose all these things are left to chance? - -_Ch._ No. - -_Fa._ In order to produce these effects with certainty, it is necessary -to study proportions very exactly, and to lay down an accurate scale by -mathematical lines and figures after which to build the ship. Much has -been written upon this subject, and nice calculations have been made of -the resistance a ship meets with in making way through the water, and -the best means of overcoming it; also of the action of the wind on the -sails, and their action in pushing on the ship by means of the masts. -All these must be understood by a perfect master of ship-building. - -_Ch._ But I think I know ship-builders who have never had an education -to fit them for understanding these things. - -_Fa._ Very likely; but they have followed by rote the rules laid down by -others; and as they work merely by imitation, they cannot alter or -improve as occasion may require. Then, though common merchant-ships are -trusted to such builders, yet, in constructing men-of-war and Indiamen -persons of science are always employed. The French, however, attend to -this matter more than we do, and, in consequence, their ships generally -sail better than ours. - -_Ch._ But need a captain of a ship know all these things? - -_Fa._ It may not be absolutely necessary; yet occasions may frequently -arise in which it would be of great advantage for him to be able to -judge and give direction in these matters. But suppose the ship -built—what comes next? - -_Ch._ I think she must be rigged. - -_Fa._ Well—who are employed for this purpose? - -_Ch._ Mast-makers, ropemakers, sailmakers, and I know not how many other -people. - -_Fa._ These are all mechanical trades; and though in carrying them on -much ingenuity has been applied in the invention of machines and tools, -yet we will not stop to consider them. Suppose her, then, rigged—what -next? - -_Ch._ She must take in her guns and powder. - -_Fa._ Stop there and reflect how many arts you have now set to work. -Gunpowder is one of the greatest inventions of modern times, and what -has given such a superiority to civilized nations over the barbarous? An -English frigate, surrounded by the canoes of all the savages in the -world, would easily beat them off by means of her guns; and if Cesar -were to come again to England with his fleet, a battery of cannon would -sink all his ships, and set his legions a swimming in the sea. But the -making of gunpowder, and the casting of cannon, are arts that require an -exact knowledge of the science of _Chymistry_. - -_Ch._ What is that? - -_Fa._ It comprehends the knowledge of all the properties of metals and -minerals, salts, sulphur, oils, and gums, and of the action of fire, and -water, and air upon all substances, and the effects of mixing different -things together. Gunpowder is a mixture of three things only; saltpetre -or nitre, sulphur or brimstone, and charcoal. But who could have thought -such a wonderful effect would have been produced by it? - -_Ch._ Was it not first discovered by accident? - -_Fa._ Yes; but it was by one who was making chymical experiments, and -many more experiments have been employed to bring it to perfection. - -_Ch._ But need a captain know how to make gunpowder and cannon? - -_Fa._ It is not necessary, though it may often be useful to him. -However, it is quite necessary that he should know how to employ them. -Now the sciences of gunnery and fortification depend entirely upon -mathematical principles; for by these are calculated the direction of a -ball through the air, the distance it would reach to, and the force with -which it will strike any thing. All engineers, therefore, must be good -mathematicians. - -_Ch._ But I think have heard of gunners being little better than common -men. - -_Fa._ True—there is a way of doing that business, as well as many -others, by mere practice: and an uneducated man may acquire skill in -pointing a cannon, as well as in shooting with a common gun. But this is -only in ordinary cases, and an abler head is required to direct. -Well—now suppose your ship completely fitted out for sea, and the wind -blowing fair; how will you navigate her? - -_Ch._ I would spread the sails, and steer by the rudder. - -_Fa._ Very well—but how would you find your way to the port you are -bound for? - -_Ch._ That I cannot tell. - -_Fa._ Nor, perhaps, can I make you exactly comprehend it; but I can show -you enough to convince you that it is an affair that requires much -knowledge and early study. In former times, when a vessel left the sight -of land, it was steered by observation of the sun by day, and the moon -and stars by night. The sun, you know, rises in the east, and sets in -the west; and at noon, in these parts of the world, it is exactly south -of us. These points, therefore, may be found out when the sun shines. -The moon and stars vary: however, their place in the sky may be known by -exact observation. Then, there is one star that always points to the -north pole, and is therefore called the pole-star. This was of great use -in navigation, and the word pole-star is often used by the poets to -signify a sure guide. Do you recollect the description in Homer’s -Odyssey, when Ulysses sails away by himself from the island of -Calypso—how he steers by the stars? - -_Ch._ I think I remember the lines in Pope’s translation. - -_Fa._ Repeat them, then. - -_Ch._ - - “Placed at the helm he sat, and mark’d the skies, - Nor closed in sleep his ever-watchful eyes; - There view’d the Pleiades, and the Northern Team, - And great Orion’s more effulgent beam, - To which, around the axle of the sky, - The Bear revolving points his golden eye: - Who shines exalted on th’ ethereal plain, - Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.” - -_Fa._ Very well; they are fine lines, indeed! You see, then, how long -ago sailors thought it necessary to study astronomy. But as it -frequently happens, especially in stormy weather, that the stars are not -to be seen, this method was subject to great uncertainty, which rendered -it dangerous to undertake distant voyages. At length, near 500 years -since, a property was discovered in a mineral, called the magnet or -loadstone, which removed the difficulty. This was, its _polarity_, or -quality of always pointing to the poles of the earth, that is, due north -and south. This it can communicate to any piece of iron; so that a -needle well rubbed in a particular manner by a loadstone, and then -balanced upon its centre so as to turn round freely, will always point -to the north. With an instrument called a mariner’s compass, made of one -of these needles, and a card marked with all the points—north, south, -east, west, and the divisions between these, a ship may be steered to -any part of the globe. - -_Ch._ It is a very easy matter, then. - -_Fa._ Not quite so easy, neither. In a long voyage, cross or contrary -winds blow a ship out of her direct course, so that without nice -calculations both of the straight track she has gone, and all the -deviations from it, the sailors would not know where they were, nor to -what point to steer. It is also frequently necessary to take -observations, as they call it; that is, to observe with an instrument -where the sun’s place in the sky is at noon, by which they can determine -the _latitude_ they are in. Other observations are necessary to -determine their _longitude_. What these mean, I can show you upon the -globe. It is enough now to say that, by means of both together, they can -tell the exact spot they are on at any time; and then, by consulting -their map, and setting their compass, they can steer right to the place -they want. But all this requires a very exact knowledge of astronomy, -the use of the globes, mathematics, and arithmetic, which you may -suppose is not to be acquired without much study. A great number of -curious instruments have been invented to assist in these operations; so -that there is scarcely any matter in which so much art and science have -been employed as in navigation; and none but a very learned and -civilized nation can excel in it. - -_Ch._ But how is Tom Hardy to do? for I am pretty sure he does not -understand any of these things. - -_Fa._ He must learn them, if he means to come to anything in his -profession. He may, indeed, head a pressgang, or command a boat’s crew -without them; but he will never be fit to take charge of a man-of-war, -or even a merchant-ship. - -_Ch._ However, he need not learn Latin and Greek. - -_Fa._ I cannot say, indeed, that a sailor has occasion for those -languages; but a knowledge of Latin makes it much easier to acquire all -modern languages; and I hope you do not think them unnecessary to him. - -_Ch._ I did not know they were of much importance. - -_Fa._ No! Do you think that one who may probably visit most countries in -Europe, and their foreign settlements, should be able to converse in no -other language than his own? If the knowledge of languages is not useful -to _him_, I know not to whom it is so. He can hardly do at all without -knowing some; and the more the better. - -_Ch._ Poor Tom! then I doubt he has not chosen so well as he thinks. - -_Fa._ I doubt so, too. - -Here ended the conversation. They soon after reached home, and Charles -did not forget to desire his father to show him on the globe what -longitude and latitude meant. - - - - - THINGS BY THEIR RIGHT NAMES. - - -_Charles._ Papa, you grow very lazy. Last winter you used to tell us -stories, and now you never tell us any; and we are all got round the -fire quite ready to hear you. Pray, dear papa, let us have a very pretty -one. - -_Father._ With all my heart—What shall it be? - -_Ch._ A bloody murder, papa! - -_Fa._ A bloody murder! Well then—once upon a time some men dressed all -alike.... - -_Ch._ With black crapes over their faces? - -_Fa._ No; they had steel caps on.—having crossed a dark heath, wound -cautiously along the skirts of a deep forest.... - -_Ch._ They were ill-looking fellows, I dare say? - -_Fa._ I cannot say so; on the contrary, they were as tall, personable -men as most one shall see: leaving on their right hand an old ruined -tower on the hill.... - -_Ch._ At midnight, just as the clock struck twelve; was it not, papa? - -_Fa._ No, really; it was on a fine balmy summer’s morning;—they moved -forward, one behind another.... - -_Ch._ As still as death, creeping along under the hedges? - -_Fa._ On the contrary—they walked remarkably upright; and so far from -endeavouring to be hushed and still, they made a loud noise as they came -along, with several sorts of instruments. - -_Ch._ But, papa, they would be found out immediately. - -_Fa._ They did not seem to wish to conceal themselves: on the contrary, -they gloried in what they were about. They moved forward, I say, to a -large plain, where stood a neat pretty village which they set on fire. - -_Ch._ Set a village on fire, wicked wretches! - -_Fa._ And while it was burning they murdered—twenty thousand men. - -_Ch._ O fie! papa! You don’t intend I should believe this; I thought all -along you were making up a tale, as you often do; but you shall not -catch me this time. What! they lay still, I suppose, and let these -fellows cut their throats? - -_Fa._ No, truly, they resisted as long as they could. - -_Ch._ How should these men kill twenty thousand people, pray? - -_Fa._ Why not? the _murderers_ were thirty thousand. - -_Ch._ O, now I have found you out! you mean a BATTLE. - -_Fa._ Indeed I do. I do not know any _murders_ half so bloody. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING IX. -] - - - - - THE TRANSMIGRATIONS OF INDUR. - - -At the time when fairies and genii possessed the powers which they have -now lost, there lived in the country of the Bramins, a man named Indur, -who was distinguished, not only for that gentleness of disposition and -humanity towards all living creatures, which are so much cultivated -among those people, but for an insatiable curiosity respecting the -nature and way of life of all animals. In pursuit of knowledge of this -kind he would frequently spend the night among lonely rocks, or in the -midst of thick forests; and there under shelter of a hanging cliff, or -mounted upon a high tree, he would watch the motions and actions of all -the animals that seek their prey in the night; and remaining in the same -spot till the break of day, he would observe this tribe of creatures -retiring to their dens, and all others coming forth to enjoy the beams -of the rising sun. On these occasions, if he saw any opportunity of -exercising his benevolence toward animals in distress, he never failed -to make use of it; and many times rescued the small bird from the -pitiless hawk, and the lamb or kid from the gripe of the wolf and lynx. -One day as he was sitting on a tree in the forest, a little frolicsome -monkey, in taking a great leap from one bough to another, chanced to -miss its hold, and fell from a great height to the ground. As it lay -there unable to move, Indur espied a large venomous serpent advancing to -make the poor defenceless creature his prey. He immediately descended -from his post, and taking the little monkey in his arms, ran with it to -the tree, and gently placed it upon a bough. In the meantime, the -enraged serpent pursuing him, overtook him before he could mount the -tree, and bit him in the leg. Presently, the limb began to swell, and -the effects of the venom became visible over Indur’s whole frame. He -grew faint, sick, and pale; and sinking on the ground was sensible that -his last moments were fast approaching. As thus he lay, he was surprised -to hear a human voice from the tree; and looking up, he beheld, on the -bow where he had placed the monkey, a beautiful woman, who thus -addressed him:—“Indur, I am truly grieved that thy kindness to me should -have been the cause of thy destruction. Know that, in the form of the -poor monkey, it was the potent fairy Perizinda to whom thou gavest -succour. Obliged to pass a certain number of days every year under the -shape of an animal, I have chosen this form; and though not mortal, I -should have suffered extreme agonies from the bite of the serpent, hadst -thou not so humanely assisted me. It is not in my power to prevent the -fatal effect of the poison; but I am able to grant thee any wish thou -shalt form respecting the future state of existence to which thou art -now hastening. Speak then, before it be too late, and let me show my -gratitude.”—“Great Perizinda!” replied Indur, “since you deign so -bounteously to return my service, this is the request that I make; in -all my transmigrations may I retain a rational soul, with the memory of -the adventures I have gone through; and when death sets me free from one -body, may I instantly animate another in the prime of its powers and -faculties, without passing through the helpless state of infancy.”—“It -is granted,” answered the fairy; and immediately, breaking a small -branch from the tree, and breathing on it, she threw it down to Indur, -and bid him hold it fast in his hand. He did so, and presently expired. - -Instantly, he found himself in a green valley, by the side of a clear -stream, grazing amid a herd of antelopes. He admired his elegant shape, -sleek, spotted skin, and polished spiral horns; and drank with delight -of the cool rivulet, cropped the juicy herb, and sported with his -companions. Soon an alarm was given of the approach of an enemy; and -they all set off with the swiftness of the wind, to the neighbouring -immense plains, where they were presently out of the reach of injury. -Indur was highly delighted with the ease and rapidity of his motions; -and snuffing the keen air of the desert, bounded away, scarcely deigning -to touch the ground with his feet. This way of life went on very -pleasantly for some time, till at length the herd was one morning -alarmed with noises of trumpets, drums, and loud shouts on every side. -They started, and ran first to the right, then to the left, but were -continually driven back by the surrounding crowd, which now appeared to -be a whole army of hunters, with the king of the country, and all his -nobles, assembled at a solemn chase, after the manner of the Eastern -people. And now the circle began to close, and numbers of affrighted -animals of various kinds thronged together in the centre, keeping as far -as possible from the dangers that approached them from all quarters. The -huntsmen were now come near enough to reach their game with their -arrows; and the prince and his lords shot at them as they passed and -repassed, killing and wounding great numbers. Indur and his surviving -companions, seeing no other means of escape, resolved to make a bold -push toward that part of the ring which was the most weakly guarded; and -though many perished in the attempt, yet a few, leaping over the heads -of the people, got clear away: Indur was among the number. But while he -was scouring over the plain, rejoicing in his good fortune and conduct, -an enemy swifter than himself overtook him. This was a falcon, who, let -loose by one of the huntsmen, dashed like lightning after the fugitives; -and alighting upon the head of Indur, began to tear his eyes with his -beak, and flap his wings over his face. Indur, terrified and blinded, -knew not which way he went; and instead of proceeding straight-forward, -turned round and came again toward the hunters. One of these, riding -full speed with a javelin in his hand, came up to him, and ran the -weapon into his side. He fell down, and with repeated wounds was soon -despatched. - -When the struggle of death was over, Indur was equally surprised and -pleased on finding himself soaring high in the air, as one of a flight -of wild geese, in their annual migration to breed in the arctic regions. -With vast delight he sprung forward on easy wing through the immense -fields of air, and surveyed beneath him extensive tracts of earth -perpetually varying with plains, mountains, rivers, lakes, and woods. At -the approach of night the flock lighted on the ground, and fed on the -green corn or grass; and at daybreak they were again on the wing, -arranged in regular wedge-like body, with an experienced leader at their -head. Thus for many days they continued their journey, passing over -countries inhabited by various nations, till at length they arrived in -the remotest part of Lapland, and settled in a wide marshy lake, filled -with numerous reedy islands, and surrounded on all sides with dark -forests of pine and birch. Here, in perfect security from man and -hurtful animals, they followed the great business of breeding and -providing for their young, living plentifully upon the insects and -aquatic reptiles that abounded in this sheltered spot. Indur with great -pleasure exercised his various powers of swimming, diving, and flying; -sailing round the islands, penetrating into every creek and bay, and -visiting the deepest recesses of the woods. He surveyed with -astonishment the sun, instead of rising and setting, making a complete -circle in the heavens, and cheering the earth with a perpetual day. Here -he met with innumerable tribes of kindred birds varying in size, -plumage, and voice, but all passing their time in a similar manner, and -furnished with the same powers for providing food and a safe retreat for -themselves and their young. The whole lake was covered with parties -fishing or sporting, and resounded with their loud cries; while the -islands were filled with their nests, and new broods of young were -continually coming forth and launching upon the surface of the waters. -One day, Indur’s curiosity having led him at a distance from his -companions to the woody border of the lake, he was near paying dear for -his heedlessness; for a fox, that lay in wait among the bushes, sprung -upon him, and it was with the utmost difficulty that by a strong -exertion he broke from his hold, not without the loss of some feathers. - -Summer now drawing to an end, the vast congregation of water-fowl begun -to break up; and large bodies of them daily took their way southward, to -pass the winter in climates where the waters are never so frozen as to -become uninhabitable by the feathered race. The wild geese, to whom -Indur belonged, proceeded with their young ones, by long daily journeys -across Sweden, the Baltic sea, Poland and Turkey, to Lesser Asia, and -finished their journey at the celebrated plains on the banks of the -Cayster, a noted resort for their species ever since the age of Homer, -who in some very beautiful verses has described the manners and actions -of the various tribes of aquatic birds in that favourite spot.[1] Here -they soon recruited from the fatigue of their march, and enjoyed -themselves in the delicious climate till winter. This season, though -here extremely mild, yet making the means of sustenance somewhat scarce, -they were obliged to make foraging excursions to the cultivated lands in -the neighbourhood. Having committed great depredations upon a fine field -of young wheat, the owner spread a net on the ground, in which Indur, -with several of his companions, had the misfortune to be caught. No -mercy was shown them, but as they were taken out one by one, their necks -were all broken. - -Footnote 1: - - Not less their number than th’ embodied cranes, - Or milk-white swans on Asia’s wat’ry plains, - That o’er the windings of Cayster’s springs - Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings - Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds; - Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds.—POPE’S _Homer_. - -Indur was not immediately sensible of the next change he underwent, -which was into a dormouse, fast asleep into a hole at the foot of a -bush. As it was in a country where the winter was pretty severe, he did -not awake for some weeks; when a thaw having taken place, and the sun -beginning to warm the earth, he unrolled himself one day, stretched, -opened his eyes, and not being able to make out where he was, he roused -a female companion whom he found by his side. When she was sufficiently -awakened, and they both began to feel hungry, she led the way to a -magazine of nuts and acorns, where they made a comfortable meal, and -soon fell asleep again. This nap having lasted a few days, they awaked a -second time, and having eaten, they ventured to crawl to the mouth of -their hole, where, pulling away some withered grass and leaves, they -peeped out into the open air. After taking a turn or two in the sun, -they grew chill, and went down again, stopping up the entrance after -them. The cold weather returning, they took another long nap, till, at -length, spring being fairly set in, they roused in earnest, and began to -make daily excursions abroad. Their winter-stock of provisions being now -exhausted, they were for some time reduced to great straits, and obliged -to dig for roots and pig-nuts. Their fare was mended as the season -advanced, and they made a nest near the bottom of a tree, where they -brought up a young family. They never ranged far from home, nor ascended -the higher branches of the tree, and passed great part of their time in -sleep, even during the midst of summer. When autumn came, they were -busily employed in collecting the nuts, acorns, and other dry fruits -that fell from the trees, and laying them up in their storehouses -underground. One day, as Indur was thus closely engaged at some distance -from his dwelling, he was seized by a wildcat, who, after tormenting him -for a time, gave him a gripe, and put him out of his pain. - -From one of the smallest and most defenceless of animals, Indur found -himself instantly changed into a majestic elephant, in a lofty forest in -the isle of Ceylon. Elated with this wonderful advancement in the scale -of creation, he stalked along with conscious dignity, and surveyed with -pleasing wonder his own form and that of his companions, together with -the rich scenery of the ever-verdant woods, which perfumed the air with -their spicy odour, and lifted their tall heads to the clouds. Here, -fearing no injury, and not desirous to do any, the gigantic herd roamed -at large, feeding on the green branches which they tore down with their -trunks, and bathing in deep rivers during the heat of the day; and, -reposing in the depths of the forests, reclined against the massy trunks -of trees by night. It was long before Indur met with any adventure that -could lead him to doubt his security. But, one day, having penetrated -into a close entangled thicket, he espied, lurking under the thick -covert, a grim tiger, whose eyes flashed rage and fury. Though the tiger -was one of the largest of his species, yet his bulk was trifling -compared with that of an elephant, a single foot of which seemed -sufficient to crush him; yet the fierceness and cruelty of his looks, -his angry growl, and grinning teeth, struck some terror into Indur. -There was little time, however, for reflection: for when Indur had -advanced a single step, the tiger, setting up a roar, sprung to meet -him, attempting to seize his lifted trunk. Indur was dexterous enough to -receive him upon one of his tusks, and exerting all his strength, threw -the tiger to a great distance. He was somewhat stunned by the fall, but -recovering, renewed the assault with redoubled fury. Indur again, and a -third time, threw him off; after which the tiger, turning about, bounded -away into the midst of the thicket. Indur drew back, and rejoined his -companions, with some abatement in the confidence he had placed in his -size and strength, which had not prevented him from undergoing so -dangerous an attack. - -Soon after, he joined the rest of the herd, in an expedition beyond the -bounds of the forest, to make depredations on some fields of maize. They -committed great havoc, devouring part, but tearing up and trampling down -much more; when the inhabitants taking the alarm, assembled in great -numbers, and with fierce shouts and flaming brands drove them back to -the woods. Not contented with this, they were resolved to make them pay -for the mischief they had done, by taking some prisoners. For this -purpose they enclosed a large space among the trees with strong posts -and stakes, bringing it to a narrower and narrower compass, and ending -at last in a passage only capable of admitting one elephant at a time. -This was divided into several apartments, by strong cross-bars, which -would lift up and down. They then sent out some tame female elephants -bred to the business, who approaching the herd of wild ones, inveigled -the males to follow them toward the enclosures. Indur was among the -first who was decoyed by their artifices; and with some others following -heedlessly, he got into the narrowest part of the enclosure, opposite to -the passage. Here they stood awhile, doubting whether they should go -farther. But the females leading the way, and uttering their cry of -invitation, they ventured at length to follow. When a sufficient number -was in the passage, the bars were let down by men placed for that -purpose, and the elephants were fairly caught in a trap. As soon as they -were sensible of their situation, they fell into a fit of rage, and with -all their efforts endeavoured to break through. But the hunters throwing -nooses over them, bound them fast with strong ropes and chains to the -post on each side, and thus kept them without food or sleep for three -days; when being exhausted with hunger and fatigue, they gave signs of -sufficient tameness. They were now let out one by one, and bound each of -them to two large tame elephants with riders on their backs, and thus -without resistance were led away close prisoners. They were then put -into separate stables, and by proper discipline, were presently rendered -quite tame and gentle. - -Not long after, Indur, with five more, was sent over from Ceylon to the -continent of India, and sold to one of the princes of the country. He -was now trained to all the services elephants are there employed in; -which were, to carry people on his back in a kind of sedan, or litter, -to draw cannon, ships, and other great weights, to kneel and rise at -command, make obeisance to his lord, and perform all the motions and -attitudes he was ordered. Thus he lived a long time well fed and -caressed, clothed in costly trappings on days of ceremony, and -contributing to the pomp of Eastern royalty. At length, a war broke out, -and Indur came to be employed in a different scene. After proper -training he was marched with a number of his fellows, into the field, -bearing on his back a small wooden tower, in which were placed some -soldiers with a small field-piece. They soon came in sight of the enemy, -and both sides were drawn up for battle. Indur and the rest were urged -forward by their leaders wondering at the same time at the scene in -which they were engaged, so contrary to their nature and manners. -Presently, all was involved in smoke and fire. The elephants advancing, -soon put to flight those who were drawn up before them; but their career -was stopped by a battery of cannon, which played furiously against them. -Their vast bodies offered a fair mark to the balls, which presently -struck down some, and wounded others. Indur received a shot on one of -his tusks, which broke it, and put him to such pain and affright, that, -turning about, he ran with all speed over the plain; and falling in with -a body of their own infantry, he burst through, trampling down whole -ranks, and filling them with terror and confusion. His leader having now -lost all command over him, and finding him hurtful to his own party, -applied the sharp instrument he carried to the nape of his neck, and -driving it in with all his force, pierced his spinal marrow, so that he -fell lifeless to the ground. - -In the next stage of his existence, Indur, to his great surprise, found -even the vast bulk of the elephant prodigiously exceeded; for he was now -a whale of the largest species, rolling in the midst of the arctic seas. -As he darted along, the lash of his tail made whirlpools in the mighty -deep. When he opened his immense jaws he drew in a flood of brine, -which, on rising to the surface, he spouted out again in a rushing -fountain, that rose high in the air with the noise of a mighty cataract. -All the other inhabitants of the ocean seemed as nothing to him. He -swallowed, almost without knowing it, whole shoals of the smaller kinds; -and the larger swiftly turned aside at his approach. “Now,” he cried to -himself, “whatever other evils await me, I am certainly secure from the -molestation of other animals; for what is the creature that can dare to -cope with me, or measure his strength with mine?” Having said this, he -saw swimming near him a fish not a quarter of his length, armed with a -dreadful row of teeth. This was a grampus, which directly flying upon -Indur, fastened on him, and made his great teeth meet in his flesh. -Indur roared with pain, and lashed the sea, till it was all in a foam, -but could neither reach nor shake off his cruel foe. He rolled over and -over, rose and sunk, and exerted all his boasted strength; but to no -purpose. At length, the grampus quitted his hold, and left him not a -little mortified with the adventure. This was, however, forgotten, and -Indur received pleasure from his new situation, as he roamed through the -boundless fields of ocean, now diving to its very bottom, now shooting -swiftly to its surface, and sporting with his companions in unwieldly -gambols. Having chosen a mate, he took his course with her southward, -and, in due time, brought up two young ones, of whom he was extremely -fond. The summer season being arrived, he more frequently than usual -rose to the surface, and basking in the sunbeams, floated unmoved with a -large part of his huge body above the waves. As he was thus one day -enjoying a profound sleep, he was awakened by a sharp instrument -penetrating deep into his back. Instantly, he sprung away with the -swiftness of lightning, and feeling the weapon still sticking, he dived -into the recesses of the deep, and stayed there till want of air obliged -him to ascend to the surface. Here another harpoon was plunged into him, -the smart of which again made him fly from his unseen foes; but, after a -shorter course, he was again compelled to rise, much weakened by the -loss of blood, which, gushing in a torrent, tinged the waters as he -passed. Another wound was inflicted, which soon brought him almost -lifeless to the surface; and the line fastened to the first harpoon -being now pulled in, this enormous creature was brought, an unresisting -prey, to the side of a ship, where he was soon quietly despatched, and -then cut to pieces. - -The soul of this huge carcass had next a much narrower lodging, for -Indur was changed into a bee, which, with a great multitude of its young -companions, was on flight in search of a new settlement, their parents -having driven them out of the hive, which was unable to contain them -all. After a rambling excursion, the queen, by whom all their motions -were directed, settled on the branch of a lofty tree. They all -immediately clustered round her, and soon formed a large black bunch, -depending from the bough. A man presently planting a ladder, ascended -with a beehive, and swept them in. After they were quietly settled in -their new habitation, they were placed on a stand in the garden along -with some other colonies, and left to begin their labours. Every fine -morning, as soon as the sun was up, the greatest part of them sallied -forth, and roamed over the garden and the neighbouring fields in search -of fresh and fragrant flowers. They first collected a quantity of gluey -matter, with which they lined all the inside of their house. Then they -brought wax, and began to make their cells, building them with the -utmost regularity, though it was their first attempt, and they had no -teacher. As fast as they were built, some were filled with liquid honey, -gathered from the nectaries of flowers; and as they filled the cells, -they sealed them up with a thin covering of wax. In other cells, the -queen-bee deposited her eggs, which were to supply a new progeny for the -ensuing year. Nothing could be a more pleasing sight than to behold on a -sunshiny day the insects continually going forth to their labour, while -others were as constantly arriving at the mouth of the hole, either with -yellow balls of wax under their thighs, or full of the honey which they -had drawn in with their trunks for the purpose of spouting it out into -the cells of the honeycomb. Indur felt much delight in this useful and -active way of life, and was always one of the first abroad at the dawn, -and latest home in the evening. On rainy and foggy days they stayed at -home, and employed themselves in finishing their cells, and all the -necessary work within doors; and Indur, though endued with human reason, -could not but admire the readiness with which he and the rest formed the -most regular plans of work, all corresponding in design and execution, -guided by instinct alone. - -The end of autumn now approaching, the bees had filled their combs with -honey; and nothing more being to be got abroad, they stayed within -doors, passing most of their time in sleep. They ate a little of their -store, but with great frugality; and all their meals were made in -public, none daring to make free with the common stock by himself. The -owner of the hives now came and took them one by one into his hand, that -he might judge by the weight whether or no they were full of honey. That -in which Indur was, proved to be one of the heaviest; and it was -therefore resolved to take the contents. For this purpose, one cold -night, when the bees were all fast asleep, the hive was placed over a -hole in the ground, in which were put brimstone matches set on fire. The -fumes rose into the hive, and soon suffocated great part of the bees, -and stupified the rest, so that they all fell from the combs. Indur was -among the dead. - -He soon revived in the form of a young rabbit in a spacious warren. This -was like a populous town; being everywhere hollowed by burrows running -deep under ground, and each inhabited by one or more families. In the -evening the warren was covered with a vast number of rabbits, old and -young, some feeding, others frisking about, and pursuing one another in -wanton sport. At the least alarm, they all hurried into the holes -nearest them, and were in an instant safe from enemies, who either could -not follow them at all or, if they did, were foiled in the chase by the -numerous ways and turnings in the earth, communicating with each other, -so as to afford easy means of escape. Indur delighted much in this -secure and social life; and taking a mate, was soon the father of a -numerous offspring. Several of the little ones, however, not being -sufficiently careful, fell a prey either to hawks and crows, continually -hovering over the warren, or to cats, foxes, and other wild quadrupeds, -who used every art to catch them at a distance from their holes. Indur -himself ran several hazards. He was once very near being caught by a -little dog trained for the purpose, who kept playing round for a -considerable time, not seeming to attend to the rabbits, till having got -near, he all at once darted into the midst of them. Another time he -received some shot from a sportsman who lay on the watch behind a hedge -adjoining the warren. - -The number of rabbits here was so great, that a hard winter coming on, -which killed most of the vegetables, or buried them deep under the snow, -they were reduced to great straits, and many were famished to death. -Some turnips and hay, however, which were laid for them, preserved the -greater part. The approach of spring renewed their sport and pleasure; -and Indur was made the father of another family. One night, however, was -fatal to them all. As they were sleeping, they were alarmed by the -attack of a ferret; and running with great speed to the mouth of their -burrow to escape it, they were all caught in nets placed over their -holes. Indur, with the rest, was despatched by a blow on the back of the -neck, and his body was sent to the nearest market-town. - -His next change was into a young mastiff, brought up in a farmyard. -Having nearly acquired his full size, he was sent as a present to a -gentleman in the neighbourhood, who wanted a faithful guard for his -house and grounds. Indur presently attached himself to his master and -all his family, and showed every mark of a noble and generous nature. -Though fierce as a lion whenever he thought the persons or property of -his friends invaded, he was as gentle as a lamb at other times, and -would patiently suffer any kind of freedoms from those he loved. He -permitted the children of the house to lug him about, ride on his back, -and use him as roughly as their little hands were capable of; never, -even when hurt, showing any displeasure further than by a low growl. He -was extremely indulgent to all the other animals of his species in the -yard; and when abroad would treat the impertinent barking of little dogs -with silent contempt. Once, indeed, being provoked beyond bearing, not -only by the noise, but by the snaps of a malicious whelp, he suddenly -seized him in his open mouth; but when the bystanders thought that the -poor cur was going instantly to be destroyed, they were equally diverted -and pleased at seeing Indur go to the side of a muddy ditch, and drop -his antagonist unhurt into the middle of it. - -He had, however, more serious conflicts frequently to sustain. He was -accustomed to attend the servant on market-days to the neighbouring -town, when it was his office to guard the provision cart, while the man -was making his purchases in the shops. On these occasions the boldest -dogs in the street would sometimes make an onset in a body; and while -some of them were engaging Indur, others would be mounting the cart, and -pulling down the meat-baskets. Indur had much ado to defend himself and -the baggage, too; however, he never failed to make some of the -assailants pay dearly for their impudence; and by his loud barking, he -summoned his human fellow-servant to his assistance, in time to prevent -their depredations. - -At length, his courage was exerted on the most important service to -which it could be applied. His master returning home late one evening, -was attacked near his own house by three armed ruffians. Indur heard his -voice calling for help, and instantly flew to his relief. He seized one -of the villains by the throat, brought him to the ground, and presently -disabled him. The master, in the meantime, was keeping off the other two -with a large stick, but had received several wounds with a cutlass; and -one of the men had presented a pistol, and was just on the point of -firing. At this moment, Indur, leaving his vanquished foe on the ground, -rushed forward, and seizing the man’s arm, made him drop the pistol. The -master took it up; on which the other robber fled. He now advanced to -him with whom Indur was engaged, and fired the pistol at him. The ball -broke the man’s arm, and thence entered the body of Indur, and mortally -wounded him. He fell, but had the satisfaction of seeing his master -remain lord of the field; and the servants now coming up, made prisoners -of the two wounded robbers. The master threw himself by the side of -Indur, and expressed the warmest concern at the accident which had made -him the cause of death of the faithful animal that had preserved his -life. Indur died licking his hand. - -So generous a nature was now no longer to be annexed to a brutal form. -Indur awaking as it were from a trance, found himself again in the happy -region he had formerly inhabited, and recommenced the innocent life of a -Bramin. He cherished the memory of his transmigrations, and handed them -down to posterity, in a relation from which the preceding account has -been extracted for the amusement of our young readers. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING X. -] - - - - - THE SWALLOW AND TORTOISE. - - - A tortoise in a garden’s bound, - An ancient inmate of the place, - Had left his winter-quarters underground, - And, with a sober pace, - Was crawling o’er a sunny bed, - And thrusting from his shell his pretty toad-like head. - - Just come from sea, a swallow, - As to and fro he nimbly flew, - Beat our old racer hollow: - At length, he stopped direct in view, - And said, “Acquaintance brisk and gay, - How have you fared this many a day?” - “Thank you,” replied the close housekeeper, - “Since you and I last autumn parted, - I’ve been a precious sleeper, - And never stirred nor started, - But in my hole I lay as snug - As fleas within a rug; - Nor did I put my head abroad - Till all the snow and ice were thawed.” - “But I,” rejoined the bird, - “Who love cold weather just as well as you, - Soon as the warning blasts I heard. - Away I flew, - And mounting in the wind, - Left gloomy winter far behind. - Directed by the mid-day sun, - O’er sea and land my venturous course I steered, - Nor was my distant journey done - Till Afric’s verdant coast appeared. - There, all the season long, - I chased gay butterflies and gnats, - And gave my negro friends a morning song, - And housed at night among the bats. - Then, at the call of spring, - I northward turned my wing, - And here again her joyous message bring.” - “Lord! what a deal of heedless ranging,” - Returned the reptile grave, - “For ever hurrying, bustling, changing, - As if it were your life to save! - Why need you visit foreign nations? - Rather like me, and some of your relations, - Take out a pleasant half-year’s nap, - Secure from trouble and mishap.” - “A pleasant nap, indeed!” replied the swallow - “When I can neither see nor fly, - The bright example I may follow - ‘Till then, in truth, not I! - I measure time by its employment, - And only value life for life’s enjoyment - As good be buried all at once, - As doze out half one’s days, like you, you stupid dunce!” - - - - - THE GRASS-TRIBE. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_. - - -_Harry._ Pray, what is that growing on the other side of the hedge? - -_George._ Why it is corn—don’t you see it is in ear. - -_Har._ Yes—but it seems too short for corn; and the corn we just now -passed is not in ear by a great deal. - -_Geo._ Then I don’t know what it is. Pray, sir, will you tell us? - -_Tut._ I don’t wonder you were puzzled about it. It is a sort of grass -sown for hay, and is called rye-grass. - -_Har._ But how happens it that it is so very like corn? - -_Tut._ There is no great wonder in that, for all corn is really a kind -of grass; on the other hand, if you were a Lilliputian, every species of -grass would appear to you amazing large corn. - -_Geo._ Then there is no difference between corn and grass, but the size? - -_Tut._ None at all. - -_Har._ But we eat corn; and grass is not good to eat. - -_Tut._ It is only the seeds of corn that we eat: we leave the stalks and -leaves for cows and horses. Now we might eat the seeds of grass, if they -were big enough to be worth gathering; and some particular kinds are in -fact eaten in certain countries. - -_Har._ But are wheat and barley really grass? - -_Tut._ Yes—they are a species of that great family of plants, which -botanists call _grasses_; and I will take this opportunity of telling -you something about them. Go, George, and pull us up a root of that -rye-grass. Harry and I will sit down on this stile till you come to us? - -_Har._ Here is grass enough all round us. - -_Tut._ Well, then, pull up a few roots that you see in ear. - -_Geo._ Here is my grass. - -_Har._ And here is mine. - -_Tut._ Well—spread them all in a handkerchief before us. Now look at the -roots of them all. What do you call them? - -_Geo._ I think they are what you have told us—_fibrous_ roots. - -_Tut._ Right—they consist of a bundle of strings. Then look at their -stalks—you will find them jointed and hollow, like the straw of corn. - -_Har._ So they are. - -_Tut._ The leaves, you see, of all the kinds are very long and narrow, -tapering to a point at their ends. Those of corn, you know, are the -same. - -_Har._ Yes—they are so like grass at first, that I can never tell the -difference. - -_Tut._ Next observe the ears, or heads. Some of these, you see, are -thick, and close, like those of wheat or barley; others are more loose -and open, like oats. The first are generally called _spikes_; the second -_panicles_. If you examine them closely, you will find that they all -consist of a number of distinct husky bodies, which are properly the -flowers; each of which is succeeded by a single seed. I dare say you -have picked ears of wheat? - -_Har._ O yes—I am very fond of them! - -_Tut._ Well then—you found that the grains all lay single, contained in -a scaly husk making a part of the ear, or head. Before the seed was -formed, there was a flower in its place. I do not mean a gay -fine-coloured flower, but a few scales with threads coming out among -them, each crowned with a white tip. And soon after the ears of corn -appear you will find their flowers open, and these white tips coming out -of them. This is the structure of the flowers and flowering heads of -every one of the grass tribe. - -_Geo._ But what are the _beards_ of corn? - -_Tut._ The beards are bristles or points running out from the ends of -the husks. They are properly called _awns_. Most of the grass-tribe have -something of these, but they are much longer in some kinds than in -others. In barley, you know, they are very long, and give the whole -field a sort of downy or silky appearance, especially when waved by the -wind. - -_Har._ Are there the same kinds of corn and grass in all countries? - -_Tut._ No. With respect to corn, that is in all countries the product of -cultivation; and different sorts are found best to suit different -climates. Thus, in the northern parts of the temperate zone, oats and -rye are chiefly grown. In the middle and southern, barley and wheat. -Wheat is universally the species preferred for bread-corn; but there are -various kinds of it, differing from each other in size of grain, colour, -and other qualities - -_Har._ Does not the best wheat of all grow in England? - -_Tut._ By no means. Wheat is better suited to the warmer climates, and -it is only by great attention and upon particular soils that it is made -to succeed well here. On the other hand, the torrid zone is too hot for -wheat and our other grains; and they chiefly cultivate rice there, and -Indian corn. - -_Geo._ I have seen heads of Indian corn as thick as my wrist, but they -do not look at all like our corn. - -_Tut._ Yes—the seeds all grow single in a sort of chaffy head; and the -stalk and leaves resemble those of the grass-tribe, but of a gigantic -size. But there are other plants of this family, which perhaps you have -not thought of. - -_Geo._ What are they? - -_Tut._ Canes and reeds—from the sugarcanes and bamboo of the tropics, to -the common reed of our ditches, of which you make arrows. All these have -the general character of the grasses. - -_Har._ I know that reeds have very fine feathery heads, like the tops of -grass. - -_Tut._ They have so. And the stalks are composed of many joints; as are -also those of the sugarcane, and of the common cane which grows in the -southern countries of Europe, and of which fishing-rods are often made, -as well as of the bamboo imported hither for walking-sticks, and applied -to many more important uses in the countries of which it is a native. -Some of these are very tall plants, but the seeds of them are small in -proportion, and not useful for food. But there is yet another kind of -grasslike plants common among us. - -_Geo._ What is that? - -_Tut._ Have you not observed in the marshes, and on the sides of -ditches, a coarse broader-leaved sort of grass with large dark-coloured -spikes? This is _sedge_, in Latin _carex_, and there are many sorts of -it. - -_Har._ What is that good for? - -_Tut._ It is eaten by cattle, both fresh and dry, but is inferior in -quality to good grass. - -_Geo._ What is it that makes one kind of grass better than another? - -_Tut._ There are various properties which give value to grasses. Some -spread more than others, resist frost and drought better; yield a -greater crop of leaves, and are therefore better for pasturage and hay. -The juices of some are more nourishing and sweet than those of others. -In general, however, different grasses are suited to different soils; -and by improving soils, the quality of the grass is improved. - -_Geo._ Does grass grow in all countries? - -_Tut._ Yes—the green turf, which naturally covers fertile soils of all -countries, is chiefly composed of grasses of various kinds. They form, -therefore, the verdant carpet extended over the earth; and humble as -they are, contribute more to beauty and utility, than any other part of -the vegetable creation. - -_Har._ What—more than trees? - -_Tut._ Yes, certainly. A land entirely covered with trees would be -gloomy, unwholesome, and scarcely inhabitable; whereas, the meadow, the -down, and the cornfield, afford the most agreeable prospects to the eye, -and furnish every necessary, and many of the luxuries of life. Give us -corn and grass, and what shall we want for food? - -_Har._ Let me see—what should we have? There’s bread and flour for -puddings. - -_Geo._ Ay, and milk, for you know cows live on grass and hay—so there’s -cheese and butter and all things that are made of milk. - -_Tut._ And are there not all kinds of meat too, and poultry? And then -for drink, there are beer and ale, which are made from barley. For all -these we are chiefly indebted to _the grasses_. - -_Geo._ Then I am sure we are very much obliged to the grasses. - -_Tut._ Well—let us now walk homeward. Some time hence you shall make a -collection of all the kinds of grasses, and learn to know them from each -other. - - - - - A TEA LECTURE. - - _Tutor_—_Pupil_. - - -_Tutor._ Come—the tea is ready. Lay by your book, and let us talk a -little. You have assisted in tea-making a great many times, and yet I -dare say you never considered what kind of an operation it was. - -_Pupil._ An operation of cookery—is it not? - -_Tut._ You may call it so: but it is properly an operation of -_chymistry_. - -_Pup._ Of chymistry! I thought that had been a very deep sort of a -business. - -_Tut._ O—there are many things in common life that belong to the deepest -of sciences. Making tea is the chymical operation called _infusion_, -which is, when a hot liquor is poured upon a substance in order to -extract something from it. The water, you see, extracts from the -tea-leaves their colour, taste, and flavour. - -_Pup._ Would not cold water do the same? - -_Tut._ It would, but more slowly. Heat assists almost all liquors in -their power of extracting the virtues of herbs and other substances. -Thus good housewives were formerly used to boil their tea, in order to -get all goodness from it as completely as possible. The greater heat and -agitation of boiling make it act more powerfully. The liquor in which a -substance has been boiled is called a _decoction_ of that substance. - -_Pup._ Then we had a decoction of mutton at dinner to-day. - -_Tut._ We had—broth is a decoction, and so are gruel and barley-water. -But when anything is put to steep in a cold liquor it is called -_maceration_. The ingredients of which ink is made are _macerated_. In -all these cases, you see, the whole substance does not mix with the -liquor, but only part of it. The reason is, that part of it is _soluble_ -in the liquor, and part not. - -_Pup._ What is the meaning of that? - -_Tut._ Solution is when a solid put into a fluid entirely disappears in -it, leaving the liquor clear. Thus when I throw this lump of sugar into -my tea, you see it gradually wastes away till it is all gone, and then I -can taste it in every single drop of my tea; but the tea is as clear as -before. - -_Pup._ Salt would do the same. - -_Tut._ It would. But if I were to throw in a lump of chalk, it would lie -undissolved at the bottom. - -_Pup._ But it would make the water white. - -_Tut._ True, while it was stirred; and then it would be a _diffusion_. -But while the chalk was thus mixed with the liquor, it would lose its -transparency, and not recover it again till, by standing, the chalk had -all subsided and left the liquor as it was before. - -_Pup._ How is the cream mixed with the tea? - -_Tut._ Why, that is only _diffused_, for it takes away the transparency -of the tea. But the particles of cream being finer and lighter than -those of chalk, it remains longer united with the liquor. However, in -time the cream would separate too, and rise to the top, leaving the tea -clear. Now, suppose you had a mixture of sugar, salt, chalk, and -tea-leaves, and were to throw it into water, either hot or cold; what -would be the effect? - -_Pup._ The sugar and salt would be dissolved and disappear. The -tea-leaves would yield their colour and taste. The chalk—I do not know -what would become of that. - -_Tut._ Why, if the mixture were stirred, the chalk would be diffused -through it, and make it _turbid_ or muddy; but on standing, it would -leave it unchanged. - -_Pup._ Then there would remain at bottom the chalk and tea-leaves? - -_Tut._ Yes. The clear liquor would contain in _solution_ salt, sugar, -and those particles of the tea in which its colour and taste consisted; -the remainder of the tea and the chalk would lie undissolved. - -_Pup._ Then I suppose tea-leaves, after the tea is made, are lighter -than at first. - -_Tut._ Undoubtedly. If taken out and dried they would be found to have -lost part of their weight, and the water would have gained it. -Sometimes, however, it is an extremely small portion of a substance -which is soluble, but it is that in which its most remarkable qualities -reside. Thus a small piece of spice will communicate a strong flavour to -a large quantity of liquid, with very little loss of weight. - -_Pup._ Will all liquors dissolve the same things? - -_Tut._ By no means. Many dissolve in water that will not in spirit of -wine; and the contrary. And upon this difference many curious matters in -the arts are founded. Thus, spirit-varnish is made of a solution of -various gums or resins in spirits that will not dissolve in water. -Therefore, when it has been laid over any surface with a brush, and is -become dry, the rain or moisture of the air will not affect it. This is -the case with the beautiful varnish laid upon coaches. On the other -hand, the varnish left by gum-water could not be washed off by spirits. - -_Pup._ I remember when I made gum-water, upon setting the cup in a warm -place, it all dried away, and left the gum just as it was before. Would -the same happen if I had sugar or salt dissolved in water? - -_Tut._ Yes, upon exposing the solution to warmth, it would dry away, and -you would get back your salt and sugar in a solid state as before. - -_Pup._ But if I were to do so with a cup of tea, what should I get? - -_Tut._ Not tea-leaves, certainly! But your question requires a little -previous explanation. It is the property of heat to make most things fly -off in vapour, which is called _evaporation_, or _exhalation_. But this -it does in very different degrees to different substances. Some are very -easily made to _evaporate_; others very difficultly; and others not at -all by the most violent fire we can raise. Fluids in general are easily -_evaporable_; but not equally so. Spirit of wine flies off in vapour -much sooner than water; so that if you had a mixture of the two, by -applying a gentle heat you might drive off almost all the spirit, while -the greater part of the water would remain. Water, again, is more -evaporable than oil. Some solid substances are much disposed to -evaporate: thus, smelling salts may by a little heat be entirely driven -away in the air. But in general, solids are more _fixed_ than fluids; -and, therefore, when a solid is dissolved in a fluid, it may commonly be -recovered again by evaporation. By this operation common salt is got -from seawater and salt springs, both artificially, and, in hot -countries, by the natural heat of the sun. When the water is no more -than is just sufficient to dissolve the salt, it is called a _saturated -solution_, and on evaporating the water further, the salt begins to -separate, forming little regular masses called _crystals_. Sugar may be -made in like manner to form crystals, and then it is sugar-candy. - -_Pup._ But what is a sirup? - -_Tut._ That is when so much sugar is dissolved as sensibly to thicken -the liquor, but not to separate from it. Well—now to your question about -tea. On exposing it to considerable heat, those fine particles in which -its flavour consists, being as _volatile_ or evaporable as the water, -would fly off along with it; and when the liquor came to dryness, there -would be left only those particles in which its roughness and colour -consist. This would make what is called an _extract_ of a plant. - -_Pup._ What becomes of the water that evaporates? - -_Tut._ It ascends into the air, and unites with it. But if in its way it -be stopped by any cold body, it is _condensed_, that is, it returns to -the state of water again. Lift up the lid of the teapot and you will -find water collected on the inside of it, which is condensed steam from -the hot tea beneath. Hold a spoon or knife in the way of the steam which -bursts out of the spout of the teakettle, and you will find it -immediately covered with drops. This operation of turning a fluid into -vapour, and then condensing it, is called _distillation_. For this -purpose, the vessel in which the liquor is heated is closely covered -with another called the head, into which the steam rises and is -condensed. It is then drawn off by means of a pipe into another vessel -called the receiver. In this way all sweet-scented and aromatic liquors -are drawn from fragrant vegetables, by means of water or spirits. The -fragrant part being very volatile rises along with the steam of the -water or spirit, and remains united with it after it is condensed. -Rosewater, and spirits of lavender, are liquors of this kind. - -_Pup._ Then the water collected on the inside of the teapot-lid should -have the fragrance of the tea. - -_Tut._ It should—but unless the tea were fine, you could scarcely -perceive it. - -_Pup._ I think I have heard of making salt water fresh by distilling. - -_Tut._ Yes. That is an old discovery lately revived. The salt in -seawater, being of a fixed nature, does not rise with the steam; and -therefore, on condensing the steam, the water is found to be fresh. And -this indeed is the method nature employs in raising water by exhalation -from the ocean, which, collecting in clouds, is condensed in the cold -region of the air, and falls down in rain. - -But our tea is done: so we will now put an end to our chymical lecture. - -_Pup._ But is this real chymistry? - -_Tut._ Yes, it is. - -_Pup._ Why, I understand it all without any difficulty. - -_Tut._ I intended you should. - - - - - THE KIDNAPPERS. - - -Mr. B. was accustomed to read in the evening to his young folks some -select story, and then ask them in turn what they thought of it. From -the reflections they made on these occasions, he was enabled to form a -judgment of their dispositions, and was led to throw in remarks of his -own, by which their hearts and understandings might be improved. One -night he read the following narrative from Churchill’s Voyages:— - -“In some voyages of discovery made from Denmark to Greenland, the -sailors were instructed to seize some of the natives by force or -stratagem, and bring them away. In consequence of these orders, several -Greenlanders were kidnapped and brought to Denmark. Though they were -treated there with kindness, the poor wretches were always melancholy, -and were observed frequently to turn their faces toward the north, and -sigh bitterly. They made several attempts to escape, by putting out to -sea in their little canoes, which had been brought with them. One of -them had got as far as thirty leagues from land before he was overtaken. -It was remarked that this poor man, whenever he met a woman with a child -in her arms, used to utter a deep sigh; whence it was conjectured that -he had left a wife and child behind him. They all pined away one after -another, and died miserably.” - -“Now, Edward,” said he, “what is your opinion of this story?” - -_Ed._ Poor creatures! I think it was barbarous to take them from home. - -_Mr. B._ It was, indeed! - -_Ed._ Have civilized nations any right to behave so to savages? - -_Mr. B._ I think you may readily answer that question yourself. Suppose -you were a savage—what would be your opinion? - -_Ed._ I dare say I should think it very wrong. But can savages think -about right and wrong as we do? - -_Mr. B._ Why not? are they not men? - -_Ed._ Yes; but not like civilized men, sure? - -_Mr. B._ I know no important difference between ourselves and those -people we are pleased to call savage, but in the degree of knowledge and -virtue possessed by each. And I believe many individuals among the -Greenlanders as well as other unpolished people, exceed in these -respects many among us. In the present case I am sure the Danish sailors -showed themselves the greater savages. - -_Ed._ But what did they take away the Greenlanders for? - -_Mr. B._ The pretence was, that they might be brought to be instructed -in a Christian country, and then sent back to civilize their countrymen. - -_Ed._ And was not that a good thing? - -_Mr. B._ Certainly, if it were done by proper means; but to attempt it -by an act of violence and injustice could not be right: for they could -teach them nothing so good as their example was bad; and the poor people -were not likely to learn willingly from those who had begun with -injuring them so cruelly. - -_Ed._ I remember Captain Cook, brought over somebody from Otaheite; and -poor Lee Boo was brought here from the Pelew islands. But I believe they -both came of their own accord? - -_Mr. B._ They did. And it is a great proof of the better way of thinking -of modern voyagers than former ones, that they do not consider it as -justifiable to use violence even for the supposed benefit of the people -they visit. - -_Ed._ I have read of taking possession of a newly-discovered country by -setting up the king’s standard or some such ceremony, though it was full -of inhabitants. - -_Mr. B._ Such was formerly the custom; and a more impudent mockery of -all right and justice can scarcely be conceived. Yet this, I am sorry to -say, is the title by which European nations claim the greatest part of -their foreign settlements. - -_Ed._ And might not the natives drive them out again, if they were able? - -_Mr. B._ I am sure I do not know why they might not; _for force can -never give right_. Now, Harry, tell me what _you_ think of the story. - -_Harry._ I think it very strange that people should want to go back to -such a cold dismal place as Greenland. - -_Mr. B._ Why what country do you love best in the world? - -_Har._ England, to be sure! - -_Mr. B._ But England is by no means the warmest and finest country. Here -are no grapes growing in the fields, nor oranges in the woods and -hedges, as there are in more southern climates. - -_Har._ I should like them very well, to be sure—but then England is my -own native country, where you and mamma and all my friends live. Besides -it is a very pleasant country, too. - -_Mr. B._ As to your first reason, you must be sensible that the -Greenlander can say just the same; and the poor fellow who left a wife -and children behind, must have had the strongest of all ties to make him -wish to return. Do you think I should be easy to be separated from all -of you? - -_Har._ No; and I am sure we should not be easy, neither. - -_Mr. B._ Home, my dear, wherever it is, is the spot toward which a good -heart is the most strongly drawn. Then, as for the pleasantness of a -place, that all depends upon habit. The Greenlander, being accustomed to -the way of living, and all the objects of his own country, could not -relish any other so well. He loved whale-fat and seal as well as you can -do pudding and beef. He thought rowing his little boat amid the -boisterous waves pleasanter employment than driving a plough or a cart. -He fenced himself against the winter’s cold by warm clothing; and the -long night of many weeks, which you would think so gloomy, was to him a -season of ease and festivity in his habitation underground. It is a very -kind and wise dispensation of Providence, that every part of the world -is rendered most agreeable to those who live in it. - -Now little Mary what have you to say? - -_Mary._ I have only to say, that if they were to offer to carry me away -from home, I would scratch their eyes out! - -_Mr. B._ Well said, my girl! stand up for yourself. Let nobody run away -with you—_against your will_. - -_Mary._ That I won’t. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XI. -] - - - - - ON MANUFACTURES. - - _Father_—_Henry._ - - -_Henry._ My dear father, you observed the other day that we had a great -many manufactures in England. Pray, what is a manufacture? - -_Father._ A manufacture is something made by the hand of man. It is -derived from two Latin words, _manus_, the hand, and _facere_, to make. -Manufactures are therefore opposed to productions, which latter are what -the bounty of nature spontaneously affords; as fruits, corn, marble. - -_Hen._ But there is a great deal of trouble with corn: you have often -made me take notice how much pains it costs the farmer to plough his -ground, and put the seed in the earth, and keep it clear from weeds. - -_Fa._ Very true: but the farmer does not make the corn; he only prepares -for it a proper soil and situation, and removes every hinderance arising -from the hardness of the ground, or the neighbourhood of other plants, -which might obstruct the secret and wonderful process of vegetation; but -with the vegetation itself he has nothing to do. It is not _his_ hand -that draws out the slender fibres of the root, pushes up the green -stalk, and by degrees the spiky ear; swells the grain, and embrowns it -with that rich tinge of tawny russet, which informs the husbandman it is -time to put in his sickle: all this operation is performed without his -care, or even knowledge. - -_Hen._ Now, then, I understand; corn is a _production_, and bread is a -_manufacture_. - -_Fa._ Bread is certainly, in strictness of speech, a manufacture; but we -do not in general apply the term to anything in which the original -material is so little changed. If we wanted to speak of bread -philosophically, we should say, it is a preparation of corn. - -_Hen._ Is sugar a manufacture? - -_Fa._ No, for the same reason. Besides which, I do not recollect the -term being applied to any article of food; I suppose from an idea that -food is of too perishable a nature, and generally obtained by a process -too simple to deserve the name. We say, therefore, sugar-works, -oil-mills, chocolate-works; we do not say a beer-manufactory, but a -brewery; but this is only a nicety of language, for properly all those -are manufactories, if there is much of art and curiosity in the process. - -_Hen._ Do we say a manufactory of pictures? - -_Fa._ No; but for a different reason. A picture, especially if it belong -to any of the higher kinds of painting, is an effort of genius. A -picture cannot be produced by any given combinations of canvass and -colour. It is the hand, indeed, that executes, but the head that works. -Sir Joshua Reynolds could not have gone, when he was engaged to paint a -picture, and hired workmen, the one to draw the eyes, another the nose, -a third the mouth: the whole must be the painter’s own, that particular -painter’s, and no other; and no one who has not his ideas can do his -work. His work is therefore nobler, of a higher species. - -_Hen._ Pray, give me an instance of a manufacture. - -_Fa._ The making of watches is a manufacture: the silver, iron, gold, or -whatever else is used in it, are productions, the materials of the work; -but it is by the wonderful art of man that they are wrought into the -numberless wheels and springs of which this complicated machine is -composed. - -_Hen._ Then is there not as much art in making a watch as a picture? -Does not the head work? - -_Fa._ Certainly, in the original invention of watches, as much, or more, -than in painting; but when once invented, the art of watchmaking is -capable of being reduced to a mere mechanical labour, which may be -exercised by any man of common capacity, according to certain precise -rules, when made familiar to him by practice: of this painting is not -capable. - -_Hen._ But, my dear father, making books surely requires a great deal of -thinking and study; and yet I remember the other day at dinner a -gentleman said that Mr. Pica had manufactured a large volume in less -than a fortnight. - -_Fa._ It was meant to convey a satirical remark on his book because it -was compiled from other authors, from whom he had taken a page in one -place, and a page in another; so that it was not produced by the labour -of his brain, but of his hands. Thus you heard your mother complain that -the London cream was manufactured; which was a pointed and concise way -of saying that the cream was not what it ought to be, or what it -pretended to be: for cream, when genuine, is a pure production; but when -mixed up and adulterated with flour and isinglass, and I know not what, -it becomes a manufacture. It was as much as to say, art has been here -where it has no business; where it is not beneficial, but hurtful. A -great deal of the delicacy of language depends upon an accurate -knowledge of the specific meaning of single terms, and a nice attention -to their relative propriety. - -_Hen._ Have all nations manufactures? - -_Fa._ All that are in any degree cultivated; but it very often happens -that countries naturally the poorest have manufactures of the greatest -extent and variety. - -_Hen._ Why so? - -_Fa._ For the same reason, I apprehend, that individuals, who are rich -without any labour of their own, are seldom so industrious and active as -those who depend upon their own exertions: thus the Spaniards, who -possess the richest gold and silver mines in the world, are in want of -many conveniences of life which are enjoyed in London and Amsterdam. - -_Hen._ I can comprehend that: I believe if my uncle Leger were to find a -gold mine under his warehouse, he would soon shut up his shop. - -_Fa._ I believe so. It is not, however, easy to establish manufactures -in a _very poor_ nation: they require science and genius for their -invention, art and contrivance for their execution; order, peace, and -union, for their flourishing. They require, too, a number of men to -combine together in an undertaking, and to prosecute it with the most -patient industry; they require, therefore, laws and government for their -protection. If you see extensive manufactures in any nation, you may be -sure it is a civilized nation, you may be sure property is accurately -ascertained and protected. They require great expenses for their first -establishment, costly machines for shortening manual labour, and money -and credit for purchasing materials from distant countries. There is not -a single manufacture of Great Britain which does not require, in some -part or other of its process, productions from the different parts of -the globe, oils, drugs, varnish, quicksilver, and the like: it requires, -therefore, _ships_ and a friendly intercourse with foreign nations, to -transport commodities and exchange productions. We could not be a -manufacturing, unless we were also a commercial nation. They require -time to take root in any place, and their excellence often depends upon -some nice and delicate circumstance; a peculiar quality, for instance, -in the air or water, or some other local circumstance not easily -ascertained. Thus, I have heard that the Irish women spin better than -the English, because the moister temperature of their climate makes -their skin more soft and their fingers more flexible: thus again we -cannot die so beautiful a scarlet as the French can, though with the -same drugs, perhaps on account of the superior purity of the air. But -though so much is necessary for the perfection of the more curious and -complicated manufactures, all nations possess those which are -subservient to the common conveniences of life;—the loom and the forge, -particularly, are of the highest antiquity. - -_Hen._ Yes; I remember Hector bids Andromache return to her apartments, -and employ herself in weaving with her maids; and I remember the shield -of Achilles. - -_Fa._ True; and you likewise remember, in an earlier period, the fine -linen of Egypt: and to go still higher, the working of iron and brass is -recorded of Tubal-Cain before the flood. - -_Hen._ Which is the most important, manufactures or agriculture? - -_Fa._ Agriculture is the most _necessary_, because it is first of all -necessary that man should live; but almost all the enjoyments and -comforts of life are produced by manufactures. - -_Hen._ Why are we obliged to take so much pains to make ourselves -comfortable? - -_Fa._ To exercise our industry. Nature provides the materials for man. -She pours out at his feet a profusion of gems, metals, dies, plants, -ores, bark, stones, gums, wax, marbles, woods, roots, skins, earth, and -minerals of all kinds! She has likewise given him tools. - -_Hen._ I did not know that nature gave us tools. - -_Fa._ No! what are those two instruments you carry always about with -you, so strong and yet so flexible, so nicely jointed, and branched out -into five long, taper, unequal divisions, any of which may be contracted -or stretched out at pleasure; the extremities of which have a feeling so -wonderfully delicate, and which are strengthened and defended by horn? - -_Hen._ The hands? - -_Fa._ Yes. Man is as much superior to the brutes in his outward form, by -means of the hand, as he is in his mind by the gifts of reason. The -trunk of the elephant comes perhaps the nearest to it in its exquisite -feeling and flexibility, (it is, indeed, called his hand in Latin,) and -accordingly that animal has always been reckoned the wisest of brutes. -When Nature gave man the hand, she said to him. “Exercise your ingenuity -and work.” As soon as ever a man rises above the state of a savage, he -begins to contrive and to make things, in order to improve his forlorn -condition: thus you may remember Thomson represents Industry coming to -the poor shivering wretch, and teaching him the arts of life:— - - “Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, - Till by degrees the finished fabric rose; - Tore from his limbs the bloody-polluted fur, - And wrapped them in the woolly vestment warm, - Or bright in glossy silk and flowing lawn.” - -_Hen._ It must require a great deal of knowledge, I suppose, for so many -curious works; what kind of knowledge is most necessary? - -_Fa._ There is not any which may not be occasionally employed; but the -two sciences which most assist the manufacturer are _mechanics_ and -_chymistry_; the one for building mills, working mines, and in general -for constructing wheels, wedges, pulleys, &c., either to shorten the -labour of man, by performing it in less time, or to perform what the -strength of man alone could not accomplish; the other in fusing and -working ores, in dying and bleaching, and extracting the virtues of -various substances for particular uses; making of soap, for instance, is -a chymical operation; and by chymistry an ingenious gentleman has lately -found out a way of bleaching a piece of cloth in eight-and-forty hours, -which by the common process would have taken up a great many weeks. You -have heard of Sir Richard Arkwright, who died lately? - -_Hen._ Yes, I have heard he was at first only a barber, and shaved -people for a penny apiece. - -_Fa._ He did so; but having a strong turn for mechanics, he invented, or -at least perfected a machine, by which one pair of hands may do the work -of twenty or thirty; and, as in this country every one is free to rise -by merit, he acquired the largest fortune in the country, had a great -many hundreds of workmen under his orders, and had leave given him by -the king to put _Sir_ before his name. - -_Hen._ Did that do him any good? - -_Fa._ It pleased him, I suppose, or he would not have accepted of it; -and you will allow, I imagine, that if titles are used, it does honour -to those who bestow them, when they are given to such as have made -themselves noticed for something useful. Arkwright used to say, that if -he had time to perfect his inventions, he would put a fleece of wool -into a box, and it should come out broadcloth. - -_Hen._ What did he mean by that? Was there any fairy in the box to turn -it into broadcloth with her wand? - -_Fa._ He was assisted by the only fairies that ever had the power of -transformation—art and industry: he meant that he would contrive so many -machines, wheel within wheel, that the combing, carding, and various -other operations, should be performed by mechanism, almost without the -hand of man. - -_Hen._ I think, if I had not been told, I should never have been able to -guess that my coat came off the back of the sheep. - -_Fa._ You hardly would; but there are manufactures in which the material -is much more changed than in woollen cloth. What can be meaner in -appearance than sand and ashes? Would you imagine anything beautiful -could be made out of such a mixture? Yet the furnace transforms this -into that transparent crystal we call glass, than which nothing is more -sparkling, more brilliant, more full of lustre. It throws about the rays -of light as if it had life and motion. - -_Hen._ There is a glass shop in London which always puts me in mind of -Aladdin’s palace. - -_Fa._ It is certain that if a person, ignorant of the manufacture, were -to see one of our capital shops, he would think all the treasures of -Golconda were centred there, and that every drop of cut-glass was worth -a prince’s ransom. Again, who would suppose, on seeing the green stalks -of a plant, that it could be formed into a texture so smooth, so -snowy-white, so firm, and yet so flexible as to wrap round the limbs, -and adapt itself to every movement of the body? Who would guess this -fibrous stalk could be made to float in such light undulating folds as -in our lawns and cambrics; not less fine, we presume, than that -transparent drapery which the Romans called _ventus textilis_, _woven -wind_? - -_Hen._ I wonder how anybody can spin such fine thread! - -_Fa._ Their fingers must have the touch of a spider, that, as Pope says, - - “Feels at each thread, and lives along the line;” - -and, indeed, you recollect that Arachne was a spinster. Lace is a still -finer production from flax, and is one of those in which the original -material is most improved. How many times the price of a pound of flax -do you think that flax will be worth when made into lace? - -_Hen._ A great many times, I suppose. - -_Fa._ Flax at the best hand is bought at fourteen pence a pound. They -make lace at Valenciennes, in French Flanders, of ten guineas a yard—I -believe, indeed, higher—but we will say ten guineas; this yard of lace -will weigh probably more than half an ounce: what is the value of half -an ounce of flax? - -_Hen._ It comes to one farthing and three quarters of a farthing. - -_Fa._ Right: now tell me how many times the original value the lace is -worth. - -_Hen._ Prodigious! it is worth 5760 times as much as the flax it is made -of! - -_Fa._ Yet there is another material that is still more improveable than -flax. - -_Hen._ What can that be? - -_Fa._ Iron. The price of pig-iron is ten shillings a hundred weight; -this is not quite one farthing for two ounces: now you have seen some of -the beautiful cut-steel that looks like diamonds? - -_Hen._ Yes, I have seen buckles, and pins, and watchchains. - -_Fa._ Then you can form an idea of it: but you have only seen the most -common sorts. There was a chain made at Woodstock, in Oxford shire, and -sent to France, which weighed only two ounces, and cost 170_l._ -Calculate how many times that had increased its value. - -_Hen._ Amazing! it was worth 163,600 times the value of the iron it was -made of! - -_Fa._ That is what manufacture can do: here man is a kind of creator -and, like the great Creator, he may please himself with his work, and -say it is good. In the last-mentioned manufacture, too, that of steel, -the English have the honour of excelling all the world. - -_Hen._ What are the chief manufactures of England? - -_Fa._ We have at present a greater variety than I can pretend to -enumerate, but our staple manufacture is woollen cloth. England abounds -in fine pastures and extensive downs, which feed great numbers of sheep: -hence our wool has always been a valuable article of trade; but we did -not always know how to work it. We used to sell it to the Flemish or -Lombards, who wrought it into cloth; till, in the year 1326, Edward the -Third invited some Flemish weavers over to teach us the art; but there -was not much made in England till the reign of Henry the Seventh. -Manchester and Birmingham are towns which have arisen to great -consequence from small beginnings, almost within the memory of old men -now living; the first for cotton and muslin goods, the second for -cutlery and hardware, in which we at this moment excel all Europe. Of -late years, too, carpets, beautiful as fine tapestry, have been -fabricated in this country. Our clocks and watches are greatly esteemed. -The earthenware plates and dishes, which we all use in common, and the -elegant set for the tea-table, ornamented with musical instruments, -which we admired in our visit yesterday, belong to a very extensive -manufactory, the seat of which is at Burslem, in Staffordshire. The -principal potteries there belong to one person, an excellent chymist, -and a man of great taste; he, in conjunction with another man of taste, -who is since dead, has made our clay more valuable than the finest -porcelain of China. He has moulded it into all the forms of grace and -beauty that are to be met with in the precious remains of the Greek and -Etruscan artists. In the more common articles he has pencilled it with -the most elegant designs, shaped it into shells and leaves, twisted it -into wickerwork, and trailed the ductile foliage round the light basket. -He has filled our cabinets and chimney-pieces with urns, lamps, and -vases, on which are lightly traced, with the purest simplicity, the fine -forms and floating draperies of Herculaneum. In short, he has given to -our houses a classic air, and has made every saloon and every -dining-room schools of taste. I should add that there is a great demand -abroad for this elegant manufacture. The emperess of Russia has some -magnificent services of it; and the other day one was sent to the king -of Spain, intended as a present from him to the archbishop of Toledo, -which cost a thousand pounds. Some morning you shall go through the -rooms in the London warehouse. - -_Hen._ I should like very much to see manufactures, now you have told me -some curious things about them. - -_Fa._ You will do well! There is much more entertainment to a cultivated -mind in seeing a pin made, than in many a fashionable diversion which -young people half ruin themselves to attend. In the meantime I will give -you some account of one of the most elegant of them, which is _paper_. - -_Hen._ Pray do, my dear father. - -_Fa._ It shall be left for another evening, however, for it is now late. -Good-night. - -[Illustration: - - The Two Robbers, p. 148. - - EVENING XII. -] - - - - - A LESSON IN THE ART OF DISTINGUISHING. - - -_Father._ Come hither, Charles; what is that you see grazing in the -meadow before you? - -_Charles._ It is a horse. - -_Fa._ Whose horse is it? - -_Ch._ I do not know; I never saw it before. - -_Fa._ How do you know it is a horse, if you never saw it before? - -_Ch._ Because it is like other horses. - -_Fa._ Are all horses alike, then? - -_Ch._ Yes. - -_Fa._ If they are alike, how do you know one horse from another? - -_Ch._ They are not quite alike. - -_Fa._ But they are so much alike, that you can easily distinguish a -horse from a cow? - -_Ch._ Yes, indeed. - -_Fa._ Or from a cabbage? - -_Ch._ A horse from a cabbage? yes, surely I can. - -_Fa._ Very well; then let us see if you can tell how a horse differs -from a cabbage? - -_Ch._ Very easily; a horse is alive? - -_Fa._ True; and how is every thing called which is alive? - -_Ch._ I believe all things that are alive are called _animals_. - -_Fa._ Right; but can you tell me what a horse and a cabbage are alike -in? - -_Ch._ Nothing, I believe. - -_Fa._ Yes, there is one thing in which the slenderest moss that grows -upon the wall is like the greatest man or the highest angel. - -_Ch._ Because God made them. - -_Fa._ Yes: and how do you call everything that is made? - -_Ch._ A creature. - -_Fa._ A horse, then, is a creature, but also a living creature; that is -to say, an animal. - -_Ch._ And a cabbage is a dead creature: that is the difference. - -_Fa._ Not so, neither; nothing is dead that has never been alive. - -_Ch._ What must I call it, then, if it is neither dead nor alive? - -_Fa._ An inanimate creature; there is the animate and inanimate -creation. Plants, stones, metals, are of the latter class; horses belong -to the former. - -_Ch._ But the gardener told me some of my cabbages were _dead_, and some -were _alive_. - -_Fa._ Very true. Plants have a _vegetative_ life, a principle of growth -and decay; this is common to them with all organized bodies; but they -have not sensation, at least we do not know they have—they have not -life, therefore in the sense in which animals enjoy it. - -_Ch._ A horse is called an animal, then? - -_Fa._ Yes; but a salmon is an animal; and so is a sparrow; how will you -distinguish a horse from these? - -_Ch._ A salmon lives in the water, and swims; a sparrow flies and lives -in the air. - -_Fa._ I think a salmon could not walk on the ground, even if it could -live out of the water. - -_Ch._ No, indeed, it has no legs. - -_Fa._ And a bird cannot gallop like a horse. - -_Ch._ No; It hops upon its two slender legs. - -_Fa._ How many legs has a horse? - -_Ch._ Four. - -_Fa._ And an ox? - -_Ch._ Four likewise. - -_Fa._ And a camel? - -_Ch._ Four still. - -_Fa._ Do you know any animals which live upon the earth that have not -four legs? - -_Ch._ I think not; they have all four legs, except worms and insects, -and such things. - -_Fa._ You remember, I suppose, what an animal is called that has four -legs; you have it in your little books? - -_Ch._ A quadruped. - -_Fa._ A horse then, is a _quadruped_: by this we distinguish him from -birds, fishes, and insects. - -_Ch._ And from men. - -_Fa._ True; but if you had been talking about birds, you would not have -found it so easy to distinguish them. - -_Ch._ How so? a man is not at all like a bird. - -_Fa._ Yet an ancient philosopher could find no way to distinguish them, -but by calling man a _two-legged animal without feathers_. - -_Ch._ I think he was very silly; they are not at all alike, though they -have both two legs. - -_Fa._ Another ancient philosopher, called Diogenes, was of your opinion. -He stripped a cock of his feathers, and turned him into the school where -Plato, that was his name, was teaching, and said, “Here is Plato’s man -for you!” - -_Ch._ I wish I had been there, I should have laughed very much. - -_Fa._ Probably. Before we laugh at others, however, let us see what we -can do ourselves. We have not yet found anything which will distinguish -a horse from an elephant, or from a Norway rat. - -_Ch._ Oh, that is easy enough! An elephant is very large, and a rat is -very small; a horse is neither large nor small. - -_Fa._ Before we go any farther look what is settled on the skirt of your -coat. - -_Ch._ It is a butterfly: what a prodigiously large one! I never saw such -a one before. - -_Fa._ Is it larger than a rat, think you? - -_Ch._ No, that it is not. - -_Fa._ Yet you called the butterfly large, and you called the rat small. - -_Ch._ It is very large for a butterfly. - -_Fa._ It is so. You see, therefore, that large and small are _relative -terms_. - -_Ch._ I do not well understand that phrase. - -_Fa._ It means that they have no precise and determinate signification -in themselves, but are applied differently according to the other ideas -which you join with them, and the different positions in which you view -them. This butterfly, therefore, is _large_, compared with those of its -own species, and _small_ compared with many other species of animals. -Besides, there is no circumstance which varies more than the size of -individuals. If you were to give an idea of a horse from its size, you -would certainly say it was much bigger than a dog; yet if you take the -smallest Shetland horse, and the largest Irish greyhound, you will find -them very much upon a par; size, therefore, is not a circumstance by -which you can accurately distinguish one animal from another; nor yet is -colour. - -_Ch._ No; there are black horses, and bay, and white, and pied. - -_Fa._ But you have not seen that variety of colours in a hare for -instance. - -_Ch._ No, a hare is always brown. - -_Fa._ Yet if you were to depend upon that circumstance, you would not -convey the idea of a hare to a mountaineer, or an inhabitant of Siberia; -for he sees them white as snow. We must, therefore find out some -circumstances that do not change like size and colour, and I may add -shape, though they are not so obvious, nor perhaps so striking. Look at -the feet of quadrupeds; are they all alike? - -_Ch._ No: some have long taper claws, and some have thick clumsy feet -without claws. - -_Fa._ The thick feet are horny: are they not? - -_Ch._ Yes, I recollect they are called hoofs. - -_Fa._ And the feet that are not covered with horn and are divided into -claws, are called _digitated_, from _digitus_, a finger; because they -are parted like fingers. Here, then, we have one grand division of -quadrupeds into _hoofed_ and _digitated_. Of which division is the -horse? - -_Ch._ He is hoofed. - -_Fa._ There are a great many different kinds of horses; did you ever -know one that was not hoofed? - -_Ch._ No, never. - -_Fa._ Do you think we run any hazard of a stranger telling us, “Sir, -horses are hoofed indeed in your country; but in mine, which is in a -different climate, and where we feed them differently, they have claws?” - -_Ch._ No, I dare say not. - -_Fa._ Then we have got something to our purpose; a circumstance easily -marked, which always belongs to the animal, under every variation of -situation or treatment. But an ox is hoofed, and so is a sheep; we must -distinguish still farther. You have often stood by, I suppose, while the -smith was shoeing a horse. What kind of a hoof has he? - -_Ch._ It is round and all in one piece. - -_Fa._ And is that of an ox so? - -_Ch._ No, it is divided. - -_Fa._ A horse, then, is not only hoofed but _whole-hoofed_. Now how many -quadrupeds do you think there are in the world that are whole-hoofed? - -_Ch._ Indeed I do not know. - -_Fa._ There are, among all animals that we are acquainted with, either -in this country or in any other, only the horse, the ass, and the zebra, -which is a species of the wild ass. Now, therefore, you see we have -nearly accomplished our purpose; we have only to distinguish him from -the ass. - -_Ch._ That is easily done, I believe; I should be sorry if any body -could mistake my little horse for an ass. - -_Fa._ It is not so easy, however, as you imagine; the eye readily -distinguishes them by the air and general appearance, but naturalists -have been rather puzzled to fix upon any specific difference, which may -serve the purpose of a definition. Some have, therefore, fixed upon the -ears, others on the mane and tail. What kind of ears has an ass? - -_Ch._ Oh, very long clumsy ears! Asses’ ears are always laughed at. - -_Fa._ And the horse? - -_Ch._ The horse has small ears, nicely turned and upright. - -_Fa._ And the mane, is there no difference there? - -_Ch._ The horse has a fine long flowing mane; the ass has hardly any. - -_Fa._ And the tail: is it not fuller of hair in the horse than in the -ass? - -_Ch._ Yes; the ass has only a few long hairs at the end of the tail; but -the horse has a long bushy tail when it is not cut. - -_Fa._ Which, by the way, it is a pity it ever should. Now, then, observe -what particulars we have got. _A horse is an animal of the quadruped -kind, whole-hoofed, with short erect ears, a flowing mane, and a tail -covered in every part with long hairs._ Now is there any other animal, -think you, in the world, that answers these particulars? - -_Ch._ I do not know; this does not tell us a great deal about him. - -_Fa._ And yet it tells us enough to distinguish him from all the -different tribes of the creation which we are acquainted with in any -part of the earth. Do you know now what we have been making? - -_Ch._ What? - -_Fa._ A DEFINITION. It is the business of a definition to distinguish -precisely the thing defined from any other thing, and to do it in as few -terms as possible. Its object is to separate the subject of definition, -first from those with which it has only a general resemblance, then, -from those which agree with it in a greater variety of particulars; and -so on till by constantly throwing out all which have not the qualities -we have taken notice of, we come at length to the individual or the -species we wish to ascertain. It is a kind of chase, and resembles the -manner of hunting in some countries, where they first enclose a large -circle with their dogs, nets, and horses; and then, by degrees, draw -their toils closer and closer, driving their game before them till it is -at length brought into so narrow a compass that the sportsmen have -nothing to do but to knock down their prey. - -_Ch._ Just as we have been hunting this horse, till at last we held him -fast by his ears and tail. - -_Fa._ I should observe to you, that in the definition naturalists give -of a horse it is generally mentioned that he has six cutting teeth in -each jaw; because this circumstance of the teeth has been found a very -convenient one for characterizing large classes: but as it is not -absolutely necessary here, I have omitted it; a definition being the -most perfect the fewer particulars you make use of, provided you can say -with certainty from those particulars the object so characterized must -be this and no other whatever. - -_Ch._ But, papa, if I had never seen a horse, I should not know what -kind of animal it was by this definition. - -_Fa._ Let us hear, then, how you would give me an idea of a horse. - -_Ch._ I would say it was a fine large prancing creature with slender -legs and an arched neck, and a sleek, smooth skin, and a tail that -sweeps the ground, and that he snorts and neighs very loud, and tosses -his head, and runs as swift as the wind. - -_Fa._ I think you learned some verses upon the horse in your last -lesson? Repeat them. - -_Ch._ - - The wanton courser thus with reins unbound - Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground; - Pamper’d and proud, he seeks the wonted tides, - And laves, in height of blood, his shining sides - His head, now freed, he tosses to the skies; - His mane dishevell’d o’er his shoulders flies; - He snuffs the females in the distant plain, - And springs, exulting, to his fields again.—POPE’S _Homer_. - -_Fa._ You have said very well; but this is not a _definition_, it is a -_description_. - -_Ch._ What is the difference? - -_Fa._ A description is intended to give you a lively picture of an -object, as if you saw it; it ought to be very full. A definition gives -no picture to those who have not seen it: it rather tells you what its -subject is not, than what it is, by giving you such clear specific -marks, that it shall not be possible to confound it with anything else; -and hence it is of the greatest use in throwing things into classes. We -have a great many beautiful descriptions from ancient authors so loosely -worded that we cannot certainly tell what animals are meant by them: -whereas, if they had given us definitions, three lines would have -ascertained their meaning. - -_Ch._ I like a description best, papa. - -_Fa._ Perhaps so; I believe I should have done the same at your age. -Remember, however, that nothing is more useful than to learn to form -ideas with precision, and to express them with accuracy; I have not -given you a definition to teach you what a horse is, but to teach you to -_think_. - - - - - THE PHENIX AND DOVE. - - -A Phenix, who had long inhabited the solitary deserts of Arabia, once -flew so near the habitations of men as to meet with a tame dove, who was -sitting on her nest, with wings expanded, and fondly brooding over her -young ones, while she expected her mate, who was foraging abroad to -procure them food. The phenix, with a kind of insulting compassion, said -to her, “Poor bird, how much I pity thee! confined to a single spot, and -sunk in domestic cares, thou art continually employed either in laying -eggs or providing for thy brood; and thou exhausteth thy life and -strength in perpetuating a feeble and defenceless race. As to myself, I -live exempt from toil, care, and misfortune. I feed upon nothing less -precious than rich gums and spices. I fly through the trackless regions -of the air, and when I am seen by men, am gazed at with curiosity and -astonishment! I have no one to control my range, no one to provide for; -and when I have fulfilled my five centuries of life, and seen the -revolution of ages, I rather vanish than die, and a successor, without -my care, springs up from my ashes. I am an image of the great sun whom I -adore; and glory in being like him, single and alone, and having no -likeness.” - -The dove replied, “O, phenix, I pity thee much more than thou affectest -to pity me! What pleasure canst thou enjoy, who livest forlorn and -solitary in a trackless and unpeopled desert? who hast no mate to caress -thee, no young ones to excite thy tenderness and reward thy cares, no -kindred, no society among thy fellows? Not long life only, but -immortality itself would be a curse, if it were to be bestowed on such -uncomfortable terms. For my part, I know that my life will be short, and -therefore I employ it in raising a numerous posterity, and in opening my -heart to all the sweets of domestic happiness. I am beloved by my -partner; I am dear to man; and shall leave marks behind me that I have -lived. As to the sun, to whom thou hast presumed to compare thyself, -that glorious being is so totally different from, and so infinitely -superior to, all the creatures upon earth, that it does not become us to -liken ourselves to him, or to determine upon the manner of his -existence. One obvious difference, however, thou mayest remark; that the -sun, though alone, by his prolific heat produces all things, and though -he shines so high above our heads, gives us reason every moment to bless -his beams; whereas thou, swelling with imaginary greatness, dreamest -away a long period of existence, equally void of comfort and of -usefulness.” - - - - - THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER. - - -_Father._ I will now, as I promised, give you an account of the elegant -and useful manufacture of _paper_, the basis of which is itself a -manufacture. This delicate and beautiful substance is made from the -meanest and most disgusting materials, from old rags, which have passed -from one poor person to another, and have perhaps at length dropped in -tatters from the child of the beggar. These are carefully picked up from -dunghills, or bought from servants by Jews, who make it their business -to go about and collect them. They sell them to the rag-merchant, who -gives them from two pence to four pence a pound, according to their -quality; and he, when he has got a sufficient quantity, disposes of them -to the owner of the papermill. He gives them first to women to sort and -pick, agreeably to their different degrees of fineness; they also with a -knife cut out carefully all the seams, which they throw into a basket -for other purposes; they then put them into the dusting-engine, a large -circular wire sieve, where they receive some degree of cleansing. The -rags are then conveyed to the mill. Here they were formerly beat to -pieces with vast hammers, which rose and fell continually with a most -tremendous noise, that was heard at a great distance. But now they put -the rags into a large trough or cistern, into which a pipe of clear -spring water is constantly flowing. In this cistern is placed a -cylinder, about two feet long, set thick round with rows of iron spikes, -standing as near as they can to one another without touching. At the -bottom of the trough there are corresponding rows of spikes. The -cylinder is made to whirl round with inconceivable rapidity, and with -these iron teeth rends and tears the cloth in every possible direction; -till, by the assistance of the water, which continually flows through -the cistern, it is thoroughly masticated, and reduced to a fine pulp; -and by the same process all its impurities are cleansed away, and it is -restored to its original whiteness. This process takes about six hours. -To improve the colour they then put in a little smalt, which gives it a -bluish cast, which all paper has more or less: the French paper has less -of it than ours. This fine pulp is next put into a copper of warm water. -It is the substance of paper, but the form must now be given it: for -this purpose they use a mould. It is made of wire, strong one way, and -crossed with finer. This mould they just dip horizontally into the -copper and take it out again. It has a little wooden frame on the edge, -by means of which it retains as much of the pulp as is wanted for the -thickness of the sheet, and the water runs off through the interstices -of the wires. Another man instantly receives it, opens the frame, and -turns out the thin sheet, which has now shape, but not consistence, upon -soft felt, which is placed on the ground to receive it. On that is -placed another piece of felt, and then another sheet of paper, and so -on, till they have made a pile of forty or fifty. They are then pressed -with a large screw-press, moved by a long lever, which forcibly squeezes -the water out of them, and gives them immediate consistence. There is -still, however, a great deal to be done. The felts are taken off, and -thrown on one side, and the paper on the other, whence it is dexterously -taken up with an instrument in the form of a T, three sheets at a time, -and hung on lines to dry. There it hangs for a week or ten days, which -likewise further whitens it; and any knots and roughness it may have are -picked off carefully by the women. It is then sized. Size is a kind of -glue; and without this preparation the paper would not bear ink; it -would run and blot as you see it does on gray paper. The sheets are just -dipped into the size and taken out again. The exact degree of sizing is -a matter of nicety, which can only be known by experience. They are then -hung up again to dry, and when dry, taken to the finishing-room, where -they are examined anew, pressed in the dry-presses, which give them -their last gloss and smoothness; counted up into quires, made up into -reams, and sent to the stationer’s, from whom we have it, after he has -folded it again and cut the edges; some too he makes to shine like -satin, by hot-pressing it, or glossing it with hot plates. The whole -process of papermaking takes about three weeks. - -_Har._ It is a very curious process indeed. I shall almost scruple for -the future to blacken a sheet of paper with a careless scrawl, now I -know how much pains it costs to make it so white and beautiful. - -_Fa._ It is true that there is hardly anything we use with so much waste -and profusion as this manufacture: we should think ourselves confined in -the use of it, if we might not tear, disperse, and destroy it in a -thousand ways; so that it is really astonishing whence linen enough can -be procured to answer so vast a demand. As to the coarse brown papers, -of which an astonishing quantity is used by every shopkeeper in -packages, &c., these are made chiefly of oakum, that is, old hempen -ropes. A fine paper is made in China of silk. - -_Har._ I have heard lately of woven paper; pray, what is that? they -cannot weave paper, surely! - -_Fa._ Your question is very natural. In order to answer it, I must -desire you to take a sheet of common paper, and hold it up against the -light. Do not you see marks in it? - -_Har._ I see a great many white lines running along lengthwise, like -ribs, and smaller that cross them. I see, too, letters and the figure of -a crown. - -_Fa._ These are all the marks of the wires; the thickness of the wire -prevents so much of the pulp lying upon the sheet in those places, -consequently wherever the wires are the paper is thinner, and you see -the light through more readily, which gives that appearance of white -lines. The letters, too, are worked in the wire, and are the maker’s -name. Now, to prevent these lines, which take off from the beauty of the -paper, particularly of drawing-paper, there have been lately used moulds -of brass wire, exceeding fine, of equal thickness, and woven or latticed -one within another: the marks therefore of these are easily pressed out, -so as to be hardly visible; if you look at this sheet you will see it is -quite smooth. - -_Har._ It is so. - -_Fa._ I should mention to you, that there is a discovery very lately -made, by which they can make paper equal to any in whiteness, of the -coarsest brown rags, and even of died cotton; which they have till now -been obliged to throw by for inferior purposes. - -_Har._ That is like what you told me before of bleaching cloth in a few -hours. - -_Fa._ It is indeed founded upon the same discovery. The paper made of -these brown rags is likewise more valuable, from being very tough and -strong, almost like parchment. - -_Har._ When was the making of paper found out? - -_Fa._ It is a disputed point, but probably in the fourteenth century. -The invention has been of almost equal consequence to literature with -that of printing itself; and shows how the arts and sciences, like -children of the same family, mutually assist and bring forward each -other. - - - - - THE TWO ROBBERS. - - - Scene—_Alexander the Great in his tent. Guards. A man with a fierce - countenance, chained and fettered, brought before him._ - -_Alex._ What, art thou the Thracian robber of whose exploits I have -heard so much? - -_Rob._ I am a Thracian and a soldier. - -_A._ A soldier!—a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the -country! could honour thy courage, but I must detest and punish thy -crimes. - -_R._ What have I done, of which _you_ can complain? - -_A._ Hast thou not set at defiance my authority, violated the public -peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and properties of thy -fellow-subjects? - -_R._ Alexander, I am your captive—I must hear what you please to say, -and endure what you please to inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and -if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. - -_A._ Speak freely. Far be it from me to take the advantage of my power -to silence those with whom I deign to converse! - -_R._ I must then answer your question by another. How have _you_ passed -your life? - -_A._ Like a hero. Ask Fame and she will tell you. Among the brave, I -have been the bravest; among sovereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, -the mightiest. - -_R._ And does not fame speak of me, too? Was there ever a bolder captain -of a more valiant band? Was there ever—but I scorn to boast. You -yourself know that I have not been easily subdued. - -_A._ Still, what are you but a robber—a base dishonest robber? - -_R._ And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth -like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and -industry;—plundering, ravaging, killing without law, without justice, -merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion? All that I have done -to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole -nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you -have ruined kings and princes. If I have burnt a few hamlets, you have -desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is -then the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private -man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? - -_A._ But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I -have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, -commerce, and philosophy. - -_R._ I, too, have freely given to the poor what I took from the rich. I -have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of -mankind; and have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I -know, indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of; but I believe -neither you nor I shall ever repay to the world the mischiefs we have -done it. - -_A._ Leave me—take off his chains, and use him well. (_Exit robber._) -Are we then so much alike?—Alexander to a robber?—Let me reflect. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XIII. -] - - - - - THE COUNCIL OF QUADRUPEDS. - - -Among the large branches of an aged oak, which grew in the midst of a -thick wood, lived once upon a time a wildcat. In that tree she was born -and brought up, and had nursed many litters of kittens; her mother and -her grandmother, had lived there before her; indeed, I believe that, as -long as the oak had been an oak, this family of wildcats had made it -their home. - -One day, as she was couching among some bushes near the foot of her -tree, watching her opportunity to spring upon any poor little bird who -might happen to alight within her reach, she heard a great rustling in -the thicket, and presently two men pushed their way through, and stood -before her. This part of the forest was so tangled and wild, and so far -from any human habitation, that it was a rare thing to see men there, -and the cat wondered very much why they came; so she lay quite still in -her hiding-place, watching them and listening to hear what they should -say. She soon discovered that they were woodcutters, for each was armed -with an axe, which he carried upon his shoulder. - -Presently one said to his fellow, “Is it all to be cut down?”—“All the -whole forest,” answered the other, “and the ground is to be ploughed up -and sown with corn, but the largest trees are to be felled first.”—“If -that be the case,” said the first, “we cannot begin better than with -this noble oak before us, and I will put a mark on it that we may know -it again.” So saying, he pulled out a piece of chalk, and made a large -white cross on the bark of the poor cat’s own tree. “Next week,” added -he, “we will lay the axe to the root.” And he walked on, whistling with -great unconcern. - -The unfortunate cat lay a long time on the ground, half dead with grief -and terror, and unable to move a limb. At length, after uttering several -cries so loud and shrill that the whole forest seemed to ring again, she -started up, and ran like one distracted to spread the dismal news among -her neighbours of the wood. The first creature that she met was the -stag: he had just started up from his lair, amid the thickest cover, and -stood listening, ready to bound away on the first appearance of danger. -“Was it you, neighbour puss,” cried he, “who set up that frightful yell -which I heard? I almost thought the hounds and hunters were upon me;—but -what is the matter?”—“Matter enough,” answered the cat; “worse than -either hounds or hunters; the forest is to be cut down.” And she told -him her sad story. “The forest cut down!” brayed out the poor stag, -while the tears ran in large drops down his hairy face; “and what is to -become of me and you, and all our neighbours? Man has always been my -enemy, but this is a stroke of cruelty which I did not expect even from -him. Is there no help, no remedy?”—“I will fight for my tree,” cried the -cat, “as long as teeth and claws hold good: and you with your great -horns may surely defend your own thicket; but this _man_ is a terrible -creature, and he has so many crafty tricks, that I know nobody, except -the fox, who is at all a match for him; suppose we run and ask his -advice.” “With all my heart,” said the stag; and they marched away -together in search of him. - -The fox had his abode near the skirts of the forest, in the middle of a -dry bank, thickly covered with bushes and brambles. His hole was -burrowed deep into the earth, and cunningly contrived with several -openings on different sides, by which he might make his escape in case -of danger. The cat put her head in at one of the entrances, and called -to him to come out; but it was not till he had carefully peeped about, -and thoroughly satisfied himself that all was safe, that cunning Reynard -ventured to trust himself abroad. - -In great distress the stag related the cause of their coming. “I have -heard something of this matter before,” replied the fox; “but you are -too condescending to come and ask the advice of a simple creature like -myself, who never yet knew what policy or artifice meant, and—.” Here -the cat and the stag eagerly interrupted him, and with one voice began -to compliment him on the sagacity and wisdom for which all the world -gave him credit, declaring that their whole hope and consolation rested -on his counsels. “Well,” returned the fox, “since you will have it so, -though I blush to utter my poor thoughts before beasts so much my -superiors, I will venture with all humility to suggest, that a general -meeting be immediately summoned of all the animals of the forest, in -order that we may take our measures in concert, and after hearing the -opinions of all.” - -“An excellent proposal!” cried the stag. “An excellent proposal!” echoed -the cat; “but who shall we send to call them all together?”—“I would go -to them myself,” replied the fox, “but it is possible that some of the -smaller animals might doubt the innocence of my intentions, and refuse -to come; for I have been a much calumniated creature. The same thing -might happen with you, neighbour Puss; the squirrel and the mouse -especially....” “True,” cried the cat, “they would, perhaps, be taking -some idle notions into their heads....” “And as to my lord the stag,” -rejoined Reynard, “he is a beast of far too exalted a rank for such an -office. Stay, there is my worthy friend the hedgehog, suppose we send -him; a little slow of foot, to be sure, and not wonderfully bright; but -a plain honest creature as any that lives, well spoken of throughout the -forest, and the enemy of no one, except indeed of the flies and the -beetles; but we do not call the insects to council, of course.”—“Of -course,” rejoined the cat; “but what shall we say to the -reptiles?”—“Why, as to my neighbour the viper,” returned the fox, “I own -I am inclined to think favourably of him, whatever some may whisper to -his disadvantage; his temper indeed may be none of the mildest, but he -knows how to make himself respected, and I think we must by no means -leave him out; and if he is admitted, in common civility his cousin the -snake must be invited also.”—“And what say you to the toad, the frog, -and the newt?” asked the stag. “Poor creatures,” said the fox with a -sneer, “your lordship is certainly very condescending to remember the -existence of beings so inferior. They sit in our council, truly! -However, I would by no means give offence, at a time like this, even to -the meanest—they may be permitted to hear the debate, provided they do -not presume to speak among their betters.” - -The fox now called in a somewhat imperious tone to the hedgehog to come -forth. At the sound of his voice, the little creature roused himself -with some difficulty from his morning’s nap, and hastily unrolling -himself and clearing his prickly coat from the grass and dead leaves -that stuck in it, and added not a little to his rude, slovenly -appearance, he crept out from his hole under the roots of a tree, and -inquired with much humility what Mr. Reynard wanted with him. The fox -explained in few words the alarming occurrence of the morning, and thus -proceeded to give the hedgehog his orders:— - -“You are to summon all our good neighbours to meet this evening, an hour -before sunset, under the great yew-tree that stands by itself near the -centre of the wood. Please to attend, and I will name them to you in -their order, that you may make no mistakes. First, you turn down into -yonder dingle, and there, just beyond the old poplar which is blown up -by the roots and lies across the way, look very sharp, and in a snug -sheltered nook you will spy a hole running down into the steep bank; at -the bottom of it you will find the badger. Beg him to come without fail; -excepting the present company there is no animal in the forest of -greater size and consequence, nor whom I respect more. A little lower -down, on the very brink of the stream, lives my cousin the polecat;—a -damp situation, I should think, but they say he sometimes amuses himself -with fishing. He is a sharp fellow; we must by all means have him at our -council. - -“The weasel comes next, and you will find him in a hollow tree not far -off. If the squirrel be not frolicking as usual among the boughs of the -large beech in which he has his nest, nuts are now ripe, and you must -look for him in the hazel-copse on the left. If I do not mistake, you -will also find the dormouse lodged under the roots of that large oak -hard by which is so full of acorns; and the woodmouse is his next-door -neighbour. - -“You must then turn off toward the edge of the forest, and search among -the fern-brakes till you find the hare; she sits close in her form all -day. Assure her that we are extremely desirous of her company; and if -she, or any other of our good neighbours, should make the smallest -scruple of meeting puss or myself, be sure to mention that my lord the -stag passes his word for their safety, both coming and returning. The -snake will probably be sunning himself on the grass a little lower down; -and in the dry part of the wood above, if you look narrowly, you will -spy the viper lurking among the dead leaves. And now you may be gone.” - -The hedgehog trudged off with his commission. - -In the evening every one of the animals made his appearance under the -yew-tree, except the little lazy dormouse, who had just opened his eyes -when the hedgehog delivered his message, then turned himself round, -fallen asleep again, and forgotten the whole matter. - -As undoubted lord of the forest, the stag took the upper place; puss -seated herself on his right, and Reynard on his left; the others placed -themselves in due order below. The stag opened the business of the day -by calling upon the cat to relate what she had that morning seen and -heard. Immediately, the afflicted creature yelled out her dismal tale, -ending with a long and melancholy mew which was echoed by every animal -present in his own note; the stag brayed, the fox howled, the polecat -and weasel cried, the badger and squirrel growled, the snake and viper -hissed, the hare screamed, and the mouse squeaked. When the din of these -discordant noises had a little subsided, “My friends,” said the stag, -“lamentations are in vain, let us now consider what is to be done; shall -we look on in tame submission to see our native wood levelled with the -earth, and ourselves turned out upon the wide world to seek for food and -shelter wherever we may find them, or shall we not rather all join to -defend it with such weapons as nature has given us? Let the cat speak -first.” - -“I am for open war,” cried puss; “these teeth and these talons were not -bestowed upon me for nothing;” (and as she spoke she unsheathed a set of -claws at sight of which the mouse and the squirrel trembled all over.) -“The first man who attacks my tree shall feel them in his eyes; I will -defend my native home as long as I have breath in my body. Who is of the -same mind?” - -“Reynard, let us hear your opinion,” said the stag. “I beg to speak -last,” said the crafty fox; “perhaps I have not yet made up my opinion.” - -“For my part,” growled out the badger, thrusting forward his clumsy -person as he spoke, “I am not so cunning as some folks; I speak my mind -and care for nobody; and I have only this to say—that I never attack -first, but I have strong teeth and a tough hide; and if anybody attempts -to turn me out of my den, whether man, dog, or any other beast, I shall -try to make him repent it.” - -It was observed that the badger, as he spoke, threw a sullen look at the -fox, which plainly showed that he had not forgotten the knavish trick by -which Reynard had once contrived to turn him out of a hole which he had -dug with the labours of his own claws, and to keep possession of it for -himself. - -The viper now glided forward in easy curves, and coiling himself up, and -darting out his forked tongue in a threatening attitude, “Man,” said he, -“is my enemy, and I am his; let him set foot in my dominions if he -dares; I have a venom in my fangs which will soon teach him that my -anger is not to be despised.” - -“I,” murmured out the snake, “have no venom to boast; I am an innocent -and defenceless creature, and I own that so far from attempting to -resist the invader, I shall quickly retreat from his approach. Nature, -in her bounty, has endued me with the power of swimming; and when I can -no longer find a shelter beneath these quiet shades, I shall plunge into -the stream which bounds our domain, and seek a safer retreat among the -tall weeds which flourish on its farther shore.” - -“As for me,” feebly screamed out the hare, as she limped forth, staring -around her with a look of affright, “all the world must be aware how -weak and timid a creature I am. It has been said that I have many -friends, but I have never yet found a protector, and cruel and powerful -enemies lie in wait for my harmless life on every side. What will become -of me I know not, probably some evil end awaits me; but I shall use -these nimble legs, my only hope of safety, to bear me far away from the -dreadful sight of man.” - -The sprightly squirrel came forward with a bound. “I have teeth,” cried -he, “very able to crack a nut, and claws by which I can cling fast -enough to a bough, but how am I to contend against the mighty power of -man? He would twist off my poor little head before I could draw one drop -of blood from his finger. It is true that I can live only in trees, and -one might as well die fighting as pine away with misery and hunger; but -I have better things in view than either. From the summit of my beech, I -have often observed, at some distance on the farther side of the river, -a group of noble chestnuts growing in a park, which would supply me both -with food and lodging. I have also discovered a spot where two trees on -opposite sides of the stream stretch forth their arms, and nearly meet -above:—I have made up my mind to the adventure; one bold leap will bear -me safely, I hope, to the farther shore, and the new and beautiful -country that lies beyond it.” - -“I believe,” squeaked a small shrill voice which was found to proceed -from the mouse, “that my services would be of small importance in a war -against mankind; and I do not offer them. To say the truth, I find -myself, on second thoughts, not greatly concerned in this affair. If I -lose my nuts and acorns by the fall of the trees, I shall get wheat, -barley, and oats, in exchange, which are not worse eating, and I can -lodge full as well in the middle of a corn-rick as under the roots of a -tree.—Every one for himself in this world.” - -“Our little friend is much in the right,” cried the weasel; “I really -believe that we shall find vastly comfortable lodging about barns and -farmhouses, and the very thought of a poultry-yard makes my mouth water: -for such an exchange I should not object to giving up my quarters in the -wood to-morrow.”—“Nor I, I protest,” exclaimed the polecat. “Hens’ eggs -are not bad things, and how delicious to fatten on the blood of turkeys, -geese, and chickens! A forest is not absolutely necessary to me; I can -hide myself well enough in a hedge, or under a ditch-bank.” - -“Reynard,” said the stag, “all have spoken now but you, and we are -impatient for your opinion.” - -The fox arose, cast his eyes on the ground with an air of great modesty, -and after pausing a few moments, as if to gain courage to speak, he thus -began, gracefully waving his long bushy tail as he spoke:—“While I -listened to the warlike eloquence of the cat, to the indignant harangue -of the viper, and to the resolute speech of my worthy friend, the -badger, I. like them, felt myself inspired with the valiant resolution -to die in defence of our native wood, and in open war with man. But when -I afterward began to consider the weakness of our lesser brethren, the -smallness of our numbers, and the wonderful power and resources of man, -I was induced to change my opinion. We cannot hope for victory, why -should we throw away our lives? The viper, in spite of his courage and -his venom, would be caught by the neck in a cleft stick, and put -ingloriously to death very likely before he had been able to inflict a -single bite. The badger is a favourite object of the cruelty of man; he -would set upon him his whole troop of dogs, hateful brutes, who are -always joined in league with him against their fellow beasts!—and though -my worthy friend would fight like a hero, and kill or maim several of -them, he would at length be torn in pieces. Of what avail would be the -teeth and claws of the cat against that thunder and lightning by which -man has the art of killing from afar? She would be brought down from her -highest bough pierced through the head or the heart, before she could -even see that enemy whose eyes she threatens to tear out with her -talons. Even you yourself, my lord stag, would assuredly fall by the -teeth of those detestable hounds after you had gored three or four of -the pack. I therefore propose more cautious measures. Not far off is a -wide unfrequented common, where the badger may dig himself a den and -remain at peace, and where the viper may glide undisturbed among the -heath and gorse. I have scarcely given a thought to the humble concerns -of my insignificant self; but perhaps I too may find some cover in that -neglected tract, which abounds also in wild rabbits. For you, my lord -stag, you have only to swim the stream to find yourself, like the -squirrel, in a noble park where man himself would be proud to become -your protector, and own you for the noblest ornament of his domain. And -why should not puss offer her services to hunt the mice and rats at some -snug farmhouse in the neighbourhood?” - -“I!” interrupted puss, setting up her back and swelling in sudden anger, -“I become a fawning menial in the dwellings of man, like those miserable -little foreigners who have sometimes appeared in my sight, and whom I am -ashamed to own for cats! No, I am a beast of prey, a free native of the -English woods, and such I will live and die. Man may hunt me down, he -may destroy my whole race, as he has already hunted down and destroyed -the bear and the wolf, animals much my superiors in size and in -strength; but I disdain to become his household servant, or to skulk, -like some of vermin breed, about his outhouses, and poultry-yards, -picking up a base living by theft and rapine. And you, Reynard, crafty -knave as you are, do you think I do not see through your tricks and your -pretences? You too, like the weasel and polecat, have an eye on the -poultry-yard and the sheepfold; you live by man though he hates you, and -endeavours to destroy you, and you care not what becomes of the lives or -liberty of nobler animals: but I will reach _your_ eyes at least, and -teach you what it is to provoke me.” So saying, she flew at him in a -fury: her first attack brought him to the ground, and he was almost -blinded before he could strike a blow in his own defence. The polecat -and weasel, thinking their turns would come next, slunk away; the hare -and the smaller animals followed their example; even the stag himself -was seized with a panic and fled. The badger alone stood and looked on -with great composure at the distress of Reynard. At length, the fox, -seeing puss almost out of breath, made a desperate effort and broke -loose from her clutches. With his usual cunning he ran toward the river, -well knowing that the cat would not wet her feet. He plunged into the -water before she could overtake him, and swimming with some difficulty -to the opposite side, threw himself on the bank half dead with pain and -fright. Puss returned to her tree disappointed and sullen; and thus -unprofitably ended the Council of Quadrupeds. - - - - - TIT FOR TAT.—A TALE. - - - A law there is of ancient fame, - By Nature’s self in every land implanted, - _Lex Talionis_ is its Latin name; - But if an English term we wanted, - Give your next neighbour but a pat, - He’ll give you back as good, and tell you—_tit for tat_. - - This _tit for tat_, it seems, not men alone, - But elephants, for legal justice own; - In proof of this a story I shall tell ye, - Imported from the famous town of Delhi. - - A mighty elephant that swell’d the state - Of Aurengzebe the Great, - One day was taken by his driver, - To drink and cool him in the river; - The driver on his neck was seated, - And, as he rode along, - By some acquaintance in the throng - With a ripe cocoa-nut was treated. - - A cocoa-nut’s a pretty fruit enough, - But guarded by a shell, both hard and tough. - The fellow tried, and tried, and tried, - Working and sweating, - Pishing and fretting, - To find out its inside, - And pick the kernel for his eating. - - At length quite out of patience grown, - “Who’ll reach me up,” he cries, “a stone - To break this plaguy shell? - But stay, I’ve here a solid bone - May do perhaps as well.” - So half in earnest, half in jest, - He bang’d it on the forehead of his beast. - - An elephant, they say has human feeling, - And full as well as we he knows - The difference between words and blows, - Between horse-play and civil dealing. - Use him but well, he’ll do his best, - And serve you faithfully and truly; - But insults unprovoked he can’t digest, - He studies o’er them, and repays them duly. - - “To make my head an anvil, (thought the creature,) - Was never, certainly, the will of Nature; - So, master mine! you may repent;” - Then, shaking his broad ears, away he went. - The driver took him to the water, - And thought no more about the matter: - But elephant within his memory hid it; - He _felt_ the wrong,—the other only _did_ it. - - A week or two elapsed, one market-day - Again the beast and driver took their way; - Through rows of shops and booths they pass’d - With eatables and trinkets stored, - Till to a gard’ner’s stall they came at last, - Where cocoa-nuts lay piled upon the board,— - “Ha!” thought the elephant, “’tis now my turn - To show this method of nut-breaking: - My friend above will like to learn, - Though at the cost of a head-aching.” - - Then in his curling trunk he took a heap, - And waved it o’er his neck a sudden sweep, - And on the hapless driver’s sconce - He laid a blow so hard and full, - That crack’d the nuts at once, - But with them crack’d his scull. - - Young folks whene’er you feel inclined - To rompish sports and freedoms roughs, - Bear _tit for tat_ in mind, - Nor give an elephant a cuff, - To be repaid in kind. - - - - - ON WINE AND SPIRITS. - - -George and Harry, accompanied by their tutor, went one day to pay a -visit to a neighbouring gentleman, their father’s friend. They were very -kindly received, and shown all about the gardens and pleasure-grounds; -but nothing took their fancy so much as an extensive grapery, hung round -with bunches of various kinds fully ripe, and almost too big for the -vines to support. They were liberally treated with the fruit, and -carried away some bunches to eat as they walked. During their return, as -they were picking their grapes, George said to the tutor, “A thought is -just come into my head, sir. Wine, you know is called the juice of the -grape; but wine is hot, and intoxicates people that drink much of it. -Now we have had a good deal of grape-juice this morning, and yet I do -not feel heated, nor does it seem at all to have got into our heads. -What is the reason of this?” - -_Tut._ The reason is, that grape-juice is not wine, though wine is made -from it. - -_Geo._ Pray how is it made, then? - -_Tut._ I will tell you; for it is a matter worth knowing. The juice -pressed from the grapes, called _must_, is at first a sweet watery -liquor, with a little tartness, but with no strength or spirit. After it -has stood awhile, it begins to grow thick and muddy, it moves up and -down, and throws scum and bubbles of air to the surface. This is called -_working_ or _fermenting_. It continues in this state for some time, -more or less, according to the quantity of the juice and the temperature -of the weather, and then gradually settles again, becoming clearer than -at first. It has now lost its sweet flat taste, and acquired a briskness -and pungency, with a heating and intoxicating property; that is, it has -become _wine_. This natural process is called the _vinous fermentation_, -and many liquors besides grape-juice are capable of undergoing it. - -_Geo._ I have heard of the working of beer and ale. Is that of the same -kind? - -_Tut._ It is: and beer and ale may properly be called barley-wine; for -you know they are clear, brisk, and intoxicating. In the same manner, -cider is apple-wine, and mead is honey-wine; and you have heard of -raisin-wine and currant-wine, and a great many others. - -_Har._ Yes, there is elder-wine, and cowslip-wine and orange-wine. - -_Geo._ Will everything of that sort make wine? - -_Tut._ All vegetable juices that are sweet are capable of fermenting, -and of producing a liquor of a vinous nature; but if they have little -sweetness, the liquor is proportionally weak and poor, and is apt to -become sour or vapid. - -_Har._ But barley is not sweet. - -_Tut._ Barley as it comes from the ear is not; but before it is used for -brewing, it is made into _malt_, and then it is sensibly sweet. You know -what malt is? - -_Har._ I have seen heaps of it in the malt-house, but I do not know how -it is made. - -_Tut._ Barley is made malt by putting it in heaps and wetting it, when -it becomes hot, and swells, and would sprout out just as if it were -sown, unless it were then dried in a kiln. By this operation it acquires -a sweet taste. You have drunk sweet-wort? - -_Har._ Yes. - -_Tut._ Well, this is made by steeping malt in hot water. The water -extracts and dissolves all the sweet or sugary part of the malt. It then -becomes like a naturally sweet juice. - -_Geo._ Would not sugar and water then make wine? - -_Tut._ It would; and the wines made in England of our common fruits and -flowers have all a good deal of sugar in them. Cowslip flowers, for -example, give little more than the flavour to the wine named from them, -and it is the sugar added to them which properly makes the wine. - -_Geo._ But none of these wines are so good as grape-wine? - -_Tut._ No. The grape, from the richness and abundance of its juice, is -the fruit universally preferred for making wine, where it comes to -perfection, which it seldom does in our climate, except by means of -artificial heat. - -_Geo._ I suppose, then, grapes are finest in the hottest countries? - -_Tut._ Not so, neither; they are properly a fruit of the temperate zone, -and do not grow well between the tropics. And in very hot countries it -is scarcely possible to make wines of any kind to keep, for they ferment -so strongly as to turn sour almost immediately. - -_Geo._ I think I have read of palm-wine on the coast of Guinea. - -_Tut._ Yes. A sweet juice flows abundantly from incisions in certain -species of the palm; which ferments immediately, and makes a very -pleasant sort of weak wine. But it must be drunk the same day it is -made, for on the next it is as sour as vinegar. - -_Geo._ What is vinegar—is it not sour wine? - -_Tut._ Everything that makes wine will make vinegar also; and the -stronger the wine the stronger the vinegar. The vinous fermentation must -be first brought on, but it need not produce perfect wine, for when the -intention is to make vinegar, the liquor is kept still warm, and it goes -on without stopping to another kind of fermentation, called the -_acetous_, the product of which is vinegar. - -_Geo._ I have heard of alegar. I suppose that is vinegar made of ale. - -_Tut._ It is—but as ale is not so strong as wine, the vinegar made from -it is not so sharp or perfect. But housewives make good vinegar with -sugar and water. - -_Har._ Will vinegar make people drunk if they take too much of it? - -_Tut._ No: the wine loses its intoxicating quality as well as its taste -on turning to vinegar. - -_Geo._ What are spirituous liquors—have they not something to do with -wine? - -_Tut._ Yes: they consist of the spirituous or intoxicating part of wine -separated from the rest. You may remember that, on talking of -distillation, I told you that it was the raising of a liquor in steam or -vapour, and condensing it again; and that some liquors were more easily -turned to vapour than others, and were therefore called more volatile or -evaporable. Now, wine is a mixed or compound liquor, of which the -greater part is water; but what heats and intoxicates is _vinous -spirit_. This spirit being much more volatile than water, on the -application of a gentle heat, flies off in vapour, and may be collected -by itself in distilling vessels;—and thus are made spirituous liquors. - -_Geo._ Will everything that you called wine yield spirits? - -_Tut._ Yes: everything that has undergone the vinous fermentation. Thus, -in England a great deal of malt spirit is made from a kind of wort -brought into fermentation, and then set directly to distil, without -first making ale or beer of it. Gin is a spirituous liquor also got from -corn, and flavoured with juniper berries. Even potatoes, carrots, and -turnips, may be made to afford spirits, by first fermenting their -juices. In the West Indies, rum is distilled from the dregs of the -sugarcanes, washed out by water and fermented. But brandy is distilled -from the fermented juice of the grape, and is made in the wine -countries. - -_Geo._ Is spirit of wine different from spirituous liquors? - -_Tut._ It is the strongest part of them got by distilling over again; -for all these still contain a good deal of water, along with a pure -spirit, which may be separated by a gentler heat than was used at first. -But in order to procure this as strong and pure as possible, it must be -distilled several times over, always leaving some of the watery part -behind. When perfectly pure, it is the same, whatever spirituous liquor -it is got from. - -_Har._ My mamma has little bottles of lavender water. What is that? - -_Tut._ It is a spirit of wine flavoured with lavender flowers; and it -may in like manner be flavoured with many other fragrant things, since -their odoriferous part is volatile, and will rise in vapour along with -the spirit. - -_Har._ Will not spirit of wine burn violently? - -_Geo._ That it will, I can tell you: and so will rum and brandy; for you -know it was set on fire when we made snap-dragon. - -_Tut._ All spirituous liquors are highly inflammable, and the more so -the purer they are. One way of trying the purity of spirit is to see if -it will burn all away without leaving any moisture behind. Then it is -much lighter than water, and that affords another way of judging of its -strength. A hollow ivory ball is set to swim in it; and the deeper it -sinks down, the lighter, and therefore the more spirituous, is the -liquor. - -_Geo._ I have heard much of the mischief done by spirituous liquors—pray -what good do they do? - -_Tut._ The use and abuse of wine and spirits is a very copious subject; -and there is scarcely any gift of human art, the general effects of -which are more dubious. You know what wine is said to be given for in -the Bible? - -_Geo._ To make glad the heart of man. - -_Tut._ Right. And nothing has such an immediate effect in inspiring -vigour of body and mind as wine. It banishes sorrow and care, recruits -from fatigue, enlivens the fancy, inflames the courage, and performs a -hundred fine things, of which I could bring you abundant proof from the -poets. The physicians, too, speak almost as much in its favour, both in -diet and medicine. But its really good effects are only when used in -moderation; and it unfortunately is one of those things which man can -hardly be brought to use moderately. Excess in wine brings on effects -the very contrary to its benefits. It stupifies and enfeebles the mind, -and fills the body with incurable diseases. And this it does even when -used without intoxication. But a drunken man loses for the time every -distinction of a reasonable creature, and becomes worse than a brute -beast. On this account Mahomet entirely forbade its use to his -followers, and to this day it is not publicly drunk in any of the -countries that receive the Mohammedan religion. - -_Har._ Was not that right? - -_Tut._ I think not. If we were entirely to renounce every thing that may -be misused, we should have scarce any enjoyments left; and it is a -proper exercise of our strength of mind to use good things with -moderation, when we have it in our power to do otherwise. - -_Geo._ But spirituous liquors are not good at all, are they? - -_Tut._ They have so little good and so much bad in them, that I confess -I wish their common use could be abolished altogether. They are -generally taken by the lowest class of people for the express purpose of -intoxication; and they are much sooner prejudicial to the health than -wine, and, indeed, when drunk unmixed, are no better than slow poison. - -_Geo._ Spirit of wine is useful, though, for several things—is it not? - -_Tut._ Yes; and I would have all spirits kept in the hands of chymists -and artists who know how to employ them usefully. Spirits of wine will -dissolve many things that water will not. Apothecaries use them in -drawing tinctures, and artists in preparing colours and making -varnishes. They are likewise very powerful preservatives from -corruption. You may have seen serpents and insects brought from abroad -in vials full of spirits. - -_Geo._ I have. - -_Har._ And I know of another use of spirits. - -_Tut._ What, is that? - -_Har._ To burn in lamps. My grandmamma has a teakettle with a lamp under -it to keep the water hot, and she burns spirits in it. - -_Tut._ So she does. Well—so much for the use of these liquors. - -_Geo._ But you have said nothing about ale and beer. Are they wholesome? - -_Tut._ Yes, in moderation. But they are sadly abused too, and rob many -men of their health as well as their money and senses. - -_Geo._ Small beer does no harm, however. - -_Tut._ No—and we will indulge in a good draught of it when we get home. - -_Har._ I like water better. - -_Tut._ Then drink it by all means. He that is satisfied with water has -one want the less, and may defy thirst, in this country, at least. - -[Illustration: - - The Trial, p. 172. - - EVENING XIV. -] - - - - - THE BOY WITHOUT A GENIUS. - - -Mr. Wiseman, the schoolmaster, at the end of the summer-vacation, -received a new scholar with the following letter:— - -“SIR:—This will be delivered to you by my son Samuel, whom I beg leave -to commit to your care, hoping that, by your well-known skill and -attention, you will be able to make something of him, which, I am sorry -to say, none of his masters have hitherto done. He is now eleven, and -yet can do nothing but read his mother-tongue, and that but -indifferently. We sent him, at seven, to a grammar-school in our -neighbourhood; but his master soon found that his genius was not turned -to learning languages. He was then put to writing, but he set about it -so awkwardly that he made nothing of it. He was tried at accounts, but -it appeared that he had no genius for that either. He could do nothing -in geography for want of memory. In short, if he has any genius at all, -it does not yet show itself. But I trust to your experience in cases of -this nature, to discover what he is fit for, and to instruct him -accordingly. I beg to be favoured shortly with your opinion about him, -and remain, sir, - - “Your most obedient servant, - “HUMPHREY ACRES.” - -When Mr. Wiseman had read this letter, he shook his head, and said to -his assistant:—“A pretty subject they have sent us here! a lad that has -a great genius for nothing at all. But perhaps my friend Mr. Acres -expects that a boy should show a genius for a thing before he knows -anything about it—no uncommon error! Let us see, however, what the youth -looks like. I suppose he is a human creature, at least.” - -Master Samuel Acres was now called in. He came hanging down his head, -and looking as if he was going to be flogged. - -“Come hither, my dear!” said Mr. Wiseman, “stand by me, and do not be -afraid. Nobody will hurt you. How old are you?” - -“Eleven, last May, sir.” - -“A well-grown boy of your age, indeed. You love play, I dare say?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What, are you a good hand at marbles?” - -“Pretty good, sir.” - -“And can spin a top, and drive a hoop, I suppose?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Then you have the full use of your hands and fingers?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Can you write, Samuel?” - -“I learned a little, sir, but I left it off again.” - -“And why so?” - -“Because I could not make the letters.” - -“No! Why, how do you think other boys do—have they more fingers than -you?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Are you not able to hold a pen as well as a marble?” - -Samuel was silent. - -“Let me look at your hand.” - -Samuel held out both his paws like a dancing bear. - -“I see nothing to hinder you from writing as well as any boy in the -school. You can read, I suppose?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Tell me, then, what is written over the school-room door.” - -Samuel, with some hesitation, read:— - - “WHATEVER MAN HAS DONE, MAN MAY DO.” - -“Pray, how did you learn to read?—Was it not by taking pains?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Well—taking more pains will enable you to read better. Do you know -anything of the Latin grammar?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Have you never learned it?” - -“I tried, sir, but I could not get it by heart.” - -“Why, you can say some things by heart. I dare say you can tell me the -names of the days of the week, in their order.” - -“Yes, sir, I know them.” - -“And the months in the year, perhaps.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And you could probably repeat the names of your brothers and sisters, -and all your father’s servants, and half the people in the village -besides.” - -“I believe I could, sir.” - -“Well—and is _hic_, _hæc_, _hoc_, more difficult to remember than -these?” - -Samuel was silent. - -“Have you learned anything of accounts?” - -“I went into addition, sir, but I did not go on with it.” - -“Why so?” - -“I could not do it, sir.” - -“How many marbles can you buy for a penny?” - -“Twelve new ones, sir.” - -“And how many for two pence?” - -“Twenty-four.” - -“And how many for a half-penny?” - -“Six.” - -“If you were to have a penny a day, what would that make in a week?” - -“Seven pence.” - -“But if you paid two pence out of that, what would you have left?” - -Samuel studied a while, and then said, “Five pence.” - -“Right. Why, here you have been practising the four great rules of -arithmetic—addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division! Learning -accounts is no more than this. Well, Samuel, I shall see what you are -fit for. I shall set you about nothing but what you are able to do; but, -observe, you must do it. We have no _I can’t_ here. Now go among your -schoolfellows.” - -Samuel went away, glad that his examination was over, and with more -confidence in his powers than he had felt before. - -The next day he began business. A boy less than himself was called out -to set him a copy of letters, and another was appointed to hear him in -grammar. He read a few sentences in English that he could perfectly -understand to the master himself. Thus, by going on steadily and slowly, -he made a sensible progress. He had already joined his letters, got all -the declensions perfectly, and half the multiplication table, when Mr. -Wiseman thought it time to answer his father’s letter; which he did as -follows:— - - “SIR, I now think it right to give you some information concerning - your son. You perhaps expected it sooner, but I always wish to - avoid hasty judgments. You mentioned in your letter that it had - not yet been discovered which way his genius pointed. If by - _genius_ you meant such a decided bent of mind to any one pursuit - as will lead to excel with little or no labour or instruction, I - must say that I have not met with such a quality in more than - three or four boys in my life, and your son is certainly not among - the number. But if you mean only the _ability_ to do some of those - things which the greater part of mankind can do when properly - taught, I can affirm that I find in him no peculiar deficiency. - And whether you choose to bring him up to trade, or to some - practical profession, I see no reason to doubt that he may in time - become sufficiently qualified for it. It is my favourite maxim, - sir, that everything most valuable in this life may generally be - acquired by taking pains for it. Your son has already lost much - time in the fruitless expectation of finding out what he would - take up of his own accord. Believe me, sir, few boys will take up - anything of their own accord but a top or a marble. I will take - care, while he is with me, that he loses no more time this way, - but is employed about things that are fit for him, not doubting - that we shall find him fit for them. - - “I am, sir, yours, &c. - “SOLON WISEMAN.” - -Though the doctrine of this letter did not perfectly agree with Mr. -Acres’s notions, yet being convinced that Mr. Wiseman was more likely to -make something of his son than any of his former preceptors, he -continued him at his school for some years, and had the satisfaction to -find him going on in a steady course of gradual improvement. In due time -a profession was chosen for him, which seemed to suit his temper and -talents, but for which he had no _particular turn_, having never thought -at all about it. He made a respectable figure in it, and went through -the world with credit and usefulness, though _without a genius_. - - - - - HALF A CROWN’S WORTH. - - -Valentine was in his thirteenth year, and a scholar in one of our great -schools. He was a well-disposed boy, but could not help envying a -little, some of his companions, who had a larger allowance of money than -himself. He ventured in a letter to sound his father on the subject, not -directly asking for a particular sum, but mentioning that many of the -boys in his class had half a crown a week for pocket-money. - -His father, who did not choose to comply with his wishes for various -reasons, nor yet to refuse him in a mortifying manner, wrote an answer, -the chief purpose of which was to make him sensible what sort of a sum -half a crown a week was, and to how many more important uses it might be -put, than to provide a school-boy with things absolutely superfluous to -him. - -“It is calculated,” said he, “that a grown man may be kept in health and -fit for labour upon a pound and a half of good bread a day. Suppose the -value of this to be two pence half-penny, and add a penny for a quart of -milk, which will greatly improve his diet, half a crown will keep him -eight or nine days in this manner. - -“A common labourer’s wages in our country are seven shillings per week, -and if you add somewhat extraordinary for harvest work, this will not -make it amount to three half-crowns on an average the year round. -Suppose his wife and children to earn another half-crown. For this ten -shillings per week he will maintain himself, his wife, and half a dozen -children, in food, lodging, clothes, and fuel. A half-crown then may be -reckoned the full weekly maintenance of two human creatures in every -thing necessary. - -“Where potatoes are much cultivated, two bushels, weighing eighty pounds -a piece, may be purchased for half a crown. Here are one hundred and -sixty pounds of solid food, of which allowing for the waste in dressing, -you may reckon two pounds and a half sufficient for the sole daily -nourishment of one person. At this rate, nine people might be fed a week -for half a crown; poorly, indeed, but so as many thousands are fed, with -the addition of a little salt or buttermilk. - -“If the father of a numerous family were out of work, or the mother -lying-in, a parish would think half a crown a week a very ample -assistance to them. - -“Many of the cottagers round us would receive with great thankfulness a -sixpenny loaf per week, and reckon it a very material addition to their -children’s bread. For half a crown, therefore, you might purchase—the -weekly blessings of five poor families. - -“Porter is a sort of luxury to a poor man, but not a useless one, since -it will stand in the place of some solid food, and enable him to work -with better heart. You could treat a hard-working man with a pint a day -of this liquor for twelve days, with half a crown. - -“Many a cottage in the country inhabited by a large family is let for -forty shillings a year. Half a crown a week would pay the full rent of -three such cottages, and allow somewhat over for repairs. - -“The usual price for schooling at a dame-school in a village is two -pence a week. You might, therefore, get fifteen children instructed in -reading, and the girls in sewing, for half a crown weekly. But even in a -town you might get them taught reading, writing, and accounts, and so -fitted for any common trade, for five shillings a quarter; and therefore -half a crown a week would keep six children at such a school, and -provide them with books besides. - -“All these are ways in which half a crown a week might be made to do a -great deal of good to _others_. I shall now just mention one or two ways -of laying it out with advantage to yourself. - -“I know you are very fond of coloured plates of plants, and other -objects of natural history. There are now several works of this sort -publishing in monthly numbers, as the Botanical Magazine, the English -Botany, the Flora Rustica, and the Naturalist’s Magazine. Now half a -crown a week would reach the purchase of the best of these. - -“The same sum laid out in the old book-shops in London would buy you -more classics, and pretty editions too, in one year, than you could read -in five. - -“Now I do not grudge laying out half a crown a week upon you; but when -so many good things for yourself and others may be done with it, I am -unwilling you should squander it away like your schoolfellows, in tarts -and trinkets.” - - - - - TRIAL[2] - - - _Of a Complaint made against Sundry Persons for breaking the Windows of_ - DOROTHY CAREFUL, _Widow and Dealer in Gingerbread._ - -The court being seated, there appeared in person the widow _Dorothy -Careful_, to make a complaint against _Henry Luckless_, and other person -or persons unknown, for breaking three panes of glass, value ninepence, -in the house of the said widow. Being directed to tell her case to the -court, she made a courtesy, and began as follows:— - -“Please your lordship, I was sitting at work by my fireside, between the -hours of six and seven in the evening, just as it was growing dusk, and -little Jack was spinning beside me, when all at once crack went the -window, and down fell a little basket of cakes that was set up against -it. I started up, and cried to Jack, ‘Bless me, what’s the matter?’ So, -says Jack, ‘Somebody has thrown a stone and broke the window, and I dare -say it is some of the schoolboys.’ With that I ran out of the house, and -saw some boys making off as fast as they could go. So I ran after them -as quick as my old legs would carry me; but I should never have come -near them, if one had not happened to fall down. Him I caught and -brought back to my house, when Jack knew him at once to be Master Harry -Luckless. So I told him I would complain of him the next day; and I hope -your worship will make him pay the damage, and I think he deserves a -good whipping into the bargain, for injuring a poor widow woman.” - -Footnote 2: - - This was meant as a sequel of that very pleasing and ingenious little - work, entitled _Juvenile Trials_, in which a Court of Justice is - supposed to be instituted in a boarding-school, composed of the - scholars themselves, for the purpose of trying offences committed at - school. - -The judge having heard Mrs. Careful’s story, desired her to sit down; -and then calling up Master Luckless, asked him what he had to say for -himself. Luckless appeared with his face a good deal scratched, and -looking very ruefully. After making his bow, and sobbing two or three -times, he said:— - -“My lord, I am as innocent of this matter as any boy in the school, and -I am sure I have suffered enough about it already. My lord, Billy -Thompson and I were playing in the lane near Mrs. Careful’s house, when -we heard the window crash; and directly after she came running out -toward us. Upon this, Billy ran away, and I ran too, thinking I might -bear the blame. But after running a little way, I stumbled over -something that lay in the road, and before I could get up again she -overtook me, and caught me by the hair, and began lugging and cuffing -me. I told her it was not I that broke her window, but it did not -signify; so she dragged me to the light, lugging and scratching me all -the while, and then said she would inform against me; and that is all I -know of the matter.” - -_Judge._ I find, good woman, you were willing to revenge yourself, -without waiting for the justice of this court. - -_Widow Careful._ My lord, I confess I was put into a passion, and did -not properly consider what I was doing. - -_Jud._ Well, where is Billy Thompson? - -_Billy._ Here, my lord. - -_Jud._ You have heard what Harry Luckless says. Declare upon your honour -whether he has spoken the truth. - -_Bil._ My lord, I am sure neither he nor I had any concern in breaking -the window. We were standing together at the time, and I ran on hearing -the door open, for fear of being charged with it, and he followed. But -what became of him I did not stay to see. - -_Jud._ So you let your friend shift for himself, and only thought of -saving yourself. But did you see any other person about the house or in -the lane? - -_Bil._ My lord, I thought I heard somebody on the other side of the -hedge, creeping along, a little before the window was broken, but I saw -nobody. - -_Jud._ You hear, good woman, what is alleged in behalf of the person you -have accused. Have you any other evidence against him? - -_Wid._ One might be sure that they would deny it, and tell lies for one -another; but I hope I am not to be put off in that manner. - -_Jud._ I must tell you, mistress, that you give too much liberty to your -tongue, and are guilty of as much injustice as that of which you -complain, I should be sorry, indeed, if the young gentlemen of this -school deserved the general character of liars. You will find among us, -I hope, as just a sense of what is right and honourable, as among those -who are older; and our worthy master certainly would not permit us to -try offences in this manner, if he thought us capable of bearing false -witness in each other’s favour. - -_Wid._ I ask your lordship’s pardon, I did not mean to offend: but it is -a heavy loss for a poor woman, and though I did not catch the boy in the -fact, he was the nearest when it was done. - -_Jud._ As this is no more than a suspicion, and he has the positive -evidence of his schoolfellow in his favour, it will be impossible to -convict him, consistently with the rules of justice. Have you discovered -any other circumstance that may point out the offender? - -_Wid._ My lord, next morning Jack found on the floor this top, which I -suppose the window was broken with. - -_Jud._ Hand it up—here, gentlemen of the jury, please to examine it, and -see if you can discover anything of its owner. - -_Juryman._ Here is P. R. cut upon it. - -_Another._ Yes, and I am sure I remember Peter Riot’s having just such a -one. - -_Another._ So do I. - -_Jud._ Master Riot, is this your top? - -_Riot._ I don’t know, my lord, perhaps it may be mine; I have had a -great many tops, and when I have done with them, I throw them away, and -anybody may pick them up that pleases. You see it has lost its peg. - -_Jud._ Very well, sir. Mrs. Careful, you may retire. - -_Wid._ And must I have no amends, my lord? - -_Jud._ Have patience. Leave everything to the court. We shall do you all -the justice in our power. - -As soon as the widow was gone, the judge rose from his seat, and with -much solemnity thus addressed the assembly:— - -“Gentlemen,—this business, I confess, gives me much dissatisfaction. A -poor woman has been insulted and injured in her property, apparently -without provocation; and though she has not been able to convict the -offender, it cannot be doubted that she, as well as the world in -general, will impute the crime to some of our society. Though I am in my -own mind convinced that in her passion she charged an innocent person, -yet the circumstance of the top is a strong suspicion, indeed almost a -proof, that the perpetrator of this unmanly mischief was one of our -body. The owner of the top has justly observed, that its having been his -property is no certain proof against him. Since, therefore, in the -present defect of evidence, the whole school must remain burdened with -the discredit of this action, and share in the guilt of it, I think fit, -in the first place, to decree, that restitution shall be made to the -sufferer out of the public chest; and next that a court of inquiry be -instituted for the express purpose of searching thoroughly into this -affair, with power to examine all persons upon honour who are thought -likely to be able to throw light upon it. I hope, gentlemen, these -measures meet with your concurrence?” - -The whole court bowed to the judge, and expressed their entire -satisfaction with his determination. - -It was then ordered that the public treasurer should go to the Widow -Careful’s house, any pay her the sum of one shilling, making at the same -time a handsome apology in the name of the school. And six persons were -taken by lot out of the jury to compose the court of inquiry, which was -to sit in the evening. - -The court then adjourned. - -On the meeting of the court of inquiry, the first thing proposed by the -president, was, that the persons who usually played with Master Riot -should be sent for. Accordingly Tom Frisk and Bob Loiter were summoned, -when the president asked them upon their honour if they knew the top to -have been Riot’s. They said they did. They were then asked whether they -remembered when Riot had it in his possession? - -_Frisk._ He had it the day before yesterday, and split a top of mine -with it. - -_Loiter._ Yes, and then, as he was making a stroke at mine, the peg flew -out. - -_President._ What did he then do with it? - -_Fr._ He put it into his pocket, and said, as it was a strong top, he -would have it mended. - -_Pres._ Then he did not throw it away, or give it to any body? - -_Loit._ No; he pocketed it up, and we saw no more of it. - -_Pres._ Do you know of any quarrel he had with Widow Careful? - -_Fr._ Yes; a day or two before, he went to her shop for some ginger -bread; but, as he already owed her sixpence, she would not let him have -any till he had paid his debts. - -_Pres._ How did he take the disappointment? - -_Fr._ He said he would be revenged on her. - -_Pres._ Are you sure he used such words? - -_Fr._ Yes; Loiter heard him as well as myself. - -_Loit._ I did, sir. - -_Pres._ Do either of you know any more of this affair? - -_Both._ No, sir. - -_Pres._ You may go. - -The President now observed that these witnesses had done a great deal in -establishing proofs against Riot; for it was now pretty certain that no -one but himself could have been in possession of the top at the time the -crime was committed; and also it appeared that he had declared a -malicious intention against the woman, which it was highly probable he -would put into execution.—As the court were debating about the next step -to be taken, they were acquainted that Jack, the widow’s son, was -waiting at the school-door for admission; and a person being sent out -for him, Riot was found threatening the boy, and bidding him go home -about his business. The boy, however, was conveyed safely into the room, -when he thus addressed himself to the president:— - -_Jack._ Sir, and please your worship, as I was looking about this -morning for sticks in the hedge over against our house, I found this -buckle. So I thought to myself, sure this must belong to the rascal that -broke our windows. So I have brought it to see if anybody in the school -would own it. - -_Pres._ On which side of the hedge did you find it? - -_Jack._ On the other side from our house, in the close. - -_Pres._ Let us see it. Gentlemen, this is so smart a buckle, that I am -sure I remember it at once, and so I dare say you all do. - -_Al_l. It is Riot’s. - -_Pres._ Has anybody observed Riot’s shoes to-day? - -_One Boy._ Yes, he has got them tied with strings. - -_Pres._ Very well, gentlemen; we have nothing more to do than to draw up -an account of all the evidence we have heard, and lay it before his -lordship. Jack, you may go home. - -_Jack._ Pray, sir, let somebody go with me, for I am afraid of Riot, who -has just been threatening me at the door. - -_Pres._ Master Bold will please to go along with the boy. - -The minutes of the court were then drawn up, and the President took them -to the judge’s chamber. After the judge had perused them, he ordered an -endictment to be drawn up against Peter Riot, “for that he meanly, -clandestinely, and with malice aforethought, had broken three panes in -the window of Widow Careful, with a certain instrument called a top, -whereby he had committed an atrocious injury on an innocent person, and -had brought a disgrace upon the society to which he belonged.” At the -same time, he sent an officer to inform Master Riot that his trial would -come on next morning. - -Riot, who was with some of his gay companions, affected to treat the -matter with great indifference, and even to make a jest of it. However, -in the morning he thought it best to endeavour to make it up; and -accordingly, when the court was assembled, he sent one of his friends -with a shilling, saying that he would not trouble them with any further -inquiries, but would pay the sum that had been issued out of the public -stock. On the receipt of this message the Judge rose with much severity -in his countenance; and observing, that by such a contemptuous behaviour -towards the court the criminal had greatly added to his offence, he -ordered two officers with their staves immediately to go and bring in -Riot, and to use force if he should resist them. The culprit, thinking -it best to submit, was presently led in between the two officers; when, -being placed at the bar, the judge thus addressed him:— - -“I am sorry, sir, that any member of this society can be so little -sensible of the nature of a crime, and so little acquainted with the -principles of a court of justice, as you have shown yourself to be, by -the proposal you took the improper liberty of sending to us. If you -meant it as a confession of your guilt, you certainly ought to have -waited to receive from us the penalty we thought proper to inflict, and -not to have imagined that an offer of the mere payment of damages would -satisfy the claims of justice against you. If you had only broken the -window by accident, and of your own accord offered restitution, nothing -less than the full damages could have been accepted. But you now stand -charged with having done this mischief, meanly, secretly, and -maliciously, and thereby have added a great deal of criminal intention -to the act. Can you then think that a court like this, designed to watch -over the morals, as well as protect the properties of our community, can -so slightly pass over such aggravated offences? You can claim no merit -from confessing the crime, now that you know so much evidence will -appear against you. And if you choose still to plead not guilty, you are -at liberty to do it, and we will proceed immediately to the trial, -without taking any advantage of the confession implied by your offer of -payment.” - -Riot stood silent for some time, and then begged to be allowed to -consult with his friends what was best for him to do. This was agreed -to, and he was permitted to retire, though under guard of an officer. -After a short absence, he returned with more humility in his looks, and -said that he pleaded guilty, and threw himself on the mercy of the -court. The judge then made a speech of some length, for the purpose of -convincing the prisoner as well as the bystanders of the enormity of the -crime. He then pronounced the following sentence:— - -“You, Peter Riot, are hereby sentenced to pay the sum of half a crown to -the public treasury, as a satisfaction for the mischief you have done, -and your attempt to conceal it. You are to repair to the house of Widow -Careful, accompanied by such witnesses as we shall appoint, and there -having first paid her the sum you owe her, you shall ask her pardon for -the insult you offered her. You shall likewise, to-morrow, after school, -stand up in your place, and before all the scholars ask pardon for the -disgrace you have been the means of bringing upon the society; and in -particular you shall apologise to Master Luckless, for the disagreeable -circumstance you were the means of bringing him into. Till all this is -complied with, you shall not presume to come into the play-ground, or -join in any of the diversions of the school; and all persons are hereby -admonished not to keep your company till this is done.” - -Riot was then dismissed to his room; and in the afternoon he was taken -to the widow’s, who was pleased to receive his submission graciously, -and at the same time to apologise for her own improper treatment of -Master Luckless, to whom she sent a present of a nice ball by way of -amends. - -Thus ended this important business. - -[Illustration: - - On Man, p. 184. - - EVENING XV. -] - - - - - THE LEGUMINOUS PLANTS. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry._ - - -_George._ What a delightful smell! - -_Harry._ Charming! It is sweeter than Mr. Essence’s shop. - -_Tutor._ Do you know whence it comes? - -_Geo._ Oh—it is from the bean-field on the other side of the hedge, I -suppose. - -_Tut._ It is. This is the month in which beans are in blossom. See the -stalks are full of their black and white flowers. - -_Har._ I see peas in blossom, too, on the other side of the field. - -_Geo._ You told us some time ago of grass and corn flowers, but they -make a poor figure compared to these. - -_Tut._ They do. The glory of a cornfield is when it is ripe; but peas -and beans look very shabbily at that time. But suppose we take a closer -view of these blossoms. Go you, George, and bring me a bean-plant; and -you, Harry, a pea. - - [_They go and bring them._ - -_Tut._ Now let us sit down and compare them. Do you think these flowers -much alike? - -_Har._ Oh no—very little. - -_Geo._ Yes—a good deal! - -_Tut._ A little and a good deal! How can that be? Come let us see. In -the first place, they do not much resemble each other in size or colour. - -_Geo._ No—but I think they do in shape. - -_Tut._ True. They are both irregular flowers, and have the same -distribution of parts. They are of the kind called _papilionaceous_, -from _papilio_, the Latin word for a butterfly, which insect they are -thought to resemble. - -_Geo._ The pea does a little, but not much. - -_Tut._ Some do much more than these. Well—you see first a broad leaf -standing upright, but somewhat bent back; this is named the _standard_. -On each side are two narrower, called the _wings_. The under side of the -flower is formed of a hollow part resembling a boat: this is called a -_keel_. - -_Geo._ It is very like a boat indeed! - -_Tut._ In some kinds, however, it is divided in the middle, and so is -like a boat split in two. All these parts have claws which unite to form -a tube, set in a _calyx_, or flower-cup. This tube, you observe, is -longer in the bean than in the pea, and the proportions of the other -parts are somewhat different; but the parts themselves are found in -both. - -_Har._ So they are. I think them alike now. - -_Tut._ That is the consequence of examining closely. Now let us strip -off all the leaves of this bean-flower but the keel. What do you think -this boat contains? - -_Geo._ It must be those little things you told us are in all flowers. - -_Har._ The chives and pistil. - -_Tut._ Right. I will draw down the keel gently, and you shall see them. - -_Har._ How curious! - -_Tut._ Here are a number of chives joining in their bodies, so as to -make a round tube, or cylinder, through which comes out a crooked -thread, which is the pistil. I will now with a pin slit this cylinder. -What do you see within it? - -_Geo._ Somewhat like a little pod. - -_Tut._ True—and to show you that it is a pod, I will open it, and you -shall see the seeds within it. - -_Har._ What tiny things! Is this, then, what makes the bean-pod -afterward? - -_Tut._ It is. When the blossom drops, this seed-vessel grows bigger and -bigger, and at length hardens as the seeds grow ripe, becomes black and -shrivelled, and would burst and shed the seeds, if they were not -gathered. - -_Geo._ I have seen several burst pods of our sweet-peas under the wall, -with nothing left in them. - -_Tut._ And it is common for the field peas and beans to lose a great -part of the seeds while they are getting in. - -_Har._ At the bottom of this pea-stalk there are some pods set already. - -_Tut._ Open one. You see that the pod is composed of two shells, and -that all the seeds are fastened to one side of the pod, but alternately -to each shell. - -_Geo._ Is it the same in beans? - -_Tut._ Yes, and in all other pods of the papilionaceous flowers. -Well—this is the general structure of a very numerous and useful class -of plants, called the _leguminous_ or _podded_. Of these, in this -country, the greater part are herbaceous, with some shrubs. In the warm -climates there are also tall trees. Many of the leguminous plants afford -excellent nourishment for man and beast; and their pods have the name of -_pulse_. - -_Geo._ I have read of persons living on pulse, but I did not know what -it meant before. - -_Tut._ It is frequently mentioned as part of the diet of abstemious -persons. Of this kind, we eat peas, beans, and kidney or French beans, -of all which there are a variety of sorts cultivated. Other nations eat -lentils and lupines, which are of this class; with several others. - -_Har._ I remember our lupines in the garden have flowers of this kind, -with pods growing in clusters. We only cultivate them for the colour and -smell. - -_Tut._ But other nations eat them. Then, all the kinds of clover, or -trefoil, which are so useful in feeding cattle, belong to this tribe; as -do likewise vetches, sanfoin, and lucerne, which are used for the same -purpose. These principally compose what are usually, though improperly, -called, in agriculture, _artificial grasses_. - -_Geo._ Clover flowers are as sweet as beans; but do they bear pods? - -_Tut._ Yes; very short ones, with one or two seeds in each. But there is -a kind called nonsuch, with a very small yellow flower, that has a -curious twisted pod like a snail-shell. Many of the leguminous plants -are weak, and cannot support themselves; hence they are furnished with -tendrils, by means of which they clasp neighbouring plants, and run up -them. You know the garden-peas do so on the sticks which are set in the -rows with them. Some kind of vetches run in this manner up the hedges, -which they decorate with their long bunches of blue or purple flowers. -Tares, which are some of the slenderest of the family, do much mischief -among corn by twining round it and choking it. - -_Har._ What are they good for, then? - -_Tut._ They are weeds or noxious plants with respect to us; but -doubtless they have their uses in the creation. Some of our -papilionaceous plants, however, are able enough to shift for themselves; -for gorse or furze is of the number. - -_Geo._ What, that prickly bush all covered over with yellow flowers, -that overruns our common? - -_Tut._ Then there is broom, a plant as big, but without thorns, and with -larger flowers. This is as frequent as furze in some places. - -_Har._ I know it grows in abundance in the broom-field. - -_Tut._ It does; but the naming of fields and places from it is a proof -that it is not so common as the other. - -_Geo._ We have some bushes of white broom in the shrubbery, and some -trees of Spanish broom. - -_Tut._ True. You have also a small tree which flowers early, and bears a -great many pendent branches of yellow blossoms, that look peculiarly -beautiful when intermixed with the purple lilacs. - -_Har._ I know it—laburnum. - -_Tut._ Right. This is one of our class of plants too. Then there is a -large tree, with delicate little leaves, protected by long thorns, and -bearing bunches of white papilionaceous flowers. - -_Geo._ I know which you mean, but I cannot tell the name. - -_Tut._ It is the bastard-acacia, or locust-tree, a native of America. -Thus, you see, we have traced this class of plants through all sizes, -from the trefoil that covers the turf, to a large tree. I should not, -however, forget two others, the licorice, and the tamarind. The -licorice, with the sweet root of which you are well acquainted, grows in -the warmer countries, especially Spain, but is cultivated in some parts -of England, especially at Pomfret, in Yorkshire. The tamarind is a large -spreading tree growing in the West Indies, and valued for its shade, as -well as for the cooling acid pulp of its pods, which are preserved with -sugar and sent over to us. - -_Har._ I know them very well. - -_Tut._ Well—do you think now you shall both be able to discover a -papilionaceous flower when you meet with it again? - -_Geo._ I believe I shall, if they are all like these we have been -examining. - -_Tut._ They have all the same parts, though variously proportioned. What -are these? - -_Geo._ There is the standard and two wings. - -_Har._ And the keel. - -_Tut._ Right—the keel sometimes cleft into two, and then it is an -irregular five-leaved flower. The chives are generally ten, of which one -stands apart from the rest. The pistil single, and ending in a pod. -Another circumstance common to most of this tribe, is, that their leaves -are _winged_, or _pinnated_, that is, having leaflets set opposite each -other, upon a middle rib. You see this structure in these bean-leaves. -But in the clovers there are only two opposite leaflets, and one -terminating; whence their name of trefoil, or three-leaf. What we call a -club on cards is properly a clover-leaf, and the French call it -_trefle_, which means the same. - -_Geo._ I think this tribe of plants almost as useful as the grasses. - -_Tut._ They perhaps come the next in utility: but their seeds, such as -beans and peas, are not quite such good nourishment as corn, and bread -cannot be made of them. - -_Geo._ But clover is better than grass for cattle. - -_Tut._ It is more fattening, and makes cows yield plenty of fine milk. -Well—let us march. - - - - - ON MAN. - - -_Charles._ You gave me the definition of a horse some time ago—Pray, -sir, how is a man defined? - -_Father._ That is worth inquiring. Let us consider then. He must either -stand by himself, or be ranked among the quadrupeds; for there are no -other two-legged animals but birds, which he certainly does not -resemble. - -_Ch._ But how can he be made a quadruped? - -_Fa._ By setting him to crawl on the ground, in which case he will as -much resemble a baboon as a baboon set on his hind-legs does a man. In -reality, there is little difference between the arms of a man and the -fore-legs of a quadruped; and in all other circumstances of internal and -external structure, they are evidently formed upon the same model. - -_Ch._ I suppose then we must call him a digitated quadruped, that -generally goes upon its hind legs. - -_Fa._ A naturalist could not reckon him otherwise; and, accordingly, -Linnæus has placed him in the same division with apes, macocos, and -bats. - -_Ch._ Apes, macocos, and bats! - -_Fa._ Yes—they have all four cutting teeth in the upper jaw, and teats -on the breast. How do your like your relations? - -_Ch._ Not at all! - -_Fa._ Then we will get rid of them by applying to the other part of -human nature—the _mind_. Man is an animal possessed of _reason_, and the -only one. This, therefore, is enough to define him. - -_Ch._ I have often heard that man is a rational creature, and I have a -notion what that means; but I should like to have an exact definition of -reason. - -_Fa._ Reason is the faculty by which we compare ideas, and draw -conclusions. A man walking in the woods of an unknown country finds a -bow. He compares it in his mind with other bows, and forms the -conclusion that it must have been made by man, and that therefore the -country is probably inhabited. He discovers a hut; sees in it half-burnt -wood, and finds that the ashes are not quite cold. He concludes, -therefore, with certainty, not only that there are inhabitants, but that -they cannot be far distant. No other animal could do this. - -_Ch._ But would not a dog who had been used to live with men run into -such a hut and expect to find people in it? - -_Fa._ He probably would—and this, I acknowledge, is very like reason; -for he may be supposed to compare in his mind the hut he has lived in -with that he sees, and to conclude that as there were men in the first -there are in the last. But how little a way does this carry him? He -finds no men there, and he is unable by any marks to form any judgment -how long they have been absent, or what sort of people they were; still -less does he form any plan of conduct in consequence of his discovery. - -_Ch._ Then is not the difference only that man has much reason, and -brutes little? - -_Fa._ If we adhere to the mere words of the definition of reason, I -believe this must be admitted; but in the exercise of it, the -superiority of the human faculties is so great, that man is in many -points absolutely distinguished from brutes. In the first place he has -the _use of speech_, which no other animal has attained. - -_Ch._ Cannot many animals make themselves understood by one another by -their cries? - -_Fa._ They can make known a few of their common wants and desires, but -they cannot _discourse_, or communicate ideas stored up in the memory. -It is this faculty which makes man an _improvable_ being, the wisdom and -experience acquired by one individual being thus transmitted to others, -and so on in an endless series of progression. - -There is no reason to suppose that the dogs of the present day are more -knowing than those which lived a thousand years ago; but the men of this -age are much better acquainted with numberless arts and sciences than -their remote ancestors; since, by the use of speech and of writing -(which is speech addressed to the eye), every age adds its own -discoveries to all former ones. This knowledge of the past likewise -gives man a great insight into the future. Shakspeare excellently -defines man by saying that he is a creature “made with large discourse, -looking before and after.” - -_Ch._ Animals must surely know something of the future, when they lay up -a store of provisions for the winter. - -_Fa._ No—it is pretty certain that this is not the case, for they will -do it as much the first year of their lives as any other. Young bees -turned out of their hive, as soon as they have swarmed and got a -habitation, begin laying up honey, though they cannot possibly foresee -the use they shall have for it. There are a vast number of actions of -this kind in animals which are directed to a useful end, but an end -which the animal knows nothing of. And this is what we call _instinct_, -and properly distinguish from reason. Man has less of it than almost any -other animal, because he wants it less. Another point of essential -difference is, that man is the only animal that makes use of -_instruments_ in any of his actions. He is a _tool-making_ and -_machine-making_ animal. By means of this faculty alone he is every -where lord of the creation, and has equally triumphed over the subtlety -of the cunning, the swiftness of the fleet, and the force of the strong. -He is the only animal that has found out the use of _fire_, a most -important acquisition! - -_Ch._ I have read of some large apes that will come and sit round a fire -in the woods when men have left it, but have not the sense to keep it -in, by throwing on sticks. - -_Fa._ Still less then could they light a fire. In consequence of this -discovery man cooks his food, which no other animal does. He alone -fences against the cold by clothing as well as by fire. He alone -cultivates the earth, and keeps living animals for future uses. - -_Ch._ But have not there been wild men bred in the woods that could do -none of these things? - -_Fa._ Some instances of this kind are recorded, and they are not to be -wondered at; for man was meant to be a _gregarious_ animal, or one -living in society, in which alone his faculties have full scope, and -especially his power of improving by the use of speech. These poor -solitary creatures, brought up with the brutes, were in a state entirely -unnatural to them. A solitary bee, ant, or beaver, would have none of -the skill and sagacity of those animals in their proper social -condition. Society sharpens all the faculties, and gives ideas and views -which never could have been entertained by an individual. - -_Ch._ But some men that live in society seem to be little above the -brutes, at least when compared with other men. What is a Hottentot in -comparison with one of us? - -_Fa._ The difference, indeed, is great; but we agree in the most -essential characters of _man_, and perhaps the advantage is not all on -our side. The Hottentot cultivates the earth and rears cattle. He not -only herds with his fellows, but he has instituted some sort of -government for the protection of the weak against the strong; he has a -notion of right and wrong, and is sensible of the necessity of -controlling present appetites and passions for the sake of a future -good. He has therefore _morals_. He is possessed of weapons, tools, -clothing, and furniture of his own making. In agility of body, and the -knowledge of various circumstances relative to the nature of animals, he -surpasses us. His inferiority lies in those things in which many of the -lowest class among us are equally inferior to the instructed. - -_Ch._ But Hottentots have no notion of a God or a future state. - -_Fa._ I am not certain how far that is fact: but alas! how many among us -have no knowledge at all on these subjects, or only some vague notions -full of absurdity and superstition! People far advanced in civilization -have held the grossest errors on these subjects, which are only to be -corrected by the serious application of reason, or by a direct -revelation from Heaven. - -_Ch._ You said man was an _improveable_ creature—but have not many -nations been a long time in a savage state without improvement? - -_Fa._ Man is always _capable of improvement_; but he may exist a long -time, in society, without _actually improving_ beyond a certain point. -There is little improvement among nations who have not the art of -_writing_, for tradition is not capable of preserving very accurate or -extensive knowledge; and many arts and sciences, after flourishing -greatly, have been entirely lost, in countries which have been overrun -by barbarous and illiterate nations. Then there is a principle which I -might have mentioned as one of those that distinguish man from brutes, -but it as much distinguishes some men from others. This is _curiosity_, -or the love of knowledge for its own sake. Most savages have little or -nothing of this; but without it we should want one of the chief -inducements to exert our faculties. It is curiosity that impels us to -search into the properties of every part of nature, to try all sorts of -experiments, to visit distant regions, and even to examine the -appearances and motions of the heavenly bodies. Every fact thus -discovered leads to other facts; and there is no limit to be set to this -progress. The time may come, when what we now know may seem as much -ignorance to future ages as the knowledge of early times does to us. - -_Ch._ What nations know the most at present? - -_Fa._ The Europeans have long been distinguished for superior ardour -after knowledge, and they possess beyond comparison the greatest share -of it, whereby they have been enabled to command the rest of the world. -The countries in which the arts and sciences most flourish at present -are the northern and middle parts of Europe, and also North America, -which, is inhabited by descendants of Europeans. In these countries man -may be said to be _most man_; and they may apply to themselves the -poet’s boast:— - - “Man is the nobler growth these realms supply, - And souls are ripened in our northern sky.” - - - - - WALKING THE STREETS.—A PARABLE. - - -Have you ever walked through the crowded streets of a great city? - -What shoals of people pouring in from opposite quarters, like torrents -meeting in a narrow valley! You would imagine it impossible for them to -get through; yet all pass on their way without stop or molestation. - -Were each man to proceed exactly in the line in which he set out, he -could not move many paces without encountering another full in his -track. They would strike against each other, fall back, push forward -again, block up the way for themselves and those after them, and throw -the whole street into confusion. All this is avoided by every man’s -_yielding a little_. - -Instead of advancing square, stiff, with arms stuck out, every one who -knows how to walk the streets glides along, his arms close, his body -oblique and flexible, his track gently winding, leaving now a few inches -on this side, now on that, so as to pass and be passed without touching, -in the smallest possible space. - -He pushes no one into the kennel, nor goes into it himself. By _mutual -accommodation_, the path, though narrow, holds them all. - -He goes neither much faster nor much slower than those who go in the -same direction. In the first case he would elbow, in the second he would -be elbowed. - -If any accidental stop arises, from a carriage crossing, a cask rolled, -a pickpocket detected, or the like, he does not increase the bustle by -rushing into the midst of it, but checks his pace, and patiently waits -for its removal. - -Like this is the _march of life_. - -In our progress through the world a thousand things stand continually in -our way. Some people meet us full in the face with opposite opinions and -inclinations. Some stand before us in our pursuit of pleasure or -interest, and others follow close upon our heels. Now, we ought in the -first place to consider, that the _road is as free for one as another_; -and therefore we have no right to expect that persons should go out of -their way to let us pass, any more than we out of ours. Then, if we do -not mutually yield and accommodate a little, it is clear that we must -all stand still, or be thrown into a perpetual confusion of squeezing -and jostling. If we are all in a hurry to get on as fast as possible to -some point of pleasure or interest in our view, and do not occasionally -hold back, when the crowd gathers, and angry contentions arise, we shall -only augment the tumult, without advancing our own progress. On the -whole, it is our business to move onward, steadily, but quietly, -obstructing others as little as possible, yielding a little to this -man’s prejudices, and that man’s desires, and doing everything in our -power to make the _journey of life_ easy to all our fellow-travellers as -well as to ourselves. - -[Illustration: - - Presence of Mind, p. 192. - - EVENING XVI. -] - - - - - THE COMPOUND-FLOWERED PLANTS. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry._ - - -_George._ Harry, can you blow off all of these dandelion feathers at a -puff? - -_Harry._ I will try. - -_Geo._ See—you have left almost half of them. - -_Har._ Can you do better? - -_Geo._ Yes—look here. - -_Har._ There are still several left. - -_Tut._ A pretty child’s play you have got there. Bring me one of the -dandelion heads, and let us see if we can make no other use of it. - -_Har._ Here is a very full one. - -_Tut._ Do you know what these feathers, as you call them, are? - -_Geo._ I believe they belong to the seed. - -_Tut._ They do, and they are worth examining. Look at this single one -through my magnifying glass; you observe the seed at the bottom, like -the point of a dart. From it springs a slender hairy shaft crowned by a -very elegant spreading plume. You see it is a complete arrow of Nature’s -manufacture. - -_Geo._ How exact! - -_Har._ What a beautiful thing! - -_Tut._ I am sure you see the use of it at once. - -_Geo._ It is to set the seeds a flying with the wind. - -_Har._ And I suppose they sow themselves where they light? - -_Tut._ They do. This is one of Nature’s contrivances for -_dissemination_, or that scattering of the seeds of plants which makes -them reach all the places proper for their growth. I dare say you have -observed other plants furnished with the same winged or feathered seeds. - -_Har._ O yes—there are groundsel, and ragwort, and thistles. - -_Geo._ In a windy day I have seen the air all full of thistle-down. - -_Tut._ Very likely: and for that reason you never saw a new-made bank of -earth, or a heap of dung in the fields, but it was presently covered -with thistles. These, and the other plants that have been named, belong -to a very extensive class, which it is worth while being acquainted -with. They are called the _compound-flowered plants_. - -_Geo._ Will you be so good as to give us a lecture about them? - -_Tut._ With all my heart. Get me a dandelion in flower, a thistle-head, -and a daisy—if you cannot find a common daisy, one of the great ox-eye -daisies in the corn will do as well. - -_Geo. and Har._ Here they are. - -_Tut._ Very well. All these are _compound flowers_; for if you will -examine them narrowly, you will perceive that they consist of a number -of little flowers, or _florets_, enclosed in a common cup, which cup is -made of a number of scales, lying on each other like the tiles of a -house. - -_Geo._ I see it. - -_Tut._ The florets are not all alike in shape. In the dandelion you will -observe that they consist of a tube, from which, at its upper end, -proceeds a sort of strap-shaped tongue or fillet; in the thistle they -are tubular or funnel-shaped throughout; in the daisy the centre ones, -which form the _disk_, as it is called, are tubular, while those in the -circumference have a broad strap on one side, which altogether compose -the _rays_ of the flowers; whence this sort are called _radiated_. Now -take the glass and examine the florets singly. Can you discern their -chives and pointals? - -_Geo._ I can. - -_Tut._ You may remark that there are five chives to each, the tips of -which unite into a tube, through which the pointal passes, having its -summit doubled, and curled back. - -_Har._ I can just make it out with the glass, but hardly with the naked -eye. - -_Tut._ It is from this circumstance of the tips of the chives growing -together that Linnæus has taken his distinction of the whole class; and -he has named it _Syngenesia_, from two Greek words having that -signification. You will further observe that all these florets stand -upon a stool or receptacle at the bottom of the flower, which is the -cushion left on the dandelion-stalk after the seeds are blown away. Into -this the seeds are slightly stuck, which are one apiece to every perfect -or fertile floret. This is the general structure of the compound -flowers. - -_Har._ Are all their seeds feathered? - -_Tut._ Not all. These of the daisy are not. But in a great many species -they are. - -_Har._ I should have thought these were a very useful class of plants by -the pains nature has taken to spread them, if you had not told us that -thistles, and ragwort, and groundsel, were some of them. - -_Tut._ And if you do not confine your idea of usefulness to what is -serviceable to man, but extend it to the whole creation, you may safely -conclude, from their abundance, that they must be highly useful in the -general economy of nature. In fact, no plants feed a greater number of -insects, and none are more important to the small birds, to whom they -furnish food by their seeds, and a fine warm down for lining their -nests. On the approach of winter you may see whole flocks of linnets and -goldfinches pecking among the thistles; and you know that groundsel is a -favourite treat to birds in a cage. To man, however, they are for the -most part troublesome and unsightly weeds. Burdock, thistles, and -yarrow, overrun his hedge-banks; dandelion, and hawkweed, which much -resembles it, fill his meadows; the tall and branching ragwort, and blue -succory, cumber his pastures; and wild camomile, ox-eye, and -corn-marygold, choke up his cornfields. These plants in general have a -bitter nauseous taste, so that no cattle will touch them. Daisies, I -believe, are the chief exception. - -_Geo._ But some of them, I suppose, are useful to man? - -_Tut._ Yes, several, and in various ways. Some that have milky bitter -juices are employed in medicine for purifying the blood and removing -obstructions. Of these are dandelion, succory, and sow-thistle. Many -others are bitter, and strongly aromatic; as camomile, wormwood, -southernwood, feverfew, and tansy; these are good for strengthening the -stomach and expelling worms. That capital ingredient in salad, lettuce, -is of this class, and so is endive. Artichoke forms a very singular -article of diet, for the part chiefly eaten, called the bottom, is the -receptacle of the flower, upon which the choke, or seeds with their -feathers, is placed. It is said that some of the larger species of -thistles may be dressed and eaten the same way. Then there is Jerusalem -artichoke, which is the root of a species of sunflower, and, when -boiled, much resembles in taste an artichoke bottom. On the whole, -however, a very small proportion of this class of plants is used in -food. - -_Geo._ Are there no garden-flowers belonging to them? - -_Tut._ Several, especially of the autumnal ones. There are sunflowers of -various kinds, which are the largest flowers the garden produces, though -not the most sightly; marygolds, both the common, and the French and -African, asters, china-asters, golden-rod, and chrysanthemums. Very few -flowers of this class have an agreeable scent, and their shape is not -the most pleasing; but they have often gay colours, and make a figure in -the garden when other things are over. Well—this is most that I -recollect worth noticing of the compound-flowered plants. They are a -difficult class to make out botanically, though pretty easily known from -each other by sight. I will take care to point out to you the principal -of them that we meet with in our walks, and you must get acquainted with -them. - - - - - ON PRESENCE OF MIND. - - -Mrs. F. one day having occasion to be blooded, sent for a surgeon. As -soon as he entered the room, her young daughter, Eliza, started up, and -was hastily going away, when her mother called her back. - -_Mrs. F._ Eliza, do not go, I want you to stay by me. - -_Eliz._ Dear mamma! I can never bear to see you blooded. - -_Mrs. F._ Why not? what harm will it do you? - -_Eliz._ O dear! I cannot look at blood. Besides, I cannot bear to see -you hurt, mamma! - -_Mrs. F._ Oh, if I can bear to feel it, surely you may to see it. But, -come—you _must_ stay, and we will talk about it afterward. - -Eliza, then, pale and trembling, stood by her mother and saw the whole -operation. She could not help, however, turning her head away when the -incision was made, and the first flow of blood made her start and -shudder. When all was over, and the surgeon gone, Mrs. F. began. - -_Mrs. F._ Well, Eliza, what do you think of the mighty matter now? Would -it not have been very foolish to have run away from it? - -_Eliz._ O mamma! how frightened I was when he took out his lancet. Did -it not hurt you a great deal? - -_Mrs. F._ No, very little. And if it had, it was to do me good, you -know. - -_Eliz._ But why should I stay to see it? I could do you no good. - -_Mrs. F._ Perhaps not; but it will do you good to be accustomed to such -sights. - -_Eliz._ Why, mamma? - -_Mrs. F._ Because instances are every day happening in which it is our -duty to assist fellow-creatures in circumstances of pain and distress; -and if we were to indulge a reluctance to come near to them on those -occasions, we should never acquire either the knowledge or the presence -of mind necessary for the purpose. - -_Eliz._ But if I had been told how to help people in such cases, could -not I do it without being used to see them? - -_Mrs. F._ No. We have all naturally a horror at everything which is the -cause of pain and danger to ourselves or others; and nothing but habit -can give most of us the presence of mind necessary to enable us in such -occurrences to employ our knowledge to the best advantage. - -_Eliz._ What is _presence of mind_, mamma? - -_Mrs. F._ It is that steady possession of ourselves in cases of alarm, -that prevents us from being flurried and frightened. You have heard the -expression of _having all our wits about us_. That is the effect of -presence of mind, and a most inestimable quality it is, for without it -we are full as likely to run into danger as to avoid it. Do you not -remember hearing of your cousin Mary’s cap taking fire from a candle? - -_Eliz._ O yes—very well. - -_Mrs. F._ Well—the maid, as soon as she saw it, set up a great scream, -and ran out of the room; and Mary might have been burnt to death for any -assistance she could give her. - -_Eliz._ How foolish that was! - -_Mrs. F._ Yes—the girl had not the least presence of mind, and the -consequence was, depriving her of all recollection, and making her -entirely useless. But as soon as your aunt came up, she took the right -method for preventing the mischief. The cap was too much on fire to be -pulled off; so she whipped a quilt from the bed and flung it round -Mary’s head, and thus stifled the flame. - -_Eliz._ Mary was a good deal scorched, though. - -_Mrs. F._ Yes—but it was very well that it was no worse. If the maid, -however, had acted with any sense at first, no harm would have been -done, except burning the cap. I remember a much more fatal example of -the want of presence of mind. The mistress of a family was awakened by -flames bursting through the wainscot into her chamber. She flew to the -staircase; and in her confusion, instead of going upstairs to call her -children, who slept together in the nursery overhead, and who might all -have escaped by the top of the house, she ran down, and with much danger -made way through the fire, into the street. When she had got thither, -the thought of her poor children rushed into her mind, but it was too -late. The stairs had caught fire, so that nobody could get near them, -and they were burnt in their beds. - -_Eliz._ What a sad thing! - -_Mrs. F._ Sad, indeed! Now, I will tell you of a different conduct. A -lady was awakened by the crackling of fire, and saw it shining under her -chamber-door. Her husband would have immediately opened the door, but -she prevented him, since the smoke and flame would then have burst in -upon them. - -The children with a maid slept in a room opening out of theirs. She went -and awakened them; and tying together the sheets and blankets, she sent -down the maid from the window first, and then let down the children one -by one to her. Last of all she descended herself. A few minutes after, -the floor fell in, and all the house was in flames. - -_Eliz._ What a happy escape! - -_Mrs. F._ Yes—and with what cool recollection of mind it was managed! -For mothers to love their children, and be willing to run any hazards -for them, is common; but in weak minds that very love is apt to prevent -exertions in the time of danger. I knew a lady who had a fine little boy -sitting in her lap. He put a whole plum into his mouth, which slipped -into his throat and choked him. The poor fellow turned black, and -struggled violently; and the mother was so frightened, that instead of -putting her finger in his throat, and pulling out the plum, which might -easily have been done, she laid him on the floor, and ran to call for -assistance. But the maids who came up were as much flurried as she; and -the child died before anything effectual was done to relieve him. - -_Eliz._ How unhappy she must have been about it! - -_Mrs. F._ Yes. It threw her into an illness which had liked to have cost -her her life. - -Another lady, seeing her little boy climb up a high ladder, set up a -violent scream that frightened the child, so that he fell down and was -much hurt; whereas, if she had possessed command enough over herself to -speak to him gently, he might have got down safely. - -_Eliz._ Dear mamma! what is that running down your arm?—O, it is blood! - -_Mrs. F._ Yes—my arm bleeds again. I have stirred it too soon. - -_Eliz._ Dear! What shall I do? - -_Mrs. F._ Don’t frighten yourself. I shall stop the blood by pressing on -the orifice with my finger. In the meantime, do you ring the bell. - - [_Eliza rings—a servant comes._ - -_Mrs. F._ Betty, my arm bleeds. Can you tie it up again? - -_Betty._ I believe I can, madam. - - [_She takes off the bandage and puts on another._ - -_Eliz._ I hope it is stopped now? - -_Mrs. F._ It is. Betty has done it very well. You see she went about it -with composure. This accident puts me in mind of another story which is -very well worth hearing. A man once reaping in the field, cut his arm -dreadfully with his sickle, and divided an artery. - -_Eliz._ What is that, mamma? - -_Mrs. F._ It is one of the canals or pipes through which the blood from -the heart runs like water in a pipe brought from a reservoir. When one -of these is cut it bleeds very violently, and the only way to stop it is -to make a pressure between the wounded place and the heart, in order to -intercept the course of the blood toward it. Well—this poor man bled -profusely; and the people about him, both men and women, were so -stupified with fright, that some ran one way, some another, and some -stood stock still. In short, he would have soon bled to death, had not a -brisk stout-hearted wench, who came up, slipped off her garter, and -bound it tight above the wound, by which means the bleeding was stopped -till proper help could be procured. - -_Eliz._ What a clever wench! But how did she know what to do? - -_Mrs. F._ She had perhaps heard it, as you have done now; and so -probably had some of the others, but they had not presence of mind -enough to put it into practice. It is a much greater trial of courage, -however, when the danger presses upon ourselves as well as others. -Suppose a furious bull was to come upon you in the midst of a field. You -could not possibly escape him by running, and attempting it would -destroy your only chance of safety. - -_Eliz._ What would that be? - -_Mrs. F._ I have a story for that, too. The mother of that Mr. Day, who -wrote _Sandford and Merton_, was distinguished, as he also was, for -courage and presence of mind. When a young woman, she was one day -walking in the fields with a companion, when they perceived a bull -coming to them, roaring and tossing about his head in the most -tremendous manner. - -_Eliz._ O, how I should have screamed! - -_Mrs. F._ I dare say you would; and so did her companion. But she bid -her walk away behind her as gently as she could, while she herself -stopped short, and faced the bull, eying him with a determined -countenance. The bull, when he had come near, stopped also, pawing the -ground and roaring. Few animals will attack a man who steadily waits for -him. In a while, she drew back some steps, still facing the bull. The -bull followed. She stopped, and then he stopped. In this manner, she -made good her retreat to the stile over which her companion had before -got. She then turned and sprung over it; and got clear out of danger. - -_Eliz._ That was bravely done, indeed! But I think very few women could -have done as much. - -_Mrs. F._ Such a degree of cool resolution, to be sure, is not common. -But I have read of a lady in the East Indies who showed at least as -much. She was sitting out of doors with a party of pleasure, when they -were aware of a huge tiger that had crept through a hedge near them, and -was just ready to make his fatal spring. They were struck with the -utmost consternation; but she, with an umbrella in her hand, turned to -the tiger, and suddenly spread it full in his face. This unusual assault -so terrified the beast, that, taking a prodigious leap, he sprung over -the fence, and plunged out of sight into the neighbouring thicket. - -_Eliz._ Well—that was the boldest thing I ever heard of! But is it -possible, mamma, to make one’s self courageous? - -_Mrs. F._ Courage, my dear, is of two kinds; one the gift of nature, the -other of reason and habit. Men have naturally more courage than women; -that is, they are less affected by danger; it makes a less impression -upon them, and does not flutter their spirits so much. This is owing to -the difference of their bodily constitution; and from the same cause -some men and some women are more courageous than others. But the other -kind of courage may in some measure be acquired by every one. Reason -teaches us to face smaller dangers in order to avoid greater, and even -to undergo the greatest when our duty requires it. Habit makes us less -affected by particular dangers which have often come in our way. A -sailor does not feel the danger of a storm so much as a landsman, but if -he was mounted upon a spirited horse in a fox-chase, he would probably -be the most timorous man in company. The courage of women is chiefly -tried in domestic dangers. They are attendants on the sick and dying; -and they must qualify themselves to go through many scenes of terror in -these situations, which would alarm the stoutest-hearted man who was not -accustomed to them. - -_Eliz._ I have heard that women generally bear pain and illness better -than men. - -_Mrs. F._ They do so, because they are more used to them, both in -themselves and others. - -_Eliz._ I think I should not be afraid again to see anybody blooded. - -_Mrs. F._ I hope not. It was for that purpose I made you stand by me. -And I would have you always force yourself to look on and give -assistance in cases of this kind, however painful it may at first be to -you, that you may as soon as possible gain that presence of mind which -arises from habit. - -_Eliz._ But would that make me like to be blooded myself? - -_Mrs. F._ Not to _like_ it, but to lose all foolish fears about it, and -submit calmly to it when good for you. But I hope you have sense enough -to do that already. - -[Illustration: - - Why an Apple falls, p. 203. - - EVENING XVII. -] - - - - - PHAETON JUNIOR: OR, THE GIG DEMOLISHED. - - - Ye heroes of the upper form, - Who long for whip and reins, - Come listen to a dismal tale, - Set forth in dismal strains. - - Young Jehu was a lad of fame - As all the school could tell; - At cricket, taw, and prison-bars, - He bore away the bell. - - Now welcome Whitsuntide was come, - And boys with merry hearts - Were gone to visit dear mamma, - And eat her pies and tarts. - - As soon as Jehu saw his sire, - “A boon! a boon!” he cried; - “O, if I am your darling boy, - Let me not be denied.” - - “My darling boy indeed thou art,” - The father wise replied; - “So name the boon; I promise thee - It shall not be denied.” - - “Then give me, sir, your long-lashed whip, - And give your gig and pair, - To drive alone to yonder town, - And flourish through the fair.” - - The father shook his head; “My son, - You know not what you ask; - To drive a gig in crowded streets - Is no such easy task. - - “The horses, full of rest and corn, - Scarce I myself can guide; - And much I fear, if you attempt, - Some mischief will betide. - - “Then think, dear boy, of something else, - That’s better worth your wishing; - A bow and quiver, bats and balls, - A rod and lines for fishing.” - - But nothing could young Jehu please - Except a touch at driving; - ‘Twas all in vain, his father found, - To spend his breath in striving. - - “At least, attend, rash boy!” he cried, - “And follow good advice, - Or in a ditch both gig and you - Will tumble in a trice. - - “Spare, spare the whip, hold hard the reins. - The steeds go fast enough; - Keep in the middle beaten track, - Nor cross the ruts so rough: - - “And when within the town you come, - Be sure, with special care, - Drive clear of signposts, booths, and stalls - And monsters of the fair.” - - The youth scarce heard his father out, - But roared—“Bring out the whiskey!” - With joy he viewed the rolling wheels, - And prancing ponies frisky. - - He seized the reins, and up he sprung, - And waved the whistling lash; - “Take care; take care!” his father cried: - But off he went slap-dash. - - “Who’s this light spark?” the horses thought, - “We’ll try your strength, young master;” - So o’er the ragged turnpike-road - Still faster ran and faster. - - Young Jehu, tottering in his seat, - Now wished to pull them in; - But pulling from so young a hand - They valued not a pin. - - A drove of grunting pigs before - Now filled up half the way; - Dash through the midst the horses drove - And made a rueful day: - - For some were trampled under foot, - Some crushed beneath the wheel; - Lord! how the drivers cursed and swore - And how the pigs did squeal! - - A farmer’s wife, on old blind Ball, - Went slowly on the road, - With butter, eggs, and cheese, and cream. - In two large panniers stowed. - - Ere Ball could stride the rut, amain - The gig came thundering on, - Crash went the panniers, and the dame - And Ball lay overthrown. - - Now through the town the mettled pair - Ran rattling o’er the stones; - They drove the crowd from side to side - And shook poor Jehu’s bones. - - When, lo! directly in their course, - A monstrous form appeared— - A shaggy bear that stalked and roared - On hinder legs upreared. - - Sidewise they started at the sight, - And whisked the gig half round, - Then ‘cross the crowded marketplace - They flew with furious bound. - - First o’er a heap of crockery-ware - The rapid car they whirled; - And jugs, and mugs, and pots, and pans, - In fragments wide they hurled. - - A booth stood near with tempting cakes - And grocery richly fraught; - All Birmingham on t’ other side - The dazzling optics caught - - With active spring the nimble steeds - Rushed through the pass between, - And scarcely touched; the car behind - Got through not quite so clean: - - For while one wheel one stall engaged, - Its fellow took the other; - Dire was the clash; down fell the booths, - And made a dreadful pother. - - Nuts, oranges, and gingerbread, - And figs here rolled around; - And scissors, knives, and thimbles there - Bestrewed the glittering ground. - - The fall of boards, the shouts and cries, - Urged on the horses faster; - And as they flew, at every step, - They caused some new disaster. - - Here lay o’erturned, in woful plight, - A pedlar and his pack; - There, in a showman’s broken box, - All London went to wrack. - - But now the fates decreed to stop - The ruin of the day, - And make the gig and driver too - A heavy reckoning pay. - - A ditch there lay both broad and deep, - Where streams as black as Styx - From every quarter of the town - Their muddy currents mix. - - Down to its brink in heedless haste - The frantic horses flew, - And in the midst, with sudden jerk, - Their burden overthrew. - - The prostrate gig with desperate force - They soon pulled out again, - And at their heels in ruin dire - Dragged lumbering o’er the plain. - - Here lay a wheel, the axle there, - The body there remained, - Till severed limb from limb, the car - Nor name nor shape retained. - - But Jehu must not be forgot, - Left floundering in the flood, - With clothes all drenched, and mouth and eyes - Beplastered o’er with mud. - - In piteous case he waded through - And gained the slippery side, - Where grinning crowds were gathered round - To mock his fallen pride. - - They led him to a neighbouring pump - To clear his dismal face, - Whence cold and heartless home he slunk, - Involved in sore disgrace. - - And many a bill for damage done - His father had to pay. - Take warning, youthful drivers, all! - From Jehu’s first essay. - - - - - WHY AN APPLE FALLS. - - -“Papa,” said Lucy, “I have been reading to-day, that Sir Isaac Newton -was led to make some of his great discoveries by seeing an apple fall -from a tree. What was there extraordinary in that?” - -_Papa._ There was nothing extraordinary; but it happened to catch his -attention, and set him to thinking. - -_Lucy._ And what did he think about? - -_Pa._ He thought by what means the apple was brought to the ground. - -_Lu._ Why, I could have told him that—because the stalk gave way, and -there was nothing to support it. - -_Pa._ And what then? - -_Lu._ Why, then it must fall, you know. - -_Pa._ But why _must_ it fall?—that is the point. - -_Lu._ Because it could not help it. - -_Pa._ But why could it not help it? - -_Lu._ I don’t know—that is an odd question. Because there was nothing to -keep it up. - -_Pa._ Suppose there was not—does it follow that it must come to the -ground? - -_Lu._ Yes, surely! - -_Pa._ Is an apple animate or inanimate? - -_Lu._ Inanimate, to be sure! - -_Pa._ And can inanimate things move of themselves? - -_Lu._ No—I think not—but the apple falls because it is forced to fall. - -_Pa._ Right! Some force out of itself acts upon it, otherwise it would -remain for ever where it was, notwithstanding it were loosened from the -tree. - -_Lu._ Would it? - -_Pa._ Undoubtedly! for there only two ways in which it could be moved; -by its own power of motion, or the power of something else moving it. -Now the first you acknowledge it has not; the cause of its motion must -therefore be the second. And what that is was the subject of the -philosopher’s inquiry. - -_Lu._ But everything falls to the ground as well as an apple, when there -is nothing to keep it up. - -_Pa._ True—there must therefore be a universal cause of this tendency to -fall. - -_Lu._ And what is it? - -_Pa._ Why, if things out of the earth cannot move themselves to it, -there can be no other cause of their coming together than that the earth -pulls them. - -_Lu._ But the earth is no more animate than they are: so how can it -pull? - -_Pa._ Well objected! This will bring us to the point. Sir Isaac Newton, -after deep meditation, discovered, that there was a law in nature called -_attraction_, by virtue of which every particle of matter, that is, -everything of which the world is composed, draws toward it every other -particle of matter, with a force proportioned to its size and distance. -Lay two marbles on the table. They have a tendency to come together, and -if there were nothing else in the world they would come together, but -they are also attracted by the table, by the ground, and by everything -besides in the room; and these different attractions pull against each -other. Now, the globe of the earth is a prodigious mass of matter, to -which nothing near it can bear any comparison. It draws, therefore, with -mighty force, everything within its reach, which is the cause of their -falling: and this is called the _gravitation_ of bodies, or what gives -them _weight_. When I lift anything, I act contrary to this force, for -which reason it seems _heavy_ to me, and the heavier the more matter it -contains, since that increases the attraction of the earth for it. Do -you understand this? - -_Lu._ I think I do. It is like a loadstone drawing a needle. - -_Pa._ Yes; that is an attraction, but of a particular kind, only taking -place between the magnet and iron. But gravitation, or the attraction of -the earth, acts upon everything alike. - -_Lu._ Then it is pulling you and me at this moment. - -_Pa._ It is. - -_Lu._ But why do not we stick to the ground, then? - -_Pa._ Because, as we are alive, we have a power of self-motion, which -can, to a certain degree, overcome the attraction of the earth. But the -reason you cannot jump a mile high as well as a foot, is this -attraction, which limits the force of your jump, and brings you down -again after that force is spent. - -_Lu._ I think, then, I begin to understand what I have heard of people -living on the other side of the world. I believe they are called -_antipodes_, who have their feet turned toward ours, and their heads in -the air. I used to wonder how it could be that they did not fall off; -but I suppose the earth pulls them to it. - -_Pa._ Very true. And whither should they fall? What have they over their -heads? - -_Lu._ I don’t know; sky, I suppose. - -_Pa._ They have. This earth is a vast ball, hung in the air, and -continually spinning round, and that is the cause why the sun and stars -seem to rise and set. At noon we have the sun over our heads, when the -antipodes have the stars over theirs; and at midnight the stars are over -our heads, and the sun over theirs. So whither should they fall to more -than we?—to the stars or the sun? - -_Lu._ But we are up, and they are down. - -_Pa._ What is up, but _from_ the earth and _toward_ the sky? Their feet -touch the earth, and their heads point to the sky, as well as ours; and -we are under their feet, as much as they are under ours. If a hole were -dug quite through the earth, what would you see through it? - -_Lu._ Sky, with the sun or the stars; and now I see the whole matter -plainly. But pray what supports the earth in the air? - -_Pa._ Why, whither should it go? - -_Lu._ I don’t know—I suppose where there was most to draw it. I have -heard that the sun is a great many times bigger than the earth. Would it -not go to that? - -_Pa._ You have thought very justly on the matter, I perceive. But I -shall take another opportunity of showing you how this is, and why the -earth does not fall into the sun, of which, I confess, there seems to be -some danger. Meanwhile, think how far the falling of an apple has -carried us? - -_Lu._ To the antipodes, and I know not where. - -_Pa._ You may see thence what use may be made of the commonest fact by a -thinking mind. - - - - - NATURE AND EDUCATION.—A FABLE. - - -Nature and Education were one day walking together through a nursery of -trees. “See,” says Nature, “how straight and fine those firs grow—that -is my doing! but as to those oaks, they are all crooked and stunted: -that, my good sister, is your fault. You have planted them too close, -and not pruned them properly.”—“Nay, sister,” said Education, “I am sure -I have taken all possible pains about them; but you gave me bad acorns, -so how should they ever make fine trees?” - -The dispute grew warm; and, at length, instead of blaming one another -for negligence, they began to boast of their own powers, and to -challenge each other to a contest for the superiority. It was agreed -that each should adopt a favourite, and rear it up in spite of the ill -offices of her opponent. Nature fixed upon a vigorous young Weymouth -pine, the parent of which had grown to be the mainmast of a man-of-war. -“Do what you will to this plant,” said she to her sister, “I am resolved -to push it up as straight as an arrow.” Education took under her care a -crab-tree. “This,” said she, “I will rear to be at least as valuable as -your pine.” - -Both went to work. While Nature was feeding her pine with plenty of -wholesome juices, Education passed a strong rope round its top, and -pulling it downward with all its force, fastened it to the trunk of a -neighbouring oak. The pine laboured to ascend, but not being able to -surmount the obstacle, it pushed out to one side, and presently became -bent like a bow. Still, such was its vigour, that its top, after -descending as low as its branches, made a new shoot upward: but its -beauty and usefulness were quite destroyed. - -The crab-tree cost Education a world of pains. She pruned and pruned, -and endeavoured to bring it into shape, but in vain. Nature thrust out a -bough this way, and a knot that way, and would not push a single leading -shoot upward. The trunk was, indeed, kept tolerably straight by constant -efforts; but the head grew awry and ill-fashioned, and made a scrubby -figure. At length, Education, despairing of making a sightly plant of -it, ingrafted the stock with an apple, and brought it to bear tolerable -fruit. - -At the end of the experiment, the sisters met to compare their -respective success. “Ah, sister!” said Nature, “I see it is in your -power to spoil the best of my works.”—“Ah, sister!” said Education, “it -is a hard matter to contend against you—however, something may be done -by taking pains enough.” - - - - - AVERSION SUBDUED.—A DRAMA. - - - SCENE—_A Road in the Country_. - - _Arbury_—_Belford_, walking. - -_Belford._ Pray, who is the present possessor of the Brookby estate? - -_Arbury._ A man of the name of Goodwin. - -_Bel._ Is he a good neighbour to you? - -_Arb._ Far from it! and I wish he had settled a hundred miles off, -rather than come here to spoil our neighbourhood. - -_Bel._ I am sorry to hear that; but what is your objection to him? - -_Arb._ O, there is nothing in which we agree. In the first place he is -quite of the other side in politics; and that, you know, is enough to -prevent all intimacy. - -_Bel._ I am not entirely of that opinion; but what else? - -_Arb._ He is no sportsman, and refuses to join in our association for -protecting the game. Neither does he choose to be a member of any of our -clubs. - -_Bel._ Has he been asked? - -_Arb._ I don’t know that he has directly; but he might easily propose -himself, if he liked it. But he is of a close, unsociable temper, and I -believe very niggardly. - -_Bel._ How has he shown it? - -_Arb._ His style of living is not equal to his fortune; and I have heard -of several instances of his attention to petty economy. - -_Bel._ Perhaps he spends money in charity? - -_Arb._ Not he, I dare say. It was but last week that a poor fellow who -had lost his all by a fire went to him with a subscription paper, in -which were the names of all the gentlemen in the neighbourhood; and all -the answer he got was that he would consider of it. - -_Bel._ And did he consider? - -_Arb._ I don’t know, but I suppose it was only an excuse. Then his -predecessor had a park well stocked with deer, and used to make liberal -presents of venison to all his neighbours. But this frugal gentleman has -sold them all off, and got a flock of sheep instead. - -_Bel._ I don’t see much harm in that, now mutton is so dear. - -_Arb._ To be sure he has a right to do as he pleases with his park, but -that is not the way to be beloved, you know. As to myself, I have reason -to believe he bears me particular ill-will. - -_Bel._ Then he is much in the wrong, for I believe you are as free from -ill-will to others as any man living. But how has he shown it, pray? - -_Arb._ In twenty instances. He had a horse upon sale the other day to -which I took a liking, and bid money for it. As soon as he found I was -about it, he sent it off to a fair on the other side of the county. My -wife, you know, is passionately fond of cultivating flowers. Riding -lately by his grounds, she observed something new, and took a great -longing for a root or cutting of it. My gardener mentioned her wish to -his, (contrary, I own, to my inclination,) and he told his master; but -instead of obliging her, he charged the gardener on no account to touch -the plant. A little while ago I turned off a man for saucy behaviour; -but as he had lived many years with me, and was a very useful servant, I -meant to take him again upon his submission, which I did not doubt would -soon happen. Instead of that, he goes and offers himself to my civil -neighbour, who, without deigning to apply to me even for a character, -entertains him immediately. In short, he has not the least of a -gentleman about him, and I would give anything to be well rid of him. - -_Bel._ Nothing, to be sure, can be more unpleasant, in the country, than -a bad neighbour, and I am concerned it is your lot to have one. But -there is a man who seems as if he wanted to speak with you. - - [_A Countryman approaches._ - -_Arb._ Ah! it is the poor fellow that was burnt out. Well, Richard, how -go you on?—what has the subscription produced you? - -_Richard._ Thank your honour, my losses are nearly all made up. - -_Arb._ I am very glad of that; but when I saw the paper last, it did not -reach half way. - -_Rich._ It did not, sir; but you may remember asking me what Mr. Goodwin -had done for me, and I told you he took time to consider of it. Well, -sir, I found that the very next day he had been at our town, and had -made very particular inquiry about me and my losses, among my -neighbours. When I called upon him in a few days after, he told me he -was very glad to find that I bore such a good character, and that the -gentlemen round had so kindly taken up my case; and he would prevent the -necessity of my going any farther for relief. Upon which, he gave me, -God bless him! a draft upon his banker for fifty pounds. - -_Arb._ Fifty pounds! - -_Rich._ Yes, sir—it has made me quite my own man again; and I am now -going to purchase a new cart and team of horses. - -_Arb._ A noble gift, indeed; I could never have thought it! Well, -Richard, I rejoice at your good fortune. I am sure you are much obliged -to Mr. Goodwin. - -_Rich._ Indeed, I am, sir, and to all my good friends. God bless you! - - [_Goes on._ - -_Bel._ Niggardliness, at least, is not this man’s foible. - -_Arb._ No—I was mistaken in that point. I wronged him, and I am sorry -for it. But what a pity it is that men of real generosity should not be -amiable in their manners, and as ready to oblige in trifles as in -matters of consequence. - -_Bel._ True—‘tis a pity when that is really the case. - -_Arb._ How much less an exertion it would have been to have shown some -civility about a horse or a flower-root! - -_Bel._ Apropos of flowers!—there’s your gardener carrying a large one in -a pot. - - _Enter Gardener._ - -_Arb._ Now, James, what have you got there? - -_Gardener._ A flower, sir, for madam, from Mr. Goodwin’s. - -_Arb._ How did you come by it? - -_Gard._ His gardener, sir, sent me word to come for it. We should have -had it before, but Mr. Goodwin thought it would not move safely. - -_Arb._ I hope he has got more of them? - -_Gard._ He has only a seedling plant or two, sir; but hearing that madam -took a liking to it, he resolved to send it her, and a choice thing it -is! I have a note for madam in my pocket. - -_Arb._ Well, go on. - - [_Exit Gardener._ - -_Bel._ Methinks this does not look like deficiency in civility? - -_Arb._ No—it is a very polite action—I ca’n’t deny it, and I am obliged -to him for it. Perhaps, indeed, he may feel he owes me a little amends. - -_Bel._ Possibly—it shows he _can_ feel, however. - -_Arb._ It does. Ha! there’s Yorkshire Tom coming with a string of horses -from the fair. I’ll step up and speak to him. Now, Tom! how have horses -gone at Market-hill? - -_Tom._ Dear enough, your honour! - -_Arb._ How much more did you get for Mr. Goodwin’s mare than I offered -him? - -_Tom._ Ah! sir, that was not a thing for your riding, and that Mr -Goodwin well knew. You never saw such a vicious toad. She had liked to -have killed the groom two or three times. So I was ordered to offer her -to the mail-coach people, and get what I could from them. I might have -sold her better if Mr. Goodwin would have let me, for she was a fine -creature to look at as need be, and quite sound. - -_Arb._ And was that the true reason why the mare was not sold to me? - -_Tom._ It was, indeed, sir. - -_Arb._ Then I am highly obliged to Mr. Goodwin. (_Tom rides on._) This -was handsome behaviour, indeed! - -_Bel._ Yes, I think it was somewhat more than politeness—it was real -goodness of heart. - -_Arb._ It was. I find I must alter my opinion of him, and I do it with -pleasure. But, after all, his conduct with respect to my servant is -somewhat unaccountable. - -_Bel._ I see reason to think so well of him in the main, that I am -inclined to hope he will be acquitted in this matter, too. - -_Arb._ There the fellow is. I wonder he has my old livery on yet! - - [_Ned approaches, pulling off his hat._ - -_Ned._ Sir, I was coming to your honour. - -_Arb._ What can you have to say to me now, Ned? - -_Ned._ To ask pardon for my misbehaviour, and to beg you to take me -again. - -_Arb._ What—have you so soon parted with your new master? - -_Ned._ Mr. Goodwin never was my master, sir. He only kept me in his -house till I could make it up with you again; for he said he was sure -you were too honourable a gentleman to turn off an old servant without -good reason, and he hoped you would admit my excuses after your anger -was over. - -_Arb._ Did he say all that? - -_Ned._ Yes, sir; and he advised me not to delay any longer to ask your -pardon. - -_Arb._ Well—go to my house, and I will talk with you on my return. - -_Bel._ Now, my friend, what think you of this? - -_Arb._ I think more than I can well express. It will be a lesson to me -never to make hasty judgments again. - -_Bel._ Why, indeed, to have concluded that such a man had nothing of the -gentleman about him must have been rather hasty. - -_Arb._ I acknowledge it. But it is the misfortune of these reserved -characters that they are so long in making themselves known; though, -when they are known, they often prove the most truly estimable. I am -afraid, even now, that I must be content with esteeming him at a -distance. - -_Bel._ Why so? - -_Arb._ You know I am of an open sociable disposition. - -_Bel._ Perhaps he is so, too. - -_Arb._ If he was, surely we should have been better acquainted before -this time. - -_Bel._ It may have been prejudice rather than temper that has kept you -apart. - -_Arb._ Possibly so. The vile spirit of party has such a sway in the -country, that men of the most liberal dispositions can hardly free -themselves from its influence. It poisons all the kindness of society; -and yonder comes an instance of its pernicious effects. - -_Bel._ Who is he? - -_Arb._ A poor schoolmaster with a large family in the next market-town, -who has lost all his scholars by his activity on our side in the last -election. I heartily wish it was in my power to do something for him; -for he is a very honest man, though, perhaps, rather too warm. [_The -schoolmaster comes up._] Now, Mr. Penman, how do things go with you? - -_Pen._ I thank you, sir, they have gone poorly enough, but I hope they -are in a way to mend. - -_Arb._ I am glad to hear it—but how? - -_Pen._ Why, sir, the free-school of Stoke is vacant, and I believe I am -likely to get it. - -_Arb._ Ay!—I wonder at that. I thought it was in the hands of the other -party? - -_Pen._ It is, sir; but Mr. Goodwin has been so kind as to give me a -recommendation, and his interest is sufficient to carry it. - -_Arb._ Mr. Goodwin! you surprise me! - -_Pen._ I was much surprised, too, sir. He sent for me of his own accord, -(for I should never have thought of asking _him_ a favour,) and told me -he was sorry a man should be injured in his profession on account of -party, and as I could not live comfortably where I was, he would try to -settle me in a better place. So he mentioned the vacancy of Stoke, and -offered me letters for the trustees. I was never so affected in my life, -sir; I could hardly speak to return him thanks. He kept me to dinner, -and treated me with the greatest respect. Indeed, I believe there is not -a kinder man breathing than Mr. Goodwin. - -_Arb._ You have the best reason in the world to say so, Mr. Penman. -What—did he converse familiarly with you? - -_Pen._ Quite so, sir. We talked a great deal about party affairs in this -neighbourhood, and he lamented much that differences of this kind should -keep worthy men at a distance from each other. I took the liberty, sir, -of mentioning your name. He said he had not the honour of being -acquainted with you, but he had a sincere esteem for your character, and -should be glad of any occasion to cultivate a friendship with you. For -my part, I confess, to my shame I did not think there could have been -such a man on that side. - -_Arb._ Well—good morning! - -_Pen._ Your most obedient, sir. - - [_He goes._ - -_Arb._ (_After some silence._) Come, my friend, let us go. - -_Bel._ Whither? - -_Arb._ Can you doubt it?—to Mr. Goodwin’s, to be sure! After all I have -heard, can I exist a moment without acknowledging the injustice I have -done him, and begging his friendship? - -_Bel._ I shall be happy, I am sure, to accompany you on that errand. But -who is to introduce us? - -_Arb._ O, what are form and ceremony in a case like this! Come—come. - -_Bel._ Most willingly. - - [_Exeunt._ - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XVIII. -] - - - - - THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER. - - -Mr. L. was one morning riding by himself, when dismounting to gather a -plant in the hedge, his horse got loose and galloped away before him. He -followed, calling the horse by his name, which stopped, but on his -approach set off again. At length, a little boy in a neighbouring field, -seeing the affair, ran across where the road made a turn, and getting -before the horse, took him by the bridle, and held him till his owner -came up. Mr. L. looked at the boy, and admired his ruddy, cheerful -countenance. - -“Thank you, my good lad!” said he; “you have caught my horse very -cleverly. What shall I give you for your trouble?” putting his hand in -his pocket. - -_Boy._ I want nothing, sir. - -_Mr. L._ Don’t you? so much the better for you. Few men can say as much. -But pray, what are you doing in the field? - -_Boy._ I was rooting up weeds and tending the sheep that are feeding on -the turnips. - -_Mr. L._ And do you like this employment? - -_Boy._ Yes, very well, this fine weather. - -_Mr. L._ But had you not rather play? - -_Boy._ This is not hard work; it is almost as good as play. - -_Mr. L._ Who set you to work? - -_Boy._ My daddy, sir. - -_Mr. L._ Where does he live? - -_Boy._ Just by, among the trees there. - -_Mr. L._ What is his name? - -_Boy._ Thomas Hurdle. - -_Mr. L._ And what is yours? - -_Boy._ Peter, sir. - -_Mr. L._ How old are you? - -_Boy._ I shall be eight at Michaelmas. - -_Mr. L._ How long have you been out in this field? - -_Boy._ Ever since six in the morning. - -_Mr. L._ And are not you hungry? - -_Boy._ Yes—I shall go to dinner soon. - -_Mr. L._ If you had sixpence now, what would you do with it? - -_Boy._ I don’t know. I never had so much in my life. - -_Mr. L._ Have you no playthings? - -_Boy._ Playthings! what are those? - -_Mr. L._ Such as balls, nine-pins, marbles, tops, and wooden horses. - -_Boy._ No, sir; but our Tom makes footballs to kick in the cold weather, -and we set traps for birds; and then I have a jumping-pole and a pair of -stilts to walk through the dirt with; and I had a hoop, but it is broke. - -_Mr. L._ And do you want nothing else? - -_Boy._ No. I have hardly time for those: for I always ride the horses to -field, and bring up the cows, and run to the town of errands, and that -is as good as play, you know. - -_Mr. L._ Well, but you could buy apples or gingerbread at the town, I -suppose, if you had money? - -_Boy._ Oh—I can get apples at home; and as for gingerbread I don’t mind -it much, for my mammy gives me a pie now and then, and that is as good. - -_Mr. L._ Would you not like a knife to cut sticks? - -_Boy._ I have one—here it is—brother Tom gave it me. - -_Mr. L._ Your shoes are full of holes—don’t you want a better pair? - -_Boy._ I have a better pair for Sundays. - -_Mr. L._ But these let in water. - -_Boy._ Oh, I don’t care for that. - -_Mr. L._ Your hat is all torn, too. - -_Boy._ I have a better at home, but I had as leave have none at all, for -it hurts my head. - -_Mr. L._ What do you do when it rains? - -_Boy._ If it rains very hard, I get under the hedges till it is over. - -_Mr. L._ What do you do when you are hungry before it is time to go -home? - -_Boy._ I sometimes eat a raw turnip. - -_Mr. L._ But if there are none? - -_Boy._ Then I do as well as I can; I work on, and never think of it. - -_Mr. L._ Are you not dry sometimes this hot weather? - -_Boy._ Yes, but there is water enough. - -_Mr. L._ Why, my little fellow, you are quite a philosopher! - -_Boy._ Sir? - -_Mr. L._ I say you are a philosopher, but I am sure you do not know what -that means. - -_Boy._ No, sir, no harm, I hope. - -_Mr. L._ No, no! (_Laughing._) Well, my boy, you seem to want nothing at -all, so I shall not give you money to make you want anything. But were -you ever at school? - -_Boy._ No, sir, but daddy says I shall go after harvest. - -_Mr. L._ You will want books then. - -_Boy._ Yes, the boys have all a spelling-book and a testament. - -_Mr. L._ Well, then, I will give you them—tell your daddy so, and that -it is because I think you a very good contented little boy. So now go to -your sheep again. - -_Boy._ I will, sir. Thank you. - -_Mr. L._ Good-by, Peter. - -_Boy._ Good-by, sir. - - - - - WHAT ANIMALS ARE MADE FOR. - - -“Pray, papa,” said Sophia after she had been a long time teased with the -flies that buzzed about her ears, and settled on her nose and forehead -as she sat at work—“Pray, what were flies made for?” - -“For some good, I dare say,” replied her papa. - -_Sop._ But I think they do a great deal more harm than good, for I am -sure they plague me sadly: and in the kitchen they are so troublesome, -that the maids can hardly do their work for them. - -_Pa._ Flies eat up many things that would otherwise corrupt and become -loathsome; and they serve for food to birds, spiders, and many other -animals. - -_Sop._ But we could clean away everything that was offensive without -their help; and as to their serving for food, I have seen whole heaps of -them lying dead in a window, without seeming to have done good to -anything. - -_Pa._ Well, then. Suppose a fly capable of thinking; would he not be -equally puzzled to find out what men were good for? “This great -two-legged monster,” he might say, “instead of helping us to live, -devours more food at a meal than would serve a whole legion of flies. -Then he kills us by hundreds when we come within his reach, and I see -him destroy and torment all other animals too. And when he dies he is -nailed up in a box, and put a great way under ground, as if he grudged -doing any more good after his death than when alive.” Now what would you -answer to such a reasoning fly? - -_Sop._ I would tell him he was very impertinent for talking so of his -betters; for that he and all other creatures were made for the use of -man, and not man for theirs. - -_Pa._ But would you tell him true? You have just been saying that you -could not find out of what use flies were to us: whereas, when they suck -our blood, there is no doubt that we are of use to them. - -_Sop._ It is that which puzzles me. - -_Pa._ There are many other animals which we call _noxious_, and which -are so far from being useful to us, that we take all possible pains to -get rid of them. More than that, there are vast tracks of the earth -where few or no men inhabit, which are yet full of beasts, birds, -insects, and all living things. These certainly do not exist there for -his use alone. On the contrary, they often keep man away. - -_Sop._ Then what are they made for? - -_Pa._ They are made to be happy. It is a manifest purpose of the Creator -to give being to as much life as possible, for life is enjoyment to all -creatures in health and in possession of their faculties. Man surpasses -other animals in his powers of enjoyment, and he has prospects in a -future state which they do not share with him. But the Creator equally -desires the happiness of all his creatures, and looks down with as much -benignity upon these flies that are sporting around us, as upon -ourselves. - -_Sop._ Then we ought not to kill them, if they are ever so troublesome. - -_Pa._ I do not say that. We have a right to make a reasonable use of all -animals for our advantage, and also to free ourselves from such as are -hurtful to us. So far our superiority over them may fairly extend. But -we should never abuse them for our mere amusement, nor take away their -lives wantonly. Nay, a good natured-man will rather undergo a _little_ -inconvenience, than take away from a creature all that it possesses. An -infant may destroy life, but all the kings upon earth cannot restore it. -I remember reading of a good-tempered old gentleman that having been a -long time plagued with a great fly that buzzed about his face all -dinner-time, at length, after many efforts, caught it. Instead of -crushing it to death, he held it carefully in his hand, and opening the -window, “Go,” said he,—“get thee gone, poor creature, I won’t hurt a -hair of thy head; surely the world is wide enough for thee and me.” - -_Sop._ I should have loved that man. - -_Pa._ One of our poets has written some very pretty lines to a fly that -came to partake with him of his wine. They begin:— - - “Busy, curious, thirsty fly, - Drink with me, and drink as I; - Welcome freely to my cup, - Couldst thou sip and sip it up.” - -_Sop._ How pretty! I think they will almost make me love flies. But -pray, papa, do not animals destroy one another? - -_Pa._ They do, indeed. The greatest part of them only live by the -destruction of life. There is a perpetual warfare going on, in which the -stronger prey upon the weaker, and, in their turns, are the prey of -those which are a degree stronger than themselves. Even the innocent -sheep, with every mouthful of grass, destroys hundreds of small insects. -In the air we breathe, and the water we drink, we give death to -thousands of invisible creatures. - -_Sop._ But is not that very strange? If they were created to live and be -happy, why should they be destroyed so fast? - -_Pa._ They are destroyed no faster than others are produced; and if they -enjoyed life while it lasted, they have had a good bargain. By making -animals the food of animals, Providence has filled up every chink, as it -were, of existence. You see these swarms of flies. During all the hot -weather they are continually coming forth from the state of eggs and -maggots, and as soon as they get the use of wings, they roam about and -fill every place in search of food. Meantime, they are giving sustenance -to the whole race of spiders; they maintain all the swallow tribe, and -contribute greatly to the support of many other small birds, and even -afford many a delicate morsel to the fishes. Their own numbers, however, -seem scarcely diminished, and vast multitudes live on till the cold -weather comes and puts an end to them. Were nothing to touch them, they -would probably become so numerous as to starve each other. As it is, -they are full of enjoyment themselves, and afford life and enjoyment to -other creatures, which in their turn supply the wants of others. - -_Sop._ It is no charity, then, to tear a spider’s web in pieces in order -to set the fly at liberty. - -_Pa._ None at all—no more than it would be to demolish the traps of a -poor Indian hunter who depended upon them for his dinner. They both act -as nature directs them. Shall I tell you a story? - -_Sop._ O yes—pray do! - -_Pa._ As a venerable Bramin, who had never in his days eaten anything -but rice, fruits, and milk, and held it the greatest of crimes to shed -the blood of anything that had life, was one day meditating on the banks -of the Ganges, he saw a little bird on the ground picking up ants as -fast as he could swallow. “Murderous wretch,” cried he, “what scores of -lives are sacrificed to one gluttonous meal of thine!” Presently, a -sparrow-hawk, pouncing down, seized him in his claws and flew off with -him. The Bramin was at first inclined to triumph over the little bird; -but on hearing his cries, he could not help pitying him. “Poor thing,” -said he, “thou art fallen into the clutches of a tyrant!” A stronger -tyrant, however, took up the matter; for a falcon in mid air darting on -the sparrow-hawk, struck him to the ground, with the bird lifeless in -his talons. Tyrant against tyrant, thought the Bramin, is well enough. -The falcon had not finished tearing his prey, when a lynx stealing from -behind a rock on which he was perched, sprung upon him, and having -strangled him, bore him to the edge of a neighbouring thicket, and began -to suck his blood. The Bramin was attentively viewing this new display -of retributive justice, when a sudden roar shook the air, and a huge -tiger rushing from the thicket, came like thunder on the lynx. The -Bramin was near enough to hear the crushing bones, and was making off in -great terror, when he met an English soldier armed with his musket. He -pointed eagerly to the place where the tiger was making his bloody -repast. The soldier levelled his gun, and laid the tiger dead. “Brave -fellow!” exclaimed the Bramin. “I am very hungry,” said the soldier, -“can you give me a beefsteak? I see you have plenty of cows -here.”—“Horrible!” cried the Bramin; “what! I kill the sacred cows of -Brama!”—“Then kill the next tiger yourself,” said the soldier. - - - - - TRUE HEROISM. - - -You have read, my Edmund, the stories of Achilles, and Alexander, and -Charles of Sweden, and have, I doubt not, admired the high courage which -seemed to set them above all sensations of fear, and rendered them -capable of the most extraordinary actions. The world called these men -_heroes_; but before we give them that noble appellation, let us -consider what were the motives which animated them to act and suffer as -they did. - -The first was a ferocious savage, governed by the passions of anger and -revenge, in gratifying which he disregarded all impulses of duty and -humanity. The second was intoxicated with the love of glory—swollen with -absurd pride—and enslaved by dissolute pleasures; and in pursuit of -these objects he reckoned the blood of millions as of no account. The -third was unfeeling, obstinate, and tyrannical, and preferred ruining -his country, and sacrificing all his faithful followers, to the -humiliation of giving up any of his mad projects. _Self_, you see, was -the spring of all their conduct; and a selfish man can never be a hero. -I will give you two examples of genuine heroism, one shown in acting, -the other in suffering; and these shall be _true stories_, which is -perhaps more than can be said of half that is recorded of Achilles and -Alexander. - -You have probably heard something of Mr. Howard, the reformer of -prisons, to whom a monument is erected in St. Paul’s church. His whole -life almost was heroism; for he confronted all sorts of dangers with the -sole view of relieving the miseries of his fellow-creatures. When he -began to examine the state of prisons, scarcely any in the country were -free from a very fatal and infectious distemper called the jail fever. -Wherever he heard of it, he made a point of seeing the poor sufferers, -and often went down into their dungeons, when the keepers themselves -would not accompany him. He travelled several times over almost the -whole of Europe, and even into Asia, in order to gain knowledge of the -state of prisons and hospitals, and point out means for lessening the -calamities that prevail in them. He even went into countries where the -plague was, that he might learn the best methods of treating that -terrible contagious disease; and he voluntarily exposed himself to -perform a strict quarantine, as one suspected of having the infection of -the plague, only that he might be thoroughly acquainted with the methods -used for prevention. He at length died of a fever caught in attending on -the sick on the borders of Crim Tartary, honoured and admired by all -Europe, after having greatly contributed to enlighten his own and many -other countries with respect to some of the most important objects of -humanity. Such was _Howard the good_; as great a hero in preserving -mankind, as some of the false heroes above mentioned were in destroying -them. - -My second hero is a much humbler, but not less genuine one. - -There was a journeyman bricklayer in this town—an able workman, but a -very drunken idle fellow, who spent at the alehouse almost all he -earned, and left his wife and children to shift for themselves as they -could. This is, unfortunately, a common case; and of all the tyranny and -cruelty exercised in the world, I believe that of bad husbands and -fathers is by much the most frequent and the worst. - -The family might have starved, but for his eldest son, whom from a child -the father brought up to help him in his work; and who was so -industrious and attentive, that being now at the age of thirteen or -fourteen, he was able to earn pretty good wages, every farthing of -which, that he could keep out of his father’s hands, he brought to his -mother. And when his brute of a father came home drunk, cursing and -swearing, and in such an ill humour, that his mother and the rest of the -children durst not come near him for fear of a beating, this good lad -(Tom was his name) kept near him, to pacify him, and get him quietly to -bed. His mother, therefore, justly looked upon Tom as the support of the -family, and loved him dearly. - -It chanced that one day Tom, in climbing up a high ladder with a load of -mortar on his head, missed his hold, and fell down to the bottom on a -heap of bricks and rubbish. The bystanders ran up to him, and found him -all bloody, and with his thigh broken and bent quite under him. They -raised him up, and sprinkled water on his face to recover him from a -swoon into which he had fallen. As soon as he could speak, looking -round, with a lamentable tone he cried, “O, what will become of my poor -mother!” - -He was carried home, I was present while the surgeon set his thigh. His -mother was hanging over him half distracted: “Don’t cry, mother!” said -he, “I shall get well again in time.” Not a word more or a groan escaped -him while the operation lasted. - -Tom was a ragged boy that could not read or write—yet Tom has always -stood on my list of heroes. - -[Illustration: - - The Female Choice, p. 232. - - EVENING XIX. -] - - - - - ON METALS. - PART 1. - - -George and Harry, with their tutor, one day in their walk, were driven -by the rain to take shelter in a blacksmith’s shop; and the shower -lasting some time, the boys, in order to amuse themselves, began to -examine the things around them. The great bellows first attracted their -notice, and they admired the roaring it made, and the expedition with -which it raised the fire to a heat too intense for them to look at. They -were surprised at the dexterity with which the smith fashioned a bar of -iron into a horseshoe; first heating it, then hammering it well on the -anvil, cutting off a proper length, bending it round, turning up the -ends, and lastly, punching the nail-holes. They watched the whole -process of fitting it to the horse’s foot, and fastening it on; and it -had become fair some minutes before they showed a desire to leave the -shop and proceed on their walk. - -“I should never have thought,” says George, beginning the conversation, -“that such a hard thing as iron could have been so easily managed.” - -“Nor I neither,” said Harry. - -_Tut._ It was managed, you saw, by the help of fire. The fire made it -soft and flexible, so that the smith could easily hammer it, and cut it, -and bend it to the shape he wanted; and then dipping it in the water -made it hard again. - -_Geo._ Are all other metals managed in the same manner? - -_Tut._ They are all worked by the help of fire in some way or other, -either in melting them, or making them soft. - -_Geo._ There are a good many sorts of metals, are there not? - -_Tut._ Yes, several; and if you have a mind I will tell you about them, -and their uses. - -_Geo._ Pray do, sir. - -_Har._ Yes; I should like to hear it of all things. - -_Tut._ Well, then. First, let us consider what a metal is. Do you think -you should know one from a stone? - -_Geo._ A stone!—Yes, I could not mistake a piece of lead or iron for a -stone. - -_Tut._ How would you distinguish it? - -_Geo._ A metal is bright and shining. - -_Tut._ True—brilliance is one of their qualities. But glass and crystal -are very bright, too. - -_Har._ But one may see through glass, and not through a piece of metal. - -_Tut._ Right. Metals are brilliant, but opaque, or not transparent. The -thinnest plate of metal that can be made will keep out the light as -effectually as a stone-wall. - -_Geo._ Metals are very heavy, too. - -_Tut._ True. They are the heaviest bodies in nature; for the lightest -metal is nearly twice as heavy as the heaviest stone. Well, what else? - -_Geo._ Why, they will bear beating with a hammer, which a stone would -not, without flying in pieces. - -_Tut._ Yes: that property of extending or spreading under the hammer, is -called _malleability_; and another, like it, is that of bearing to be -drawn out into a wire, which is called _ductility_. Metals have both -these, and much of their use depends upon them. - -_Geo._ Metals will melt, too. - -_Har._ What! will iron melt? - -_Tut._ Yes; all metals will melt, though some require greater heat than -others. The property of melting is called _fusibility_. Do you know -anything more about them? - -_Geo._ No; except that they come out of the ground, I believe. - -_Tut._ That is properly added, for it is this circumstance which makes -them rank among _fossils_, or minerals. To sum up their character, then, -a metal is a brilliant, opaque, heavy, malleable, ductile, and fusible -mineral. - -_Geo._ I think I can hardly remember all that. - -_Tut._ The _names_ may slip your memory, but you cannot see metals at -all used, without being sensible of the _things_. - -_Geo._ But what are _ores_? I remember seeing a heap of iron ore which -men were breaking with hammers, and it looked only like stones. - -_Tut._ The _ore_ of a metal is the state in which it is generally met -with in the earth, when it is so mixed with stony and other matters, as -not to show its proper qualities as a metal. - -_Har._ How do people know it, then? - -_Tut._ By experience. It was probably accident that in the early ages -discovered that certain fossils by the force of fire might be made to -yield a metal. The experiment was repeated on other fossils; so that in -length of time all the different metals were found out, and all the -different forms in which they lie concealed in the ground. The knowledge -of this is called _mineralogy_, and a very important science it is. - -_Geo._ Yes, I suppose so: for metals are very valuable things. Our next -neighbour, Mr. Stirling, I have heard, gets a great deal of money every -year, from his mines in Wales. - -_Tut._ He does. The mineral riches of some countries are much superior -to that of their products above ground, and the revenues of many kings -are in great part derived from their mines. - -_Har._ I suppose they must be gold and silver mines? - -_Tat._ Those, to be sure, are the most valuable, if the metals are found -in tolerable abundance. But do you know why they are so? - -_Har._ Because money is made of gold and silver. - -_Tut._ That is a principal reason, no doubt. But these metals have -intrinsic properties that make them highly valuable, else probably they -would not have been chosen in so many countries to make money of. In the -first place, gold and silver are both _perfect metals_, that is, -indestructible in the fire. Other metals, if kept a considerable time in -the fire, change by degrees into an earthy, scaly matter, called an -oxide. You have melted lead, I dare say? - -_Geo._ Yes, often. - -_Tut._ Have you not, then, perceived a drossy film collect upon its -surface, after it had kept melting a while? - -_Geo._ Yes. - -_Tut._ That is an oxide; and in time the whole lead would change to such -a substance. You may see, too, when you have heated the poker red-hot, -some scales separate from it, which are brittle. - -_Har._ Yes, the kitchen poker is almost burnt away by putting into the -fire. - -_Tut._ Well—all metals undergo these changes, except gold and silver; -but these, if kept ever so long in the hottest fire, sustain no loss or -change. They are therefore called _perfect metals_. Gold has several -other remarkable properties. It is the heaviest of all metals. - -_Har._ What, is it heavier than lead? - -_Tut._ Yes—about half as heavy again. It is between nineteen and twenty -times as heavy as an equal bulk of water. This great weight is a ready -means of discovering counterfeit gold coin from genuine; for as gold -must be adulterated with something much lighter than itself, a false -coin, if of the same weight with the true, will be sensibly bigger. -Gold, too, is the most ductile of all metals. You have seen gold-leaf? - -_Geo._ Yes; I bought a book of it once. - -_Tut._ Gold-leaf is made by beating a plate of gold placed between -pieces of skin, with heavy hammers, till it is spread out to the utmost -degree of thinness. And so great is its capacity for being extended, -that a single grain of the metal, which would be scarce bigger than a -large pin’s head, is beaten out to a surface of fifty square inches. - -_Geo._ That is wonderful, indeed! But I know gold-leaf must be very -thin, for it will almost float upon the air. - -_Tut._ By drawing gold out to a wire, it may be still farther extended. -Gold wire, as it is called, is made with silver overlaid with a small -proportion of gold, and they are drawn out together. In the wire -commonly used for laces, and embroidery, and the like, a grain of gold -is made completely to cover a length of three hundred and fifty-two -feet; and when it is stretched still farther by flatting, it will reach -four hundred and one feet. - -_Geo._ Prodigious! What a vast way a guinea might be drawn out, then! - -_Tut._ Yes, the gold of a guinea at that rate would reach above nine -miles and a half. This property in gold of being capable of extension to -so extraordinary a degree, is owing to its great tenacity or cohesion of -particles, which is such, that you can scarcely break a piece of gold -wire by twisting it. - -_Har._ Then it would make very good wire for hanging bells. - -_Tut._ It would; but such bell-hanging would come rather too dear. -Another valuable quality of gold, is its fine colour. You know scarce -anything makes a more splendid appearance than gilding. And a peculiar -advantage of it is, that gold is not liable to rust or tarnish, as other -metals are. It will keep its colour fresh for a great many years, in a -pure and clear air. - -_Har._ I remember the vane of the church-steeple was new-gilt two years -ago, and it looks as well as at first. - -_Tut._ This property of not rusting would render gold very useful for a -variety of purposes, if it were more common. It would make excellent -cooking utensils, water-pipes, mathematical instruments, clockwork, and -the like. - -_Geo._ But is not gold soft? I have seen pieces of gold bent double. - -_Tut._ Yes; it is next in softness to lead, and, therefore, when it is -made into coin, or used for any common purposes, it is mixed with a -small proportion of some other metal, in order to harden it. This is -called its _alloy_. Our gold coin has one twelfth of alloy, which is -copper. - -_Geo._ How beautiful new gold coin is! - -_Tut._ Yes—scarce any metal takes a stamp or impression better; and it -is capable of a very fine polish. - -_Geo._ What countries yield the most gold? - -_Tut._ South America, the East Indies, and the coast of Africa. Europe -affords but little; yet a moderate quantity is got every year from -Hungary. - -_Geo._ I have heard of rivers rolling sands of gold. Is there any truth -in that? - -_Tut._ The poets, as usual, have exaggerated the matter: however, there -are various streams in different parts of the world, the sands of which -contain particles of gold, and some of them in such quantity as to be -worth the search. - -_Har._ How does the gold come there? - -_Tut._ It is washed down along with the soil from mountains by the -torrents which are the sources of rivers. Some persons say that all -sands contain gold; but I would not advise you to take the pains to -search for it in our common sand: for, in more senses than one, _gold -may be bought too dear_. - -_Har._ But what a fine thing it would be to find a gold mine on one’s -estate! - -_Tut._ Perhaps not so fine as you may imagine, for many a one does not -pay the cost of working. A coal-pit would probably be a better thing. -Who do you think are the greatest gold-finders in Europe? - -_Har._ I don’t know. - -_Tut._ The gipsies in Hungary. A number of half-starved, half-naked -wretches of that community employ themselves in washing and picking the -sands of some mountain-streams in that country which contain gold, from -which they obtain just profit enough to keep body and soul together: -whereas, did they employ themselves in agriculture or manufactures, they -might have got a comfortable subsistence. Gold, almost all the world -over, is first got by slaves, and it makes slaves of those who possess -much of it. - -_Geo._ For my part, I will be content with a silver mine. - -_Har._ But we have none of those in England, have we? - -_Tut._ We have no silver mines, properly so called, but silver is -procured in some of our lead mines. There are, however, valuable silver -mines in various parts of Europe; but the richest of all are in Peru, in -South America. - -_Geo._ Are not the famous mines of Potosi there? - -_Tut._ They are. Shall I now tell you some of the properties of silver? - -_Geo._ By all means. - -_Tut._ It is another _perfect_ metal. It is also as little liable to -rust as gold, though indeed it readily gets tarnished. - -_Har._ Yes; I know our footman is often obliged to clean our plate -before it is used. - -_Tut._ Plate, however, is not made of pure silver, any more than silver -coin, and silver utensils of all kinds. Copper is mixed with it, as with -gold, to harden it; and that makes it more liable to tarnish. - -_Geo._ Bright silver, I think, is almost as beautiful as gold. - -_Tut._ It is the most beautiful of the white metals, and is capable of a -very fine polish; and this, together with its rarity, makes it used for -a great variety of ornamental purposes. Then it is nearly as ductile and -malleable as gold. - -_Geo._ I have had silver-leaf, and it seemed as thin as gold-leaf. - -_Tut._ It is nearly so. That is used for silvering, as gold-leaf is for -gilding. It is common, too, to cover metals with a thin coating of -silver which is called plating. - -_Har._ The child’s saucepan is silvered over on the inside. What is that -for? - -_Tut._ To prevent the victuals from getting any taint from the metal of -the saucepan; for silver is not capable of being corroded or dissolved -by any of the liquids used for food, as iron and copper are. - -_Har._ And that is the reason I suppose that fruit-knives are made of -silver. - -_Tut._ It is; but the softness of the metal makes them bear a very poor -edge. - -_Geo._ Does silver melt easily? - -_Tut._ Silver and gold both melt more difficultly than lead; not till -they are above a common red heat. As to the weight of silver, it is -nearly one half less than that of gold, being only eleven times as heavy -as water. - -_Har._ Is quicksilver a kind of silver? - -_Tut._ It takes its name from silver, being very like it in colour; but -in reality it is a very different thing, and one of the most singular of -the metal kind. - -_Geo._ It is not _malleable_, I am sure. - -_Tut._ No; not when it is quick or fluid, as it always is in our -climate. But a very great degree of cold makes it solid, and then it is -malleable like other metals. - -_Geo._ I have heard of _killing_ quicksilver; pray, what does that mean? - -_Tut._ It means destroying its property of running about, by mixing it -with something else. Thus if quicksilver be well rubbed with fat, or -oil, or gum, it unites with them, losing all its metallic appearance or -fluidity. It also unites readily with gold and silver, and several other -metals, into a kind of shining paste, which is called an _amalgam_. This -is one of the ways of gilding or silvering a thing. Your buttons are -gilt by means of an amalgam. - -_Geo._ How is that done? - -_Tut._ The shells of the buttons, which are made of copper, are shaken -in a hat with a lump of amalgam of gold and quicksilver, till they are -all covered over with it. They are then put into a sort of frying-pan, -and held over the fire. The quicksilver, being very volatile in its -nature, flies off in the form of a smoke or vapour when it is heated, -leaving the gold behind it spread over the surface of the button. Thus -many dozens are gilt at once with the greatest ease. - -_Geo._ What a clever way! I should like vastly to see it done. - -_Tut._ You may see it any day at Birmingham, if you happen to be there; -as well as a great many other curious operations on metals. - -_Geo._ What a weight quicksilver is! I remember taking up a bottleful of -it, and I had liked to have dropped it again, it was so much heavier -than I expected. - -_Tut._ Yes, it is one of the heaviest of the metals—about fifteen times -as heavy as water. - -_Geo._ Is not _mercury_ a name for quicksilver? I have heard them talk -of the mercury rising and falling in the weather-glass. - -_Tut._ It is. You, perhaps, may have heard too of _mercurial medicines_, -which are those made of quicksilver prepared in one manner or another. - -_Geo._ What are they good for? - -_Tut._ For a great variety of complaints. Your brother took some lately -for the worms; and they are often given for breakings-out on the skin, -and for sores and swellings. But they have one remarkable effect, when -taken in a considerable quantity, which is to loosen the teeth, and -cause a great spitting. This is called salivation. - -_Har._ I used to think quicksilver was poison. - -_Tut._ When it is in its common state of running quicksilver it -generally does neither good nor harm; but it may be prepared, so as to -be a very violent medicine, or even a poison. - -_Geo._ Is it useful for anything else? - -_Tut._ Yes—For a variety of purposes in the arts, which I cannot now -very well explain to you. But you will perhaps be surprised to hear that -one of the finest red paints is made from quicksilver. - -_Geo._ A red paint!—which is that? - -_Tut._ Vermilion, or cinnabar, which is a particular mixture of sulphur -with quicksilver. - -_Har._ Is quicksilver found in this country? - -_Tut._ No. The greatest quantity comes from Spain, Istria, and South -America. It is a considerable object of commerce, and bears a high -value, though much inferior to silver. Well, so much for metals at -present. We will talk of the rest on some future opportunity. - - - - - FLYING AND SWIMMING. - - -“How I wish I could fly!” cried Robert, as he was gazing after his -pigeons that were exercising themselves in a morning’s flight. “How fine -it must be to soar to such a height, and to dash through the air with so -swift a motion!” - -“I doubt not,” said his father, “that the pigeons have great pleasure in -it; but we have our pleasures, too; and it is idle to indulge longings -for things quite out of our power.” - -_Robert._ But do you think it impossible for men to learn to fly? - -_Father._ I do—for I see they are not furnished by Nature with organs -requisite for the purpose. - -_Rob._ Might not artificial wings be contrived, such as Dædalus is said -to have used? - -_Fa._ Possibly they might; but the difficulty would be to put them in -motion. - -_Rob._ Why could not a man move them, if they were fastened to his -shoulders, as well as a bird? - -_Fa._ Because he has got arms to move which the bird has not. The same -organs which in quadrupeds are employed to move the fore-legs, and in -man the arms, are used by birds in the motion of the wings. Nay, muscles -or bundles of flesh, that move the wings, are proportionally much larger -and stronger than those bestowed upon our arms; so that it is -impossible, formed as we are, that we should use wings, were they made -and fastened on with ever so much art. - -_Rob._ But angels, and cupids, and such things are painted with wings; -and I think they look very natural. - -_Fa._ To you they may appear so; but an anatomist sees them at once to -be monsters, which could not really exist. - -_Rob._ God might have created winged men, however, if he had pleased. - -_Fa._ No doubt; but they could not have had the same shape that men have -now. They would have been different creatures, such as it was not in his -plan to make. But you that long to fly—consider if you have made use of -all the faculties already given you! You want to subdue the element of -air—what can you do with that of water? Can you swim? - -_Rob._ No, not yet. - -_Fa._ Your companion, Johnson, I think, can swim very well? - -_Rob._ Yes. - -_Fa._ Reflect, then, on the difference betwixt him and you. A boat -oversets with you both in a deep stream. You plump at once to the -bottom, and infallibly lose your life. He rises like a cork, darts away -with the greatest ease, and reaches the side in perfect safety. Both of -you, pursued by a bull, come to the side of a river. He jumps in and -crosses it. You are drowned if you attempt it, and tossed by the bull if -you do not. What an advantage he has over you! Yet you are furnished -with exactly the same bodily powers that he is. How is this? - -_Bob._ Because he has been taught, and I have not. - -_Fa._ True, but it is an easy thing to learn, and requires no other -instruction than boys can give one another when they bathe together: so -that I wonder anybody should neglect to acquire an art at once agreeable -and useful. The Romans used to say, by way of proverb, of a blockhead, -“He can neither read nor swim.” You may remember how Cesar was saved at -Alexandria by throwing himself into the sea, and swimming with one hand, -while he held up his commentaries with the other. - -_Rob._ I should like very well to swim, and I have often tried, but I -always pop under water, and that daunts me. - -_Fa._ And it is that fear which prevents you from succeeding. - -_Rob._ But is it as natural for man to swim as for other creatures? I -have heard that the young of all other animals swim the first time they -are thrown into the water. - -_Fa._ They do—they are without fear. In our climate the water is -generally cold, and is early made an object of terror. But in the hot -countries, where bathing is one of the greatest pleasures, young -children swim so early and well, that I should suppose they take to it -almost naturally. - -_Rob._ I am resolved to learn, and will ask Johnson to take me with him -to the river. - -_Fa._ Do; but let him find you a safe place to begin at. I don’t want -you, however, to proceed so cautiously as Sir Nicholas Gimcrack did. - -_Rob._ How was that? - -_Fa._ He spread himself out on a large table, and placing before him a -basin of water with a frog in it, he struck with his arms and legs as he -observed the animal do. - -_Rob._ And did that teach him? - -_Fa._ Yes—to swim on dry land; but he never ventured himself in the -water. - -_Rob._ Shall I get corks or bladders? - -_Fa._ No; learn to depend on your own powers. It is a good lesson in -other things, as well as in swimming. Learning to swim with corks, is -like learning to construe Latin with a translation on the other side. It -saves some pains at first, but the business is not done half so -effectually. - - - - - THE FEMALE CHOICE.—A TALE. - - -A young girl, having fatigued herself one hot day with running about the -garden, sat herself down in a pleasant arbour, where she presently fell -asleep. During her slumbers, two female figures presented themselves -before her. One was loosely habited in a thin robe of pink with light -green trimmings. Her sash of silver gauze flowed to the ground. Her fair -hair fell in ringlets down her neck; and her head-dress consisted of -artificial flowers interwoven with feathers. She held in one hand a -ball-ticket, and in the other a fancy-dress all covered with spangles -and knots of gay riband. She advanced smiling to the girl, and with a -familiar air thus addressed her:— - -“My dearest Melissa, I am a kind genius, who have watched you from your -birth, and have joyfully beheld all your beauties expand, till at length -they have rendered you a companion worthy of me. See what I have brought -you. This dress and this ticket will give you free access to all the -ravishing delights of my palace. With me you will pass your days in a -perpetual round of ever-varying amusements. Like the gay butterfly, you -will have no other business than to flutter from flower to flower, and -spread your charms before admiring spectators. No restraints, no toils, -no dull tasks are to be found within my happy domains. All is pleasure, -life, and good humour. Come, then, my dear! Let me put this dress on -you, which will make you quite enchanting; and away, away, with me!” - -Melissa felt a strong inclination to comply with the call of this -inviting nymph; but first she thought it would be prudent at least to -ask her name. - -“My name,” said she, “is DISSIPATION.” - -The other female then advanced. She was clothed in a close habit of -brown stuff, simply relieved with white. She wore her smooth hair under -a plain cap. Her whole person was perfectly neat and clean. Her look was -serious, but satisfied; and her air was staid and composed. She held in -one hand a distaff; on the opposite arm hung a workbasket; and the -girdle round her waist was garnished with scissors, knitting needles, -reels, and other implements of female labour. A bunch of keys hung at -her side. She thus accosted the sleeping girl:— - -“Melissa, I am the genius who have ever been the friend and companion of -your mother; and I now offer my protection to you. I have no allurements -to tempt you with, like those of my gay rival. Instead of spending all -your time in amusements, if you enter yourself of my train, you must -rise early, and pass the long day in a variety of employments, some of -them difficult, some laborious, and all requiring some exertion of body -or mind. You must dress plainly, live mostly at home, and aim at being -useful rather than shining. But in return I will ensure you content, -even spirits, self-approbation, and the esteem of all who thoroughly -know you. If these offers appear to your young mind less inviting than -those of my rival, be assured, however, that they are more real. She has -promised much more than she can ever make good. Perpetual pleasures are -no more in the power of Dissipation, than of Vice or Folly to bestow. -Her delights quickly pall, and are inevitably succeeded by languor and -disgust. She appears to you under disguise, and what you see is not her -real face. For myself, I shall never seem to you less amiable than I now -do, but, on the contrary, you will like me better and better. If I look -grave to you now, you will hear me sing at my work; and when work is -over, I can dance too. But I have said enough. It is time for you to -choose whom you will follow, and upon that choice all your happiness -depends. If you would know my name, it is HOUSEWIFERY.” - -Melissa heard her with more attention than delight; and though overawed -by her manner, she could not help turning again to take another look at -the first speaker. She beheld her still offering her presents with so -bewitching an air that she felt it scarcely possible to resist: when, by -a lucky accident, the mask with which Dissipation’s face was so artfully -covered, fell off. As soon as Melissa beheld, instead of the smiling -features of youth and cheerfulness, a countenance wan and ghastly with -sickness, and soured by fretfulness, she turned away with horror, and -gave her hand unreluctantly to her sober and sincere companion. - -[Illustration: - - Eyes and No Eyes, p. 242. - - EVENING XX. -] - - - - - ON METALS. - PART II. - - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_. - -_Tutor._ Well—have you forgotten what I told you about metals the other -day? - -_George._ O no! - -_Harry._ I am sure I have not. - -_Tut._ What metals were they that we talked about? - -_Geo._ Gold, silver, and quicksilver. - -_Tut._ Suppose, then, we go on to the rest? - -_Geo._ Pray, do. - -_Har._ Yes, by all means. - -_Tut._ Very well. You know _copper_, I don’t doubt? - -_Geo._ O yes! - -_Tut._ What colour do you call it? - -_Geo._ I think it is a sort of reddish brown. - -_Tut._ True. Sometimes, however, it is of a bright red, like -sealing-wax. It is not a very heavy metal, being not quite nine times -the weight of water. It is very ductile, bearing to be rolled or -hammered out to a very thin plate, and also to be drawn out to a fine -wire. - -_Har._ I remember seeing a penny that had been rolled out to a long -riband. - -_Geo._ Yes, and I have seen half a dozen men at a time with great -hammers beating out a piece of copper at the brazier’s. - -_Tut._ Copper requires a very considerable heat to melt it: and by long -exposure to the fire, it may be burnt or calcined; for, like all we are -now to speak of, it is an _imperfect_ metal. - -_Har._ And it rusts very easily, does it not? - -_Tut._ It does; for all acids dissolve or corrode it, so do salts of -every kind: whence even air and common water in a short time act upon -it, for they are never free from somewhat of a saline nature. - -_Geo._ Is not verdigris the rust of copper? - -_Tut._ It is; a rust produced by the acid of grapes. But every rust of -copper is of a blue or green colour, as well as verdigris. - -_Har._ And are they all poison, too? - -_Tut._ They are all so in some degree, producing violent sickness and -pain in the bowels. They are all, too, extremely nauseous to the taste, -and the metal itself when heated, tastes and smells very disagreeably. - -_Har._ Why is it used, then, so much in cooking, brewing, and the like? - -_Tut._ Because it is a very convenient metal for making vessels, -especially large ones, as it is easily worked, and is sufficiently -strong, though hammered thin, and bears the fire well. And if vessels of -it are kept quite clean, and the liquor not suffered to stand long in -them when cold there is no danger in their use. But copper vessels for -cooking are generally lined on the inside with tin. - -_Geo._ What else is copper used for? - -_Tut._ A variety of things. Sheets of copper are sometimes used to cover -buildings; and of late a great quantity is consumed in sheathing ships, -that is, in covering all the part under water; the purpose of which is, -to protect the timber from the worms, and also to make the ship sail -faster, by means of the smoothness and therefore less obstruction which -the copper offers to the water, as the ship is forced through it by the -action of the wind on the sails. - -_Har._ Money is made of copper, too. - -_Tut._ It is; for it takes an impression in coining very well, and its -value is a proper proportion below silver, for a price for the cheapest -commodities. In some poor countries they have little other than copper -coin. Another great use of copper is as an ingredient in mixed metals, -such as bell-metal, cannon-metal, and particularly brass. - -_Har._ But brass is yellow. - -_Tut._ True; it is converted to that colour by means of another metallic -substance, named _zinc_ or _spelter_, the natural colour of which is -white. A kind of brown stone called _calamine_ is an ore of zinc. By -filling a pot with layers of powdered calamine and charcoal placed -alternately with copper, and applying a pretty strong heat, the zinc is -driven in vapour out of the calamine, and penetrates the copper, -changing it into brass. - -_Geo._ What is the use of turning copper into brass? - -_Tut._ It gains a fine gold-like colour, and becomes harder, more easy -to melt, and less liable to rust. Hence it is preferred for a variety of -utensils, ornamental and useful. Brass does not bear hammering well, but -is generally cast into the shape wanted, and then turned in a lathe and -polished. Well—these are the principal things I have to say about -copper. - -_Har._ But where does it come from? - -_Tut._ Copper is found in many countries. The Isle of Great Britain -yields abundance, especially in Wales and Cornwall. In Anglesey is a -whole hill called Paris Mountain, consisting of copper-ore, from which -immense quantities are dug every year. Now for _iron_. - -_Har._ Ay! that is the most useful of all the metals. - -_Tut._ I think it is; and it is likewise the most common, for there are -few countries in the world possessing hills and rocks, where it is not -met with, more or less. Iron is the hardest of metals, the most elastic -or springy, very tenacious or difficult to break, the most difficultly -fusible, and one of the lightest, being only seven or eight times as -heavy as water. - -_Geo._ You say it is difficult to break; but I snapped the blade of a -penknife the other day by only bending it a little; and my mother is -continually breaking her needles. - -_Tut._ Properly objected; but the qualities of iron differ extremely -according to the method of preparing it. There are forged iron, cast -iron, and steel, which are very different from each other. Iron, when -first melted from its ore, has little malleability, and the vessels and -other implements that are made of it in that state, by casting into -moulds, are easily broken. It acquires toughness and malleability by -_forging_, which is done by beating it when red-hot with heavy hammers, -till it becomes ductile and flexible. Steel, again, is made by heating -small bars of iron with charcoal, bone, and horn shavings, or other -inflammable matters, by which it acquires a finer grain and more compact -texture, and becomes harder, and more elastic. Steel may be rendered -either very flexible or brittle, by different manners of _tempering_, -which is performed by heating and then quenching it in water. - -_Geo._ All cutting instruments are made of steel, are they not? - -_Tut._ Yes; and the very fine-edged ones are generally tempered brittle, -as razors, penknives, and surgeons’ instruments; but sword-blades are -made flexible, and the best of them will bend double without breaking or -becoming crooked. The steel of which springs are made has the highest -possible degree of elasticity given it. A watch-spring is one of the -most perfect examples of this kind. Steel for ornaments is made -extremely hard and close-grained, so as to bear an exquisite polish. -Common hammered iron is chiefly used for works of strength, as -horseshoes, bars, bolts, and the like. It will bend but not straighten -itself again, as you may see in the kitchen poker. Cast iron is used for -pots and caldrons, cannons, cannon-balls, grates, pillars, and many -other purposes in which hardness without flexibility is wanted. - -_Geo._ What a vast variety of uses this metal is put to! - -_Tut._ Yes; I know not when I should have done, if I were tell you of -all. - -_Har._ Then I think it is really more valuable than gold, though it is -so much cheaper. - -_Tut._ That was the opinion of the wise Solon, when he observed to the -rich king Crœsus, who was showing him his treasures, “He who possesses -more iron will soon be master of all this gold.” - -_Har._ I suppose he meant weapons and armour? - -_Tut._ He did; but there are many nobler uses for these metals; and few -circumstances denote the progress of the arts in a country more than -having attained the full use of iron, without which scarcely any -manufacture or machinery can be brought to perfection. From the -difficulty of melting it out of the ore, many nations have been longer -in discovering it than some of the other metals. The Greeks, in Homer’s -time, seem to have employed copper or brass for their weapons much more -than iron; and the Mexicans and Peruvians, who possessed gold and -silver, were unacquainted with iron, when the Spaniards invaded them. - -_Geo._ Iron is very subject to rust, however. - -_Tut._ It is so, and that is one of its worst properties. Every liquor, -and even a moist air corrode it. But the rust of iron is not pernicious: -on the contrary, it is a very useful medicine. - -_Geo._ I have heard of steel drops and steel filings given for medicine. - -_Tut._ Yes; iron is given in a variety of forms, and the property of -them all is to strengthen the constitution. Many springs are made -medicinal by the iron that they dissolve in the bowels of the earth. -These are called _chalybeate_ waters, and they may be known by their -inky taste, and the rust-coloured sediment they leave in their course. - -_Har._ May we drink such water if we meet with it? - -_Tut._ Yes; it will do you no harm, at least. There is one other -property of iron, well worth knowing, and that is, that it is the only -thing attracted by the magnet or loadstone. - -_Geo._ I had a magnet once that would take up needles and keys; but it -seemed a bar of iron itself. - -_Tut._ True. The real loadstone, which is a particular ore of iron, can -communicate its virtue to a piece of iron by rubbing it; nay, a bar of -iron itself, in length of time, by being placed in a particular -position, will acquire the same property. - -_Geo._ Is all the iron used in England produced there? - -_Tut._ By no means. Their extensive manufactures require a great -importation of iron. Much is brought from Norway, Russia, and Sweden; -and the Swedish is reckoned particularly excellent. Well, now to another -metal. I dare say you can tell me a good deal about _lead_? - -_Har._ I know several things about it. It is very heavy and soft, and -easily melted. - -_Tut._ True; these are some of its distinguishing properties. Its weight -is between eleven and twelve times that of water. Its colour is a dull -bluish white; and from this livid hue, as well as its being totally void -of spring or elasticity, it has acquired a sort of character, of dulness -and sluggishness. Thus we say of a stupid man, that he has a _leaden_ -disposition. - -_Geo._ Lead is very malleable, I think? - -_Tut._ Yes; it may be beaten out into a pretty thin leaf, but it will -not bear drawing into fine wire. It is not only very fusible, but very -readily oxidized by heat, changing into a powder, or a scaly matter, -which may be made to take all colours by the fire, from yellow to deep -red. You have seen red lead? - -_Geo._ Yes. - -_Tut._ That is oxide of lead exposed for a considerable time to a strong -flame. Lead may even be changed into glass by a moderate heat; and there -is a good deal of it in our finest glass. - -_Geo._ What is white lead? - -_Tut._ It is lead corroded by the steam of vinegar. Lead in various -forms is much used by painters. Its oxides dissolve in oil, and are -employed for the purpose of thickening paint and making it dry. All lead -paints, however, are unwholesome as long as they continue to smell, and -the fumes of lead, when melted, are likewise pernicious. This is the -cause why painters and plumbers are so subject to various diseases, -particularly violent colics and palsies. The white-lead manufacture is -so hurtful to the health, that the workmen, in a very short time, are -apt to lose the use of their limbs, and be otherwise severely -indisposed. - -_Geo._ I wonder, then, that anybody will work in it. - -_Tut._ Ignorance and high wages are sufficient to induce them. But it is -to be lamented that in a great many manufactures the health and lives of -individuals are sacrificed to the convenience and profit of the -community. Lead, too, when dissolved, as it may be in all sour liquors, -is a slow poison, and the more dangerous, as it gives no disagreeable -taste. A salt of lead made with vinegar, is so sweet, as to be called -the sugar of lead. It has been too common to put this or some other -preparation of lead into sour wines, in order to cure them; and much -mischief has been done by this practice. - -_Geo._ If lead is poisonous, is it not wrong to make water-pipes and -cisterns of it? - -_Tut._ This has been objected to; but it does not appear that water can -dissolve any of the lead. Nor does it readily rust in the air, and hence -it is much used to cover buildings with, as well as to line spouts and -water-courses. For these purposes the lead is cast into sheets, which -are easily cut and hammered into any shape. - -_Har._ Bullets and shot, too, are made of lead. - -_Tut._ They are; and in this way they are ten times more destructive -than as a poison. - -_Geo._ I think lead seems to be more used than any metal except iron. - -_Tut._ It is; and the plenty of it in our country is a great benefit to -us, both for domestic use, and as an article that brings in much profit -by exportation. - -_Geo._ Where are our principal lead mines? - -_Tut._ They are much scattered about. The west of England produces some, -in Cornwall, Devonshire, and Somersetshire. Wales affords a large -quantity. Derbyshire has long been noted for its lead mines, and so have -Northumberland and Durham. And there are considerable ones in the -southern part of Scotland. Now do you recollect another metal to be -spoken about? - -_Geo._ Tin. - -_Tut._ True. Tin resembles lead in colour, but has a more silvery -whiteness. It is soft and flexible, like lead, but is distinguished by -the crackling noise it makes on being bent. It melts as easily as lead, -and also is readily oxidized by keeping it in the fire. It is the -lightest of the metals, being only seven times as heavy as water. It may -be beaten into a thin leaf, but not drawn out to wire. - -_Geo._ Is tin of much use? - -_Tut._ It is not often used by itself, but very frequently in -conjunction with other metals. As tin is little liable to rust, or to be -corroded by common liquors, it is employed for a lining or coating of -vessels made of copper or iron. The saucepans and kettles in the -kitchen, you know, are all tinned. - -_Geo._ Yes; how is it done? - -_Tut._ By melting the tin, and spreading it upon the surface of the -copper, which is first heated, in order to make the tin adhere. - -_Geo._ But what are the vessels made at the tinman’s? Are they not all -tin? - -_Tut._ No. _Tinned_ ware, as it is properly called, is made of thin iron -plates, coated over with tin by dipping them into a vessel full of -melted tin. These plates are afterward cut and bent to proper shapes, -and the joinings are soldered together with a mixture of tin and other -metals. Another similar use of tin is in what is called the silvering of -pins. - -_Geo._ What—is not that real silvering? - -_Tut._ No. The pins which are made of brass wire, after being pointed -and headed, are boiled in hot water, in which grain-tin is put along -with tartar, which is a crust that collects on the inside of wine casks. -The tartar dissolves some of the tin, and makes it adhere to the surface -of the pins, and thus thousands are covered in an instant. - -_Har._ That is as clever as what you told us of the gilding of buttons! - -_Tut._ It is. Another purpose for which great quantities of tin used to -be employed was the making of pewter. The best pewter consists chiefly -of tin, with a small mixture of other metals to harden it; and the -London pewter was brought to such perfection as to look almost as well -as silver. - -_Geo._ I can just remember a long row of pewter plates at my -grandmother’s. - -_Tut._ You may. In her time all the plates and dishes for the table were -made of pewter, and a handsome range of pewter shelves was thought a -capital ornament for a kitchen. At present, this trade is almost come to -nothing, through the use of earthenware and china; and pewter is -employed for little but the worms of stills, and barbers’ basins, and -porter-pots. But a good deal is still exported. Tin is likewise an -ingredient in other mixed metals for various purposes, but, on the -whole, less of it is used than of the other common metals. - -_Geo._ Is not England more famous for tin than any other country? I have -read of the Phoenicians trading here for it in very early times. - -_Tut._ They did; and tin is still a very valuable article of export from -England. Much of it is sent as far as China. The tin mines are chiefly -in Cornwall, England, and I believe they are the most productive of any -in Europe. Very fine tin is also got in the peninsula of Malacca in the -East Indies. Well—we have now gone through the metals. - -_Geo._ But you said nothing about a kind of metal called zinc. - -_Tut._ That is one of another class of mineral substances called -_semi-metals_. These resemble metals in every quality but ductility, of -which they are almost wholly destitute, and for want of it they can -seldom be used in the arts, except when joined with metals. - -_Geo._ Are there many of them? - -_Tut._ Yes, several; but we will not talk of them till I have taken some -opportunity of showing them to you, for probably you may never have seen -any of them. Now try to repeat the names of all the metals to me in the -order of their weight. - -_Har._ There is first _gold_. - -_Geo._ Then _quicksilver_, _lead_, _silver_. - -_Har._ _Copper_, _iron_, _tin_. - -_Tut._ Very right. Now I must tell you of an old fancy that chymists -have had of christening these metals by the names of the heavenly -bodies. They have called gold _Sol_, or the sun. - -_Geo._ That is suitable enough to its colour and brightness. - -_Har._ Then silver should be the moon, for I have heard moonlight called -of a silvery hue. - -_Tut._ True; and they have named it so. It is _Luna_. Quicksilver is -_Mercury_, so named probably from its great propensity to dance and jump -about, for _Mercury_, you know, was very nimble. - -_Geo._ Yes—he had wings to his heels. - -_Tut._ Copper is _Venus_. - -_Geo._ _Venus!_ surely it is scarcely beautiful enough for that. - -_Tut._ But they had disposed of the most beautiful ones before. Iron is -Mars. - -_Har._ That is right enough, because swords are made of iron. - -_Tut._ True. Then tin is _Jupiter_, and lead _Saturn_. I suppose only to -make out the number. Yet the dulness of lead might be thought to agree -with that planet which is most remote from the sun. These names, -childish as they may seem, are worth remembering, since chymists and -physicians still apply them to many preparations of the various metals. -You will, probably, often hear of _martial_, _lunar_, _mercurial_, and -_saturnine_; and you may now know what they mean. - -_Geo._ I think the knowledge of metals seems more useful than all you -have told us about plants. - -_Tut._ I don’t know that. Many nations make no use at all of metals, but -there are none which do not owe a great part of their subsistence to -vegetables. However, without inquiring what parts of natural knowledge -are _most_ useful, you may be assured of this, that all are useful in -some degree or other; and there are few things that give one man greater -superiority over another, than the extent and accuracy of his knowledge -in these particulars. One person passes all his life upon the earth, a -stranger to it; while another finds himself at home everywhere. - - - - - EYES AND NO EYES; OR, THE ART OF SEEING. - - -“Well, Robert, where have you been walking this afternoon?” said Mr. -Andrews to one of his pupils, at the close of a holyday. - -_Robert._ I have been, sir, to Broom-heath, and so round by the windmill -upon Camp-mount, and home through the meadows by the river-side. - -_Mr. Andrews._ Well, that’s a pleasant round. - -_Rob._ I thought it very dull, sir; I scarcely met with a single person. -I had rather by half have gone along the turnpike-road. - -_Mr. An._ Why, if seeing men and horses is your object, you would, -indeed, be better entertained on the high-road. But did you see William? - -_Rob._ We set out together, but he lagged behind in the lane, so I -walked on and left him. - -_Mr. An._ That was a pity. He would have been company for you. - -_Rob._ O, he is so tedious, always stopping to look at this thing and -that! I had rather walk alone. I dare say he is not got home yet. - -_Mr. An._ Here he comes. Well, William, where have you been? - -_William._ O, sir, the pleasantest walk! I went all over Broom-heath, -and so up to the mill at the top of the hill, and then down among the -green meadows by the side of the river. - -_Mr. An._ Why, that is just the round Robert has been taking, and he -complains of its dulness, and prefers the high-road! - -_Will._ I wonder at that. I am sure I hardly took a step that did not -delight me, and I have brought my handkerchief full of curiosities home. - -_Mr. An._ Suppose, then, you give us some account of what amused you so -much. I fancy it will be as new to Robert as to me. - -_Will._ I will, sir. The lane leading to the heath, you know, is close -and sandy, so I did not mind it much, but made the best of my way. -However, I spied a curious thing enough in the hedge. It was an old -crab-tree, out of which grew a great bunch of something green, quite -different from the tree itself. Here is a branch of it. - -_Mr. An._ Ah! this is mistletoe, a plant of great fame for the use made -of it by the Druids of old, in their religious rites and incantations. -It bears a very slimy white berry, of which bird-lime may be made, -whence its Latin name of _Viscus_. It is one of those plants which do -not grow in the ground by a root of their own, but fix themselves upon -other plants; whence they have been humorously styled _parasitical_, as -being hangers-on, or dependants. It was the mistletoe of the oak that -the Druids particularly honoured. - -_Will._ A little farther on I saw a green woodpecker fly to a tree, and -run up the trunk like a cat. - -_Mr. An._ That was to seek for insects in the bark, on which they live. -They bore holes with their strong bills for that purpose, and do much -damage to the trees by it. - -_Will._ What beautiful birds they are! - -_Mr. An._ Yes; they have been called, from their colour and size, the -English parrot. - -_Will._ When I got upon the open heath, how charming it was! The air -seemed so fresh, and the prospect on every side so free and unbounded! -Then it was all covered with gay flowers, many of which I had never -observed before. There were, at least, three kinds of heath, (I have got -them in my handkerchief here,) and gorse, and broom, and bellflower, and -many others of all colours, that I will beg you presently to tell me the -names of. - -_Mr. An._ That I will readily. - -_Will._ I saw, too, several birds that were new to me. There was a -pretty grayish one, of the size of a lark, that was hopping about some -great stones; and when he flew he showed a great deal of white above his -tail. - -_Mr. An._ That was a wheat-ear. They are reckoned very delicious birds -to eat, and frequent the open downs in Sussex, and some other counties, -in great numbers. - -_Will._ There was a flock of lapwings, upon a marshy part of the heath, -that amused me much. As I came near them, some of them kept flying round -and round just over my head, and crying _pewit_ so distinctly, one might -almost fancy they spoke. I thought I should have caught one of them, for -he flew as if one of his wings was broken, and often tumbled close to -the ground; but as I came near, he always made a shift to get away. - -_Mr. An._ Ha, ha! you were finely taken in then! This was all an -artifice of the bird to entice you away from its nest; for they build -upon the bare ground, and their nests would easily be observed, did they -not draw off the attention of intruders by their loud cries and -counterfeit lameness. - -_Will._ I wish I had known that, for he led me a long chase often over -shoes in water. However, it was the cause of my falling in with an old -man and a boy who were cutting and piling up turf for fuel, and I had a -good deal of talk with them about the manner of preparing the turf, and -the price it sells at. They gave me, too, a creature I never saw -before—a young viper, which they had just killed, together with its dam. -I have seen several common snakes, but this is thicker in proportion, -and of a darker colour than they are. - -_Mr. An._ True. Vipers frequent those turfy, boggy grounds pretty much, -and I have known several turf-cutters bitten by them. - -_Will._ They are very venomous, are they not? - -_Mr. An._ Enough so to make their wounds painful and dangerous, though -they seldom prove fatal. - -_Will._ Well—I then took my course up to the windmill on the mount. I -climbed up the steps of the mill, in order to get a better view of the -country round. What an extensive prospect! I counted fifteen -church-steeples; and I saw several gentlemen’s houses peeping out from -the midst of green woods and plantations; and I could trace the windings -of the river all along the low grounds, till it was lost behind a ridge -of hills. But I’ll tell you what I mean to do, sir, if you will give me -leave. - -_Mr. An._ What is that? - -_Will._ I will go again, and take with me Cary’s county-map, by which I -shall probably be able to make out most of the places. - -_Mr. An._ You shall have it, and I will go with you and take my pocket -spying-glass. - -_Will._ I shall be very glad of that. Well, a thought struck me, that as -the hill is called Camp-mount, there might probably be some remains of -ditches and mounds with which I have read that camps were surrounded. -And I really believe I discovered something of that sort running round -one side of the mount. - -_Mr. An._ Very likely you might. I know antiquaries have described such -remains as existing there, which some suppose to be Roman, others -Danish; we will examine them farther, when we go. - -_Will._ From the hill I went straight down to the meadows below, and -walked on the side of a brook that runs into the river. It was all -bordered with reeds and flags and tall towering plants, quite different -from those I had seen on the heath. As I was getting down the bank to -reach one of them, I heard something plunge into the water near me. It -was a large water-rat, and I saw it swim over to the other side, and go -into its hole. There were a great many large dragon-flies all about the -stream; I caught one of the finest, and have got him here in a leaf. But -how I longed to catch a bird that I saw hovering over the water, and -every now and then darting down into it! It was all over a mixture of -the most beautiful green and blue with some orange colour. It was -somewhat less than a thrush, and had a large head and bill, and a short -tail. - -_Mr. An._ I can tell you what that bird was—a kingfisher; the celebrated -halcyon of the ancients, about which so many tales are told. It lives on -fish, which it catches in the manner you saw. It builds in holes in the -banks, and is a shy retired bird, never to be seen far from the stream -where it inhabits. - -_Will._ I must try to get another sight of him, for I never saw a bird -that pleased me so much. Well—I followed this little brook till it -entered the river, and then took the path that runs along the bank. On -the opposite side I observed several little birds running along the -shore, and making a piping noise. They were brown and white, and about -as big as a snipe. - -_Mr. An._ I suppose they were sand-pipers, one of the numerous family of -birds that get their living by wading among the shallows, and picking up -worms and insects. - -_Will._ There were a great many swallows, too, sporting upon the surface -of the water, that entertained me with their motions. Sometimes they -dashed into the stream; sometimes they pursued one another so quick, -that the eye could scarcely follow them. In one place, where a high, -steep sandbank rose directly above the river, I observed many of them go -in and out of holes with which the bank was bored full. - -_Mr. An._ Those were sand-martens, the smallest of our species of -swallows. They are of a mouse-colour above, and white beneath. They make -their nests and bring up their young in these holes, which run a great -depth, and, by their situation, are secure from all plunderers. - -_Will._ A little farther I saw a man in a boat who was catching eels in -an odd way. He had a long pole with broad iron prongs at the end, just -like Neptune’s trident, only there were five instead of three. This he -pushed straight down among the mud in the deepest parts of the river, -and fetched up the eels sticking between the prongs. - -_Mr. An._ I have seen this method. It is called spearing of eels. - -_Will._ While I was looking at him, a heron came flying over my head, -with his large flagging wings. He lit at the next turn of the river, and -I crept softly behind the bank to watch his motions. He had waded into -the water as far as his long legs would carry him, and was standing with -his neck drawn in, looking intently on the stream. Presently, he darted -his long bill as quick as lightning into the water, and drew out a fish, -which he swallowed. I saw him catch another in the same manner. He then -took alarm at some noise I made, and flew away slowly to a wood at some -distance, where he settled. - -_Mr. An._ Probably his nest was there, for herons build upon the -loftiest trees they can find, and sometimes in society together, like -rooks. Formerly, when these birds were valued for the amusement of -hawking, many gentlemen had their _heronries_, and a few are still -remaining. - -_Will._ I think they are the largest wild birds we have. - -_Mr. An._ They are of a great length and spread of wing, but their -bodies are comparatively small. - -_Will._ I then turned homeward across the meadows, where I stopped a -while to look at a large flock of starlings which kept flying about at -no great distance. I could not tell at first what to make of them; for -they rose all together from the ground as thick as a swarm of bees, and -formed themselves into a kind of black cloud, hovering over the field. -After having a short round they settled again, and presently rose again -in the same manner. I dare say there were hundreds of them. - -_Mr. An._ Perhaps so, for in the fenny countries their flocks are so -numerous as to break down whole acres of reeds by settling on them. This -disposition of starlings to fly in close swarms was remarked even by -Homer, who compares the foe flying from one of his heroes, to a _cloud_ -of stares retiring dismayed at the approach of the hawk. - -_Will._ After I had left the meadows, I crossed the cornfields in the -way to our house, and passed by a deep marl-pit. Looking into it, I saw -in one of the sides a cluster of what I took to be shells; and upon -going down, I picked up a clod of marl, which was quite full of them; -but how sea-shells could get there I cannot imagine. - -_Mr. An._ I do not wonder at your surprise, since many philosophers have -been much perplexed to account for the same appearance. It is not -uncommon to find great quantities of shells and relics of marine animals -even in the bowels of high mountains, very remote from the sea. They are -certainly proofs that the earth was once in a very different state from -what it is at present; but in what manner, and how long ago these -changes took place, can only be guessed at. - -_Will._ I got to the high field next our house just as the sun was -setting, and I stood looking at it till it was quite lost. What a -glorious sight! The clouds were tinged purple, and crimson, and yellow, -of all shades and hues, and the clear sky varied from blue to a fine -green at the horizon. But how large the sun appears just as it sets! I -think it seems twice as big as when it is overhead. - -_Mr. An._ It does so; and you may probably have observed the same -apparent enlargement of the moon at its rising. - -_Will._ I have; but pray, what is the reason of this? - -_Mr. An._ It is an optical deception, depending upon principles which I -cannot well explain to you till you know more of that branch of science. -But what a number of new ideas this afternoon’s walk has afforded you! I -do not wonder that you found it amusing: it has been very instructive, -too. Did _you_ see nothing of all these sights, Robert? - -_Rob._ I saw some of them, but I did not take particular notice of them. - -_Mr. An._ Why not? - -_Rob._ I don’t know. I did not care about them, and I made the best of -my way home. - -_Mr. An._ That would have been right if you had been sent with a -message; but as you only walked for amusement, it would have been wiser -to have sought out as many sources of it as possible. But so it is—one -man walks through the world with his eyes open, and another with them -shut; and upon this difference depends all the superiority of knowledge -the one acquires above the other. I have known sailors who had been in -all the quarters of the world, and could tell you nothing but the signs -of the tippling-houses they frequented in different ports, and the price -and quality of the liquor. On the other hand, a Franklin could not cross -the channel without making some observations useful to mankind. While -many a vacant, thoughtless youth is whirled throughout Europe without -gaining a single idea worth crossing a street for, the observing eye and -inquiring mind find matter of improvement and delight in every ramble in -town or country. Do _you_, then, William, continue to make use of your -eyes: and _you_, Robert, learn that eyes were given you to use. - -[Illustration: - - Umbelliferous Plants, p. 252. - - EVENING XXI. -] - - - - - WHY THE EARTH MOVES ROUND THE SUN. - - _Papa_—_Lucy_. - - -_Papa._ You remember, Lucy, that I explained to you some time ago what -was the cause that things fell to the ground. - -_Lucy._ O yes; it was because the ground drew them to it. - -_Pa._ True. That is a consequence of the universal law in nature, that -bodies attract each other in proportion to their bulk. So a very small -thing in the neighbourhood of a very large one, always tends to go to -it, if not prevented by some or other power. Well—you know I told you -that the sun was a ball a vast many times bigger than the ball we -inhabit, called the earth; upon which you properly asked, how then it -happened that the earth did not fall into the sun. - -_Lu._ And why does it not? - -_Pa._ That I am going to explain to you. You have seen your brother -whirl round an ivory ball tied to the end of a string, which he held in -his hand. - -_Lu._ Yes; and I have done it myself, too. - -_Pa._ Well, then—you felt that the ball was continually pulling, as if -it tried to make its escape? - -_Lu._ Yes; and one my brother was swinging _did_ make its escape, and -flew through the sash. - -_Pa._ It did so. That was a lesson, in the _centrifugal_ motion, or that -power by which a body thus whirled, continually endeavours to fly off -from the centre round which it moves. This is owing to the force or -impulse you give it at setting out, as if you were going to throw it -away from you. The string by which you hold it, on the contrary, is the -power which keeps the ball toward the centre, called the _centripetal_ -power. Thus you see there are two powers acting upon the ball at the -same time, one to make it fly off, the other to hold it in; and the -consequence is, that it moves directly according to neither, but between -both; that is, round and round. This it continues to do while you swing -it properly; but if the string breaks or slips off, away flies the ball; -on the other hand, if you cease to give it the whirling force, it falls -toward your hand. - -_Lu._ I understand all this. - -_Pa._ I will give you another instance of this double force acting at -the same time. Do not you remember seeing some curious feats of -horsemanship? - -_Lu._ Yes. - -_Pa._ One of them was, that a man standing with one leg upon the saddle, -and riding full speed, threw up balls into the air, and catched them as -they fell. - -_Lu._ I remember it very well. - -_Pa._ Perhaps you would have expected these balls to have fallen behind -him, as he was going at such a rate? - -_Lu._ So I did. - -_Pa._ But you saw that they fell into his hand as directly as if he had -been standing quite still. That was because at the instant he threw them -up, they received the motion of the horse straight forward as well as -the upright motion that he gave them, so that they made a slanting line -through the air, and came down in the same place they would have reached -if he had held them in his hand all the while. - -_Lu._ That is very curious, indeed! - -_Pa._ In the same manner you may have observed, in riding in a carriage, -that if you throw anything out of the window, it falls directly -opposite, just as if the carriage was standing still, and is not left -behind you. - -_Lu._ I will try that the next time I ride in one. - -_Pa._ You are then to imagine the sun to be a mighty mass of matter, -many thousand times bigger than our earth, placed in the centre, quiet -and unmoved. You are to conceive our earth, as soon as created, launched -with vast force in a straight line, as if it were a bowl on a green. It -would have flown off in this line for ever, through the boundless -regions of space, had it not at the same instant received a pull from -the sun by its attraction. By the wonderful skill of the Creator, these -two forces were made exactly to counterbalance each other; so that just -as much as the earth, from the original motion given to it, tends to fly -forward, just so much the sun draws it to the centre; and the -consequence is, that it takes a course between the two, which is a -circle round and round the sun. - -_Lu._ But if the earth was set a rolling like a bowl upon a green, I -should think it would stop of itself, as the bowl does. - -_Pa._ The bowl stops because it is continually rubbing against the -ground, which checks its motion, but the ball of the earth moves in -empty space, where there is nothing to stop it. - -_Lu._ But if I throw a ball through the air, it will not go on for ever, -but it will come down to the ground. - -_Pa._ That is because the force with which you can throw it is much less -than the force by which it is drawn to the earth. But there is another -reason, too, which is the resistance of the air. This space all round us -and over us is not empty space; it is quite full of a thin transparent -fluid called air. - -_Lu._ Is it? - -_Pa._ Yes. If you move your hand quickly through it, you will find -something resisting you, though in a slight degree. And the wind, you -well know, is capable of pressing against anything with almost -irresistible force; and yet wind is nothing but a quantity of air put -into violent motion. Everything, then, that moves through the air is -continually obliged to push some of this fluid out of the way, by which -means it is constantly losing part of its motion. - -_Lu._ Then the earth would do the same? - -_Pa._ No; for it moves in _empty space_. - -_Lu._ What, does it not move through the air? - -_Pa._ The earth does not move _through_ the air, but carries the air -along with it. All the air is contained in what is called the -_atmosphere_, which you may compare to a kind of mist or fog clinging -all round to the ball of the earth, and reaching a certain distance -above it, which has been calculated at above forty-five miles. - -_Lu._ That is above the clouds, then. - -_Pa._ Yes: all the clouds are within the atmosphere, for they are -supported by the air. Well—this atmosphere rolls about along with the -earth, as if it were a part of it, and moves with it through the sky, -which is a vast field of empty space. In this immense space are all the -stars and planets, which have also their several motions. There is -nothing to stop them, and therefore they continually go on, by means of -the force that the Creator has originally impressed upon them. - -_Lu._ Do not some of the stars move round the sun, as well as our earth? - -_Pa._ Yes; those that are called _planets_. These are all subject to the -same laws of motion with our earth. They are attracted by the sun as -their centre, and form, along with the earth, that assemblage of worlds, -which is called the _solar system_. - -_Lu._ Is the moon one of them? - -_Pa._ The moon is called a _secondary_ planet, because its immediate -connexion is with our earth, round which it rolls, as we do round the -sun. It, however, accompanies our earth on its journey round the sun. -But I will tell you more about its motion, and about the other planets -and stars another time. It is enough at present, if you thoroughly -understand what I have been describing. - -_Lu._ I think I do. - - - - - THE UMBELLIFEROUS PLANTS. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_. - - -_Harry._ What plant is that man gathering under the hedge? - -_George._ I don’t know; but the boys call the stalks _hexes_, and blow -through them. - -_Har._ I have seen them; but I want to know the plant. - -_Geo._ Will you please to tell us, sir, what it is? - -_Tutor._ It is hemlock. - -_Geo._ Hemlock is poison is it not? - -_Tut._ Yes, in some degree; and it is also a medicine; that man is -gathering it for the apothecaries. - -_Har._ I should like to know it. - -_Tut._ Well then—go and bring one. - - [Harry _fetches it_. - -_Geo._ I think I have seen a great many of this sort. - -_Tut._ Perhaps you may; but there are many other kinds of plants -extremely like it. It is one of a large family called the -_umbelliferous_, which contains both food, physic, and poison. It will -be worth while for you to know something about them, so let us examine -this hemlock closely. You see this tall hollow stalk, which divides into -several branches, from each of which spring spokes or _rundles_, as they -are called, of flower-stalks. You see they are like rays from a circle, -or the spokes of a wheel. - -_Har._ Or like the sticks of an umbrella. - -_Tut._ True; and they are called _umbels_, which has the same -derivation. If you pursue one of these rundles or umbels, you will find -that each stick or spoke terminates in another set of smaller stalks, -each of which bears a single small flower. - -_Geo._ They are small ones, indeed! - -_Tut._ But if you look sharply, I dare say your eyes are good enough to -distinguish that they are divided into five leaves, and furnished with -five chives and two pistils in the middle. - -_Har._ I can see them. - -_Geo._ And so can I. - -_Tut._ The pistils are succeeded by a sort of fruit, which is a -twin-seed joined in the middle, as you may see in this rundle that is -past flowering. Here I divide one of them into two. - -_Geo._ Would each of these grow? - -_Tut._ Yes. Well, this is the structure of the flowering part of the -umbelliferous tribe. Now for the leaf. Pluck one. - -_Har._ Is this one leaf, or many? - -_Tut._ It is properly one, but it is cut and divided into many portions. -From this mid-rib spring smaller leaves set opposite each other; and -from the rib of each of these proceed others, which themselves are also -divided. These are called doubly or trebly pinnated leaves; and most of -the umbelliferous plants, but not all, have leaves of this kind. - -_Har._ It is like a parsley-leaf. - -_Tut._ True—and parsley is one of the same tribe, and hemlock and others -are sometimes mistaken for it. - -_Geo._ How curiously the stalk of this hemlock is spotted! - -_Tut._ Yes. That is one of the marks by which it is known. It is also -distinguished by its peculiar smell, and by other circumstances which -you can only understand when you have compared a number of the tribe. I -will now tell you about some others, the names of which you are probably -acquainted with. In the first place, there are carrots and parsnips. - -_Har._ Carrots and parsnips!—they are not poisons, I am sure. - -_Geo._ I remember, now, that carrots have such a leaf as this. - -_Tut._ They have. It is the _roots_ of these, you know, that are eaten. -But we eat the _leaves_ of parsley and fennel, which are of the same -class. Celery is another, the _stalks_ of which are chiefly used, made -white by trenching up the earth about them. The stalks of angelica are -used differently. - -_Har._ I know how—candied. - -_Tut._ Yes. Then there are many of which the _seeds_ are used. There is -caraway. - -_Har._ What, the seeds that are put into cakes and comfits? - -_Tut._ Yes. They are warm and pungent to the taste; and so are the seeds -of many others of the umbelliferous plants, as coriander, fennel, wild -carrot, angelica, anise, cummin, and dill. All these are employed in -food or medicine, and are good in warming or strengthening the stomach. - -_Har._ Those are pleasant medicines enough. - -_Tut._ They are; but you will not say the same of some others of the -class, which are noted medicines too; such as the plant yielding -asafœtida, and several more, from which what are called the fetid gums -are produced. - -_Geo._ Asafœtida!—that’s nasty stuff, I know; does it grow here? - -_Tut._ No; and most of the sweet seeds I before mentioned come from -abroad too. Now I will tell you of some of the poisons. - -_Har._ Hemlock is one that we know already. - -_Tut._ Yes. Then there is another kind that grows in the water, and is -more poisonous, called water-hemlock. Another is a large plant growing -in ditches, with leaves extremely like celery, called hemlock-dropwort. -Another, common in drier situations, and distinguished by leaves less -divided than most of the class, is cow-parsnip, or madnep. Of some of -these the leaves, of others the root, is most poisonous. Their effects -are to make the head giddy, bring on stupidity or delirium, and cause -violent sickness. The Athenians used to put criminals to death by making -them drink the juice of a kind of hemlock growing in that country, as -you may read in the life of that excellent philosopher, Socrates, who -was killed in that manner. - -_Har._ What was he killed for? - -_Tut._ Because he was wiser and better than his fellow-citizens. Among -us it is only by accident that mischief is done by these plants. I -remember a melancholy instance of a poor boy, who, in rambling about the -fields with his little brothers and sisters, chanced to meet with a root -of hemlock-dropwort. It looked so white and nice, that he was tempted to -eat a good deal of it. The other children also ate some, but not so -much. When they got home they were all taken very ill. The eldest boy, -who had eaten most, died in great agony. The others recovered, after -suffering a great deal. - -_Geo._ Is there any way of preventing their bad effects? - -_Tut._ The best way is to clear the stomach as soon as possible by a -strong vomit and large draughts of warm water. After that, vinegar is -useful in removing the disorder of the head. - -_Har._ But are the roots sweet and pleasant, that people should be -tempted to eat them? - -_Tut._ Several of them are. There is a small plant of the tribe, the -root of which is much sought after by boys, who dig for it with their -knives It is round, and called earth-nut, or pig-nut. - -_Geo._ But that’s not poison, I suppose? - -_Tut._ No; but it is not very wholesome. I believe, however, that the -roots of the most poisonous become innocent by boiling. I have heard -that boiled hemlock roots are as good as carrots. - -_Geo._ I think I should not like to eat them, however. But pray, why -should there be any poisons at all? - -_Tut._ What we call poisons, are only hurtful to particular animals. -They are the proper food of others, and no doubt do more good than hurt -in the creation. Most of the things that are poisonous to us in large -quantities, are useful medicines in small ones; and we have reason -bestowed upon _us_, to guard us against mischief. Other animals, in -general, refuse by instinct what would prove hurtful to them. You see -beneath yonder hedge a great crop of tall flourishing plants with white -flowers. They are of the umbelliferous family, and are called wild -cicely, or cow-weed. The latter name is given them, because the cows -will not touch them, though the pasture be ever so bare. - -_Har._ Would they poison them? - -_Tut._ Perhaps they would: at least they are not proper food for them. -We will go and examine them, and I will show you how they differ from -hemlock, for which they are sometimes mistaken. - -_Geo._ I should like to get some of these plants, and dry them. - -_Tut._ You shall, and write down the names of them all, and learn to -know the innocent from the hurtful. - -_Geo._ That will be very useful. - -_Tut._ It will. Remember now the general character of the umbelliferous -plants. The flower-stalks are divided into spokes or umbels, which are -again divided into others, each of them terminated by a small, -five-leaved flower, having five chives and two pistils, succeeded by a -twin-seed. Their leaves are generally finely divided. You will soon know -them, after having examined two or three of the tribe. Remember, too, -that they are a _suspicious race_, and not to be made free with till you -are well acquainted with them. - - - - - HUMBLE LIFE; OR, THE COTTAGERS. - - (_Mr. Everard and Charles, walking in the fields._) - - -_Mr. Everard._ Well, Charles, you seem to be in deep meditation. Pray, -what are you thinking about? - -_Charles._ I was thinking, sir, how happy it is for us that we are not -in the place of that poor weaver whose cottage we just passed by. - -_Mr. Ev._ It is very right to be sensible of all the advantages that -Providence has bestowed upon us in this world, and I commend you for -reflecting on them with gratitude. But what particular circumstance of -comparison between our condition and his struck you most just now? - -_Ch._ O, almost everything! I could not bear to live in such a poor -house, with a cold clay floor, and half the windows stopped with paper. -Then how poorly he and his children are dressed! and I dare say they -must live as poorly too. - -_Mr. Ev._ These things would be grievous enough to you, I do not doubt, -because you have been accustomed to a very different way of living. But -if they are healthy and contented, I don’t know that we have much more -to boast of. I believe the man is able to procure wholesome food for his -family, and clothes and firing enough to keep them from suffering from -the cold; and nature wants little more. - -_Ch._ But, what a ragged, barefooted fellow the boy at the door was! - -_Mr. Ev._ He was—but did you observe his ruddy cheeks, and his stout -legs, and the smiling grin upon his countenance? It is my opinion he -would beat you in running, though he is half the head less; and I dare -say he never cried because he did not know what to do with himself, in -his life. - -_Ch._ But, sir, you have often told me that the mind is the noblest part -of man; and these poor creatures, I am sure, can have no opportunity to -improve their minds. They must be as ignorant as the brutes, almost. - -_Mr. Ev._ Why so? Do you think there is no knowledge to be got but from -books; or that a weaver cannot teach his children right from wrong? - -_Ch._ Not if he has never learned himself. - -_Mr. Ev._ True—but I hope the country we live in is not so unfriendly to -a poor man, as to afford him no opportunity of learning his duty to God -and his neighbour. And as to other points of knowledge, necessity and -common observation will teach him a good deal. But come—let us go and -pay him a visit, for I doubt you hardly think them human creatures. - - [_They enter the cottage_—Jacob, _the weaver, at his loom. His wife - spinning. Children of different ages._] - -_Mr. Ev._ Good morning to you, friend! Don’t let us disturb you all, -pray. We have just stepped in to look at your work. - -_Jacob._ I have very little to show you, gentlemen; but you are welcome -to look on. Perhaps the young gentleman never saw weaving before. - -_Ch._ I never did, near. - -_Jac._ Look here, then, master. These long threads are the warp. They -are divided, you see, into two sets, and I pass my shuttle between them, -which carries with it the cross threads, and that makes the weft. -(_Explains the whole to him._) - -_Ch._ Dear! how curious! And is all cloth made this way, papa? - -_Mr. Ev._ Yes; only there are somewhat different contrivances for -different kinds of work. Well, how soon do you think you could learn to -weave like this honest man? - -_Ch._ O—not for a great while? - -_Mr. Ev._ But I suppose you could easily turn the wheel, and draw out -threads like that good woman? - -_Ch._ Not without some practice, I fancy. But what is that boy doing? - -_Jac._ He is cutting pegs for the shoemakers, master. - -_Ch._ How quick he does them! - -_Jac._ It is but poor employment, but better than being idle. The first -lesson I teach my children is, that their hands were made to get their -bread with. - -_Mr. Ev._ And a very good lesson, too. - -_Ch._ What is this heap of twigs for? - -_Jac._ Why, master, my biggest boy and girl have learned a little how to -make basket-work, so I have got them a few osiers to employ them at -leisure hours. That bird-cage is their making: and the back of that -chair in which their grandmother sits. - -_Ch._ Is not that cleverly done, papa? - -_Mr. Ev._ It is, indeed. Here are several arts, you see, in this house, -which both you and I should be much puzzled to set about. But there are -some books, too, I perceive. - -_Ch._ Here is a bible, and a testament, and a prayer-book, and a -spelling book, and a volume of the Gardener’s Dictionary. - -_Mr. Ev._ And how many of your family can read, my friend? - -_Jac._ All the children but the two youngest can read a little, sir; but -Meg, there, is the best scholar among us. She reads us a chapter in the -Testament every morning, and very well, too, though I say it. - -_Mr. Ev._ Do you hear that, Charles? - -_Ch._ I do, sir. Here’s an almanac, too, against the wall; and here are -my favourite ballads of the Children in the Wood, and Chevy-chase. - -_Jac._ I let the children paste them up, sir, and a few more that have -no harm in them. There’s Hearts of Oak, and Rule Britannia, and Robin -Gray. - -_Mr. Ev._ A very good choice, indeed. I see you have a pretty garden -there behind the house. - -_Jac._ It is only a little spot, sir; but it serves for some amusement, -and use too. - -_Ch._ What beautiful stocks and wall-flowers! We have none so fine in -our garden. - -_Jac._ Why, master, to say the truth, we are rather proud of them. I -have got a way of cultivating them, that I believe few besides myself -are acquainted with; and on Sundays I have plenty of visiters to come -and admire them. - -_Ch._ Pray, what is this bush with narrow whitish leaves and blue -flowers? - -_Jac._ Don’t you know? It is rosemary. - -_Ch._ Is it good for anything? - -_Jac._ We like the smell of it; and then the leaves, mixed with a little -balm, make pleasant tea, which we sometimes drink in the afternoon. - -_Ch._ Here are several more plants that I never saw before. - -_Jac._ Some of them are pot-herbs, that we put into our broth or -porridge; and others are physic herbs, for we cannot afford to go to a -doctor for every trifling ailment. - -_Ch._ But how do you learn the use of these things? - -_Jac._ Why, partly, master, from an old herbal that I have got; and -partly from my good mother and some old neighbours; for we poor people -are obliged to help one another as well as we can. If you were curious -about plants, I could go into the fields, and show you a great many that -we reckon very fine for several uses, though I suppose we don’t call -them by the proper names. - -_Mr. Ev._ You keep your garden very neat, friend, and seem to make the -most of every inch of ground. - -_Jac._ Why, sir, we have hands enough, and all of us like to be doing a -little in it when our in-doors work is over. I am in hopes soon to be -allowed a bit of land from the waste for a potato-ground, which will be -a great help to us. I shall then be able to keep a pig. - -_Mr. Ev._ I suppose, notwithstanding your industry, you live rather -hardly sometimes? - -_Jac._ To be sure, sir, we are somewhat pinched in dear times and hard -weather; but, thank God, I have constant work, and my children begin to -be some help to us, so that we fare better than some of our neighbours. -If I do but keep my health, I don’t fear but we shall make a shift to -live. - -_Mr. Ev._ Keep such a contented mind, my friend, and you will have few -to envy. Good morning to you, and if any sickness or accident should -befall you, remember you have a friend in your neighbour at the hall. - -_Jac._ I will, sir, and thank you. - -_Ch._ Good morning to you. - -_Jac._ The same to you, master. - - [_They leave the cottage._ - -_Mr. Ev._ Well, Charles, what do you think of our visit? - -_Ch._ I am highly pleased with it, sir. I shall have a better opinion of -a poor cottager as long as I live. - -_Mr. Ev._ I am glad of it. You see when we compare ourselves with this -weaver, all the advantage is not on our side. He is possessed of an art, -the utility of which secures him a livelihood, whatever may be the -changes of the times. All his family are brought up to industry, and -show no small ingenuity in their several occupations. They are not -without instruction, and especially seem to be in no want of that best -of all, the knowledge of their duty. They understand something of the -cultivation and uses of plants, and are capable of receiving enjoyment -from the beauties of nature. They partake of the pleasures of home and -neighbourhood. Above all they seem content with their lot, and free from -anxious cares and repinings. I view them as truly respectable members of -society, acting well the part allotted to them, and that, a part most of -all necessary to the well-being of the whole. They may, from untoward -accidents, be rendered objects of our compassion, but they never can of -our contempt. - -_Ch._ Indeed, sir, I am very far from despising them now. But would it -not be possible to make them more comfortable than they are at present? - -_Mr. Ev._ I think it would; and when giving a little from the -superfluity of persons in our situation would add so much to the -happiness of persons in theirs, I am of opinion that it is unpardonable -not to do it. I intend to use my interest to get this poor man the piece -of waste land he wants, and he shall have some from my share rather than -go without. - -_Ch._ And suppose, sir, we were to give him some good potatoes to plant -it? - -_Mr. Ev._ We will. Then, you know, we have a fine sow, that never fails -to produce a numerous litter twice a year. Suppose we rear one of the -next brood to be ready for him as soon as he has got his potato-ground -into bearing? - -_Ch._ O yes! that will be just the thing. But how is he to build a -pigsty? - -_Mr. Ev._ You may leave that to his own ingenuity! I warrant he can -manage such a job as that with the help of a neighbour, at least. Well—I -hope both the weaver, and you, will be the better for the acquaintance -we have made to-day; and always remember, that _man, when fulfilling the -duties of his station, be that station what it may, is a worthy object -of respect to his fellow-men_. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XXII. -] - - - - - THE BIRTHDAY GIFT. - - -The populous kingdom of Ava, in India beyond the Ganges, was once -inherited by a minor prince, who was brought up in the luxurious -indolence of an eastern palace. When he had reached the age of -seventeen, which by the laws of that country, was the period of majority -for the crown, all the great men of his court, and the governors of the -provinces, according to established custom, laid at his feet presents -consisting of the most costly products of nature and art that they had -been able to procure. One offered a casket of the most precious jewels -of Golconda; another a curious piece of clockwork made by a European -artist; another, a piece of the richest silk from the looms of China; -another, a bezoar stone said to be a sovereign antidote against all -poisons and infectious diseases; another, a choice piece of the most -fragrant rose-wood, in a box of ebony inlaid with pearls; another, a -golden cruse full of genuine balsam of Mecca; another, a courser of the -purest breed of Arabia; and another, a female slave of exquisite beauty. -The whole court of the palace was overspread with rarities; and long -rows of slaves were continually passing loaded with vessels and utensils -of gold and silver, and other articles of high price. - -At length, an aged magistrate from a distant province made his -appearance. He was simply clad in a long cotton robe, and his hoary -beard waved on his breast. He made his obeisance before the young -monarch, and holding forth an embroidered silken bag, he thus addressed -him:— - -“Deign, great king, to accept the faithful homage and fervent good -wishes of thy servant on this important day, and with them the small -present I hold in my hand. Small, indeed, it is in show, but not so, I -trust, in value. Others have offered what may decorate thy person—here -is what will impart perpetual grace and lustre to thy features. Others -have presented thee with rich perfumes—here is what will make thy name -sweet and fragrant to the latest ages. Others have given what may afford -pleasure to thine eyes—here is what will nourish a source of -never-failing pleasure within thy breast. Others have furnished thee -with preservatives against bodily contagion—here is what will preserve -thy better parts uncontaminated. Others have heaped round thee the -riches of a temporal kingdom—this will secure thee the treasures of an -eternal one.” - -He said, and drew from the purse a book, containing _the moral precepts -of the sage Zendar_, the wisest and most virtuous man the East had ever -beheld. “If,” he proceeded, “my gracious sovereign will condescend to -make this his constant companion, not an hour can pass in which its -perusal may not be a comfort and a blessing. In the arduous duties of -thy station it will prove a faithful guide and counsellor. Amid the -allurements of pleasure and the incitements of passion, it will be an -incorruptible monitor, that will never suffer thee to err without -warning thee of thy error. It will render thee a blessing to thy people, -and blessed in thyself: for what sovereign can be the one without the -other?” - -He then returned the book to its place, and kneeling, gave it into the -hands of the king. He received it with respect and benignity, and -history affirms that the use he made of it corresponded with the wishes -of the donor. - - - - - ON EARTHS AND STONES - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_. - - -_Harry._ I wonder what all this heap of stones is for? - -_George._ I can tell you—it is for the lime-kiln; do n’t you see it just -by? - -_Har._ O yes, I do. But what is to be done to them there? - -_Geo._ Why, they are to be burnt into lime; do n’t you know that? - -_Har._ But what is lime, and what are its uses? - -_Geo._ I can tell you one; they lay it on the fields for manure. Do n’t -you remember we saw a number of little heaps of it, that we took for -sheep at a distance, and wondered they did not move? However, I believe -we had better ask our tutor about it. Will you please, sir, to tell us -something about lime? - -_Tutor._ Willingly. But suppose, as we talked about all sorts of metals -some time ago, I should now give you a lecture about stones and earths -of all kinds, which are equally valuable, and much more common than -metals. - -_Geo._ Pray, do, sir. - -_Har._ I shall be very glad to hear it. - -_Tut._ Well, then. In the first place, the ground we tread upon, to as -great a depth as it has been dug, consists for the most part of matter -of various appearance and hardness, called by the general name of -_earths_. In common language, indeed, only the soft and powdery -substances are so named, while the hard and solid are called _stone_ or -_rock_; but chymists use the same term for all; as, in fact, earth is -only crumbled stone, and stone only consolidated earth. - -_Har._ What!—has the mould of my garden ever been stone? - -_Tut._ The black earth or mould which covers the surface wherever plants -grow, consists mostly of parts of rotted vegetables, such as stalks, -leaves, and roots, mixed with sand or loose clay; but this only reaches -a little way; and beneath it you always come to a bed of gravel, or -clay, or stone of some kind. Now these earths and stones are -distinguished into several species, but principally into three, the -properties of which make them useful to man for very different purposes, -and are, therefore, very well worth knowing. As you began with asking me -about lime, I shall first mention that class of earths from which it is -obtained. These have derived their name of _calcareous_ from this very -circumstance, _calx_ being lime, in Latin; and lime is got from them all -in the same way, by burning them in a strong fire. There are many kinds -of calcareous earths. One of them is _marble_; you know what that is? - -_Geo._ O yes! Our parlour chimney-piece and hearth are marble. - -_Har._ And so are the monuments in the church. - -_Tut._ True. There are various kinds of it: white, black, yellow, gray, -mottled and veined with different colours; but all of them are hard and -heavy stones, admitting a fine polish, on which account they are much -used in ornamental works. - -_Geo._ I think statues are made of it? - -_Tut._ Yes; and where it is plentiful, columns, and porticoes, and -sometimes whole buildings. Marble is the luxury of architecture. - -_Har._ Where does marble come from? - -_Tut._ From a great many countries. Great Britain produces some, but -mostly of inferior kinds. What we use chiefly comes from Italy. The -Greek islands yield some fine sorts. That of Paros is of ancient fame -for whiteness and purity, and the finest antique statues have been made -of Parian marble. - -_Har._ I suppose black marble will not burn into white lime? - -_Tut._ Yes, it will. A violent heat will expel most of the colouring -matter of marbles, and make them white. _Chalk_ is another kind of -calcareous earth. This is of a much softer consistence than marble; -being easily cut with a knife, and marking things on which it is rubbed. -It is found in great beds in the earth; and in some parts of England -whole hills are composed of it. - -_Geo._ Are chalk and whiting the same? - -_Tut._ Whiting is made of the finer and purer particles of chalk washed -out from the rest, and then dried in lumps. This you know is quite soft -and crumbly. There are, besides, a great variety of stones in the earth -harder than chalk, but softer than marble, which will burn to lime, and -are therefore called _lime-stones_. These differ much in colour and -other properties, and accordingly furnish lime of different qualities. -Whole ridges of mountains in various parts are composed of lime-stone, -and it is found plentifully in most of the hilly counties of England, to -the great advantage of the inhabitants. - -_Geo._ Will not oyster-shells burn into lime? I think I have heard of -oyster-shell lime. - -_Tut._ They will, and this is another source of calcareous earth. The -shells of all animals, both land and sea, as oysters, mussels, cockles, -crabs, lobsters, snails, and the like, and also egg-shells of all kinds, -consist of this earth; and so does coral, which is formed by insects -under the sea, and is very abundant in some countries. Vast quantities -of shells are often found deep in the earth, in the midst of chalk and -lime-stone beds; whence some have supposed that all calcareous earth is -originally an animal production. - -_Har._ But where could animals enough ever have lived to make mountains -of their shells? - -_Tut._ That, indeed, I cannot answer. But there are sufficient proofs -that our world must long have existed in a very different state from the -present. Well—but besides these purer calcareous earths, it is very -frequently found mingled in different proportions with other earths. -Thus _marl_, which is so much used in manuring land, and of which there -are a great many kinds, consists of calcareous earth, united with clay -and sand; and the more of this earth it contains, the richer manure it -generally makes. - -_Geo._ Is there any way of discovering it when it is mixed in this -manner with other things? - -_Tut._ Yes—there is an easy and sure method of discovering the smallest -portion of it. All the varieties of calcareous earth that I have -mentioned have the property of dissolving in acids, and effervescing -with them; that is, they bubble and hiss when acids are poured upon -them. You may readily try this at any time with a piece of chalk or an -oyster-shell. - -_Geo._ I will pour some vinegar upon an oyster-shell as soon as I get -home. But now I think of it, I have often done so in eating oysters, and -I never observed it to hiss or bubble. - -_Tut._ Vinegar is not an acid strong enough to act upon a thing so solid -as a shell. But sulphuric and muriatic acids will do it at once; and -persons who examine the nature of fossils always travel with a bottle of -one of these acids, by way of a test of calcareous earth. Your vinegar -will answer with chalk or whiting. This property of dissolving in acids, -and what is called neutralizing them, or taking away their sourness, has -caused many of the calcareous earths to be used in medicine. You know -that sometimes our food turns very sour upon the stomach, and occasions -the pain called heart-burn, and other uneasy symptoms. In these cases it -is common to give chalk or powdered shells, or other things of this -kind, which afford relief, by neutralizing the acid. - -_Geo._ I suppose, then, _magnesia_ is something of this sort, for I have -often seen it given to my little sister, when they said her stomach was -out of order? - -_Tut._ It is; but though magnesia has some properties in common with -calcareous earths, it possesses others that are peculiar to itself. - -_Geo._ Pray, what are the other uses of these earths? - -_Tut._ Such of them as are hard stone, as the marbles and many of the -lime-stones, are used for the same purposes as other stones. But their -great use is in the form of lime, which is a substance of many curious -properties that I will now explain to you. When fresh burnt it is called -_quicklime_, on account of the heat and life, as it were, which it -possesses. Have you ever seen a lump put into water? - -_Geo._ Yes, I have. - -_Tut._ Were you not much surprised to see it swell and crack to pieces, -with a hissing noise and a great smoke and heat? - -_Geo._ I was, indeed. But what is the cause of this—how can cold water -occasion so much heat? - -_Tut._ I will tell you. The strong heat to which calcareous earth is -exposed in making it lime expels all the water it contained, (for all -earths, as well as almost everything else, naturally contain water,) and -also a quantity of a peculiar kind of air which was united with it. If -water be now added to this quicklime, it is drunk in again with such -rapidity, as to crack and break the lime to pieces. At the same time a -great heat is occasioned by the water combining with the lime, and this -makes itself sensible by its effects, burning all the things that it -touches, and turning part of the water to steam. This operation is -called slacking of lime. The water in which lime is slacked dissolves a -part of it, and acquires a very pungent harsh taste: this is used in -medicine under the name of lime-water. If instead of soaking quicklime -in water, it is exposed for sometime to the air, it attracts moisture -slowly, and by degrees fails to powder, without much heat or -disturbance. But whether lime be slacked in water or air, it does not at -first return to the state in which it was before, since it still remains -deprived of its air, and on that account is still pungent and caustic. -At length, however, it recovers this also from the atmosphere, and is -then mild calcareous earth as at first. Now it is upon some of these -circumstances that the utility of lime depends. In the first place, its -burning and corroding quality makes it useful to the tanner, in -loosening all the hair from the hides, and destroying the flesh and fat -that adhered to them. And so in various other trades it is used as a -great cleanser and purifier. - -_Har._ I have a thought come into my head. When it is laid upon the -ground, I suppose its use must be to burn up the weeds? - -_Tut._ True—that is part of its use. - -_Geo._ But it must burn up the good grass and corn too? - -_Tut._ Properly objected. But the case is, that the farmer does not sow -his seeds till the lime is rendered mild by exposure to the air and -weather, and is well mixed with the soil. And even then it is reckoned a -hot and forcing manure, chiefly fit for cold and wet lands. The -principal use of lime, however, is as an ingredient in _mortar_. This, -you know, is the cement by which bricks and stones are held together in -building. It is made of fresh slacked lime and a proportion of sand well -mixed together; and, when used for plastering walls, some chopped hair -is put into it. The lime binds with the other ingredients; and in length -of time, the mortar, if well made, becomes as hard, or harder, than -stone itself. - -_Geo._ I have heard of the mortar in very old buildings being harder and -stronger than any made at present. - -_Tut._ That is only on account of its age. Burning lime and making -mortar are as well understood now as ever: but in order to have it -excellent, the lime should be of a good quality, and thoroughly burnt. -Some sorts of lime have the property of making mortar which will harden -under water, whence it is much valued for bridges, locks, wharfs, and -the like. - -_Geo._ Pray, is not plaster of Paris a kind of lime? I know it will -become hard by only mixing water with it, for I have used it to make -casts of. - -_Tut._ The powder you call plaster of Paris is made of an earth named -_gypsum_, of which there are several kinds. _Alabaster_ is a stone of -this sort, and hard enough to be used like marble. The gypseous earths -are of the calcareous kind, but they have naturally a portion of acid -united with them, whence they will not effervesce on having acid poured -on them. But they are distinguished by the property, that after being -calcined or burnt in the fire, and reduced to powder, they will set into -a solid body by the addition of water alone. This makes them very useful -for ornamental plasters, that are to receive a form or impression, such -as the stucco for the ceiling of rooms. - -Well—we have said enough about calcareous earths; now to another class, -the _argillaceous_. - -_Geo._ I think I know what those are. _Argilla_ is _Latin_ for _clay_. - -_Tut._ True; and they are also called _clayey_ earths. In general, these -earths are of a soft texture and a sort of greasy feel; but they are -peculiarly distinguished by the property of becoming sticky on being -tempered with water, so that they may be drawn out and worked into form -like a paste. Have you ever, when you were a little boy, made a -clay-house? - -_Geo._ Yes, I have. - -_Tut._ Then you well know the manner in which clay is tempered, and -worked for this purpose? - -_Har._ Yes—and I remember helping to make little pots and mugs of clay. - -_Tut._ Then you imitated the potter’s trade; for all utensils of -earthenware are made of clays either pure or mixed. This is one of the -oldest arts among mankind, and one of the most useful. They furnish -materials for building, too; for bricks and tiles are made of these -earths. But in order to be fit for these purposes, it is necessary that -clay should not only be soft and ductile while it is forming, but -capable of being hardened afterward; and this it is, by the assistance -of fire. Pottery-ware and bricks are burnt with a strong heat in kilns, -by which they acquire a hardness equal to that of the hardest stone. - -_Geo._ I think I have heard of bricks being baked by the sun’s heat -alone in very hot countries. - -_Tut._ True; and they may serve for building in climates where rain -scarcely ever falls; but heavy showers would wash them away. Fire seems -to change the nature of clays; for after they have undergone its -operation, they become incapable of returning of themselves to a soft -and ductile state. You might steep brick-dust or pounded pots in water -ever so long without making it hold together in the least. - -_Geo._ I suppose there are many kinds of clays? - -_Tut._ There are. Argillaceous earths differ greatly from each other in -colour, purity, and other qualities. Some are perfectly white, as that -of which tobacco-pipes are made. Others are blue, brown, yellow, and in -short of all hues, which they owe to mixtures of decaying vegetable -substances or metals. Those which burn red contain a portion of iron. No -clays are found perfectly pure; but they are mixed with more or less of -other earths. The common brick-clays contain a large proportion of sand, -which often makes them crumbly and perishable. In general, the finest -earthenware is made of the purest and whitest clays; but other matters -are mixed in order to harden and strengthen them. Thus _porcelain_ or -_china_ is made with a clayey earth mixed with a stone of vitrifiable -nature, that is, which may be melted into glass; and the fine pottery -called _queen’s ware_ is a mixture of tobacco-pipe clay, and flints -burnt and powdered. Common stone _ware_ is a coarse mixture of this -sort. Some species of pottery are made with mixtures of burnt and -unburnt clay; the former I told you before, being incapable of becoming -soft again with water like a natural clay. - -_Har._ Are clays of no other use than to make pottery of? - -_Tut._ Yes, the richest soils are those which have a proportion of clay; -and marl, which I have already mentioned as a manure, generally contains -a good deal of it. Then clay has the property of absorbing oil or -grease, whence some kinds of it are used like soap for cleaning clothes. -The substance called _fullers’ earth_ is a mixed earth of the -argillaceous kind; and its use in taking out the oil which naturally -adheres to wool is so great, that it has been one cause of the -superiority of our woollen cloths. - -_Har._ Then I suppose it is found in England? - -_Tut._ Yes. There are pits of the best kind of it near Woburn in -Bedfordshire, and Nutfield in Surrey, England. The different kinds of -slate, too, are stones of the argillaceous class; and very useful ones, -for covering houses, and other purposes. - -_Har._ Are writing slates like the slates used for covering houses? - -_Tut._ Yes; but their superior blackness and smoothness make them show -better the marks of the pencil. - -_Geo._ You have mentioned something of sand and flints, but you have not -told us what sort of earths they are. - -_Tut._ I reserved that till I spoke of the third great class of earths. -This is the _siliceous_ class, so named from _silex_, which is Latin for -a flint-stone. They have also been called _vitrifiable_ earths, because -they are the principal ingredient in glass, named in Latin _vitrum_. - -_Geo._ I have heard of flint-glass. - -_Tut._ Yes—but neither flint, nor any other of the kind, will make -glass, even by the strongest heat, without some addition; but this we -will speak of by-and-by. I shall now tell you the principal properties -of these earths. They are all very hard, and will strike fire with -steel, when in a mass large enough for the stroke. They mostly run into -particular shapes, with sharp angles and points, and have a certain -degree of transparency, which has made them also be called _crystalline_ -earths. They do not in the least soften with water, like clays; nor are -they affected by acids, nor do they burn to lime, like the calcareous -earths. As to the different kinds of them, _flint_ has already been -mentioned. It is a very common production in some parts, and is -generally met with in pebbles, or round lumps forming pebbles, in -gravel-beds, and often almost entirely covering the surface of ploughed -fields. - -_Har._ But do they not hinder the corn from growing? - -_Tut._ The corn, to be sure, cannot take root upon them, but I believe -it has been found that the protection they afford to the young plants -which grow under them is more than equal to the harm they do by taking -up room. Flints are also frequently found imbedded in chalk under the -ground. Those used in the Staffordshire potteries chiefly come from the -chalk-pits near Gravesend. So much for flints. You have seen white -pebbles, which are semi-transparent, and when broken resemble white -sugar-candy. They are common on the seashore, and beds of rivers. - -_Har._ O, yes. We call them fire-stones. When they are rubbed together -in the dark they send out great flashes of light, and have a particular -smell. - -_Tut._ True. The proper name of these is _quartz_. It is found in large -quantities in the earth, and the ores of metals are often imbedded in -it. Sometimes it is perfectly transparent, and then it is called -_crystal_. Some of these crystals shoot into exact mathematical figures; -and because many salts do the same, and are also transparent, they are -called the _crystals_ of such or such a salt. - -_Geo._ Is not fine glass called crystal, too? - -_Tut._ It is called so by way of simile; thus we say of a thing, “It is -as clear as a crystal.” But the only true crystal is an earth of the -kind I have been describing. Well, now we come to _sand_; for this is -properly only quartz in a powdery state. If you examine the grains of -sand singly, or look at them with a magnifying glass, you will find them -all either entirely or partly transparent; and in some of the white -shining sands the grains are all little bright crystals. - -_Har._ But most sand is broken or yellowish. - -_Tut._ That is owing to some mixture generally of the metallic kind. I -believe I once told you that all sands were supposed to contain a small -portion of gold. It is more certain that many of them contain iron. - -_Geo._ But what could have brought this quartz and crystal into powder, -so as to have produced all the sand in the world? - -_Tut._ That is not very easy to determine. On the seashore, however, the -incessant rolling of the pebbles by the waves is enough in time to grind -them to powder; and there is reason to believe that the greatest part of -what is now dry land was once sea, which may account for the vast beds -of sand met with inland. - -_Geo._ I have seen some stone so soft that one might crumble it between -one’s fingers, and then it seemed to turn to sand. - -_Tut._ There are several of this kind, more or less solid, which are -chiefly composed of sand conglutinated by some natural cement. Such are -called _sandstone_, or _freestone_, and are used for various purposes, -in building, making grindstones, and the like, according to their -hardness. - -_Har._ Pray, what are the common pebbles that the streets are paved -with? I am sure they strike fire enough with horses’ shoes. - -_Tut._ They are stones of the siliceous kind, either pure or mixed with -other earths. One of the hardest and best for this purpose is called -_granite_, which is of various kinds and colours, but always consists of -grains of different siliceous stones cemented together. The streets of -London are paved with granite brought from Scotland. In some other -stones these bits of different earths dispersed through the cement are -so large as to look like plums in a pudding; whence they have obtained -the name of _pudding-stones_. - -_Geo._ I think there is a kind of stones that you have not yet -mentioned—precious stones. - -_Tut._ These, too, are mostly siliceous; but some even of the hardest -and most valuable are argillaceous in their nature, though possessing -none of the external properties of clay. The opaque and half-transparent -precious stones, such as jasper, agate, cornelian, and lapis lazuli, are -engraved upon for seal-stones; the more beautiful and transparent ones, -as ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz, which go by the name of gems, are -generally only cut and polished, and worn in rings, ear-rings, -necklaces, and the like. - -_Geo._ Diamond, no doubt, is one of them. - -_Har._ So it has commonly been reckoned, and the purest of all; but late -experiments have shown, that though it is the hardest body in nature it -may be totally dispersed into vapour by a strong fire, so that -mineralogists will now hardly allow it to be a stone at all, but class -it among inflammable substances. The precious stones abovementioned owe -their colours chiefly to some metallic mixture. They are in general -extremely hard, so as to cut glass, and one another; but diamonds will -cut all the rest. - -_Geo._ But are they not exceedingly rare? - -_Tut._ Yes; and in this rarity consists the greatest part of their -value. They are, indeed, beautiful objects; but the figure they make in -proportion to their expense is so very small, that their high price may -be reckoned one of the principal follies among mankind. What proportion -can there possibly be between the real worth of a glittering stone as -big as a hazelnut, and a magnificent house and gardens, or a large tract -of country covered with noble woods and rich meadows and cornfields? And -as to the mere glitter, a large lustre of cut glass has an infinitely -greater effect on the eye than all the jewels of a foreign prince. - -_Geo._ Will you please to tell us how glass is made? - -_Tut._ Willingly. The base of it is, as I said before, some earth of the -siliceous class. Those commonly used are flint and sand. Flint is first -burnt or calcined, which makes it quite white, like enamel; and it is -then powdered. This is the material sometimes used for some very white -glasses; but sand is that commonly preferred, as being already in a -powdery form. The white crystalline sands are used for fine glass; the -brown or yellow for the common sort. As these earths will not melt of -themselves, the addition in making glass is somewhat that promotes their -fusion. Various things will do this; but what is generally used is an -alkaline salt, obtained from the ashes of burnt vegetables. Of this -there are several kinds, as potash, pearlash, barilla, and kelp. The -salt is mixed with the sand in a certain proportion, and the mixture -then exposed in earthen pots to a violent heat, till it is thoroughly -melted. The mass is then cooled till it is nearly of the consistence of -dough, and in this state it is fashioned by blowing and the use of -shears and other instruments. You must see this done some time, for it -is one of the most curious and pleasing of all manufactures; and it is -not possible to form an idea of the ease and dexterity with which glass -is wrought, without an actual view. - -_Har._ I should like very much to see it, indeed. - -_Geo._ Where is glass made in this country? - -_Tut._ In many places. Some of the finest in London, but the coarser -kinds generally where coals are cheap; as at Newcastle and its -neighbourhood, in Lancashire, at Stourbridge, Bristol, and in South -Wales. I should have told you, however, that in our finest and most -brilliant glass, a quantity of the oxide of lead is put, which vitrifies -with the other ingredients, and gives the glass more firmness and -density. The blue, yellow, and red glasses are coloured with the oxides -of other metals. As to the common green glass, it is made with an alkali -that has a good deal of calcareous earth remaining with the ashes of the -plant. But to understand all the different circumstances of glassmaking, -one must have a thorough knowledge of chymistry. - -_Geo._ I think making of glass is one of the finest inventions of human -skill. - -_Tut._ It is perhaps not of that capital importance that some other arts -possess; but it has been a great addition to the comfort and pleasure of -life in many ways. Nothing makes such clean and agreeable vessels as -glass, which has the quality of not being corroded by any kind of -liquor, as well as that of showing its contents by its transparency. -Hence it is greatly preferable to the most precious metals for drinking -out of; and for the same reasons it is preferred to every other material -for chymical utensils, where the heat to be employed is not strong -enough to melt it. - -_Har._ Then glass windows. - -_Tut._ Ay; that is a very material comfort in a climate like ours, where -we so often wish to let in the light, and keep out the cold wind and -rain. What could be more gloomy than to sit in the dark, or with no -other light than came in through small holes covered with oiled paper or -bladder unable to see anything passing without doors! Yet this must have -been the case with the most sumptuous palaces before the invention of -window-glass, which was a good deal later than that of bottles and -drinking-glasses. - -_Har._ I think looking-glasses are very beautiful. - -_Tut._ They are, indeed, very elegant pieces of furniture, and very -costly too. The art of casting glass into large plates, big enough to -reach almost from the bottom to the top of a room, is but lately -introduced into this country from France. But the most splendid and -brilliant manner of employing glass is in lustres and chandeliers, hung -around with drops cut so as to reflect the light with all the colours of -the rainbow. Some of the shops in London, filled with these articles, -appear to realize all the wonders of an enchanted palace in the Arabian -Nights’ Entertainments - -_Geo._ But are not spectacles and spying-glasses more useful than all -these? - -_Tut._ I did not mean to pass them over, I assure you. By the curious -invention of optical glasses of various kinds, not only the natural -defects of the sight have been remedied, and old age has been in some -measure lightened of one of its calamities, but the sense of seeing has -been wonderfully extended. The telescope has brought distant objects -within our view, while the microscope has given us a clear survey of -near objects too minute for our unassisted eyes. By means of both, some -of the brightest discoveries of the modern times have been made; so that -glass has proved not less admirable in promoting science than in -contributing to splendour and convenience. Well—I don’t know that I have -anything more at present to say relative to the class of earths. We have -gone through the principal circumstances belonging to their three great -divisions, the _calcareous_, _argillaceous_, and _siliceous_. You will -remember, however, that most of the earths and stones offered by nature -are not in any one of these kinds perfectly pure, but contain a mixture -of one or both the others. There is not a pebble that you can pick up, -which would not exercise the skill of a mineralogist fully to ascertain -its properties, and the materials of its composition. So inexhaustible -is nature! - -[Illustration: - - The Native Village, p. 281. - - EVENING XXIII. -] - - - - - SHOW AND USE; OR, THE TWO PRESENTS. - - -One morning, Lord Richmore, coming down to breakfast, was welcomed with -the tidings that his favourite mare, Miss Slim, had brought a foal, and -also, that a she-ass, kept for his lady’s use as a milker, had dropped a -young one. His lordship smiled at the inequality of the presents nature -had made him. “As for the foal,” said he to the groom, “that, you know, -has been long promised to my neighbour, Mr. Scamper. For young Balaam, -you may dispose of him as you please.” The groom thanked his lordship, -and said he would then give him to Isaac the woodman. - -In due time, Miss Slim’s foal, which was the son of a noted racer, was -taken to Squire Scamper’s, who received him with great delight, and out -of compliment to the donor, named him _Young Peer_. He was brought up -with at least as much care and tenderness as the Squire’s own -children—kept in a warm stable, fed with the best of corn and hay, duly -dressed and regularly exercised. As he grew up, he gave tokens of great -beauty. His colour was bright bay, with a white star on his forehead; -his coat was fine, and shone like silk; and every point about him seemed -to promise perfection of shape and make. Everybody admired him as the -completest colt that could be seen. - -So fine a creature could not be destined to any useful employment. After -he had passed his third year, he was sent to Newmarket to be trained for -the turf, and a groom was appointed to the care of him alone. His -master, who could not well afford the expense, saved part of it by -turning off a domestic tutor whom he kept for the education of his sons, -and was content with sending them to the curate of the parish. - -At four years old, Young Peer started for a subscription purse, and came -in second out of a number of competitors. Soon after, he won a country -plate, and filled his master with joy and triumph. The Squire now turned -all his attention to the turf, made matches, betted high, and was at -first tolerably successful. At length, having ventured all the money he -could raise upon one grand match, Young Peer ran on the wrong side of -the post, was distanced, and the Squire ruined. - -Meantime, young Balaam went into Isaac’s possession, where he had a very -different training. He was left to pick up his living as he could in the -lanes and commons; and on the coldest days in winter he had no other -shelter than the lee-side of the cottage, out of which he was often glad -to pluck the thatch for a subsistence. As soon as ever he was able to -bear a rider, Isaac’s children got upon him, sometimes two or three at -once; and if he did not go to their mind, a broomstick or bunch of furze -was freely applied to his hide. Nevertheless, he grew up, as the -children themselves did, strong and healthy; and though he was rather -bare on the ribs, his shape was good, and his limbs vigorous. - -It was not long before his master thought of putting him to some use; so -taking him to the wood, he fastened a load of fagots on his back, and -sent him with his son Tom to the next town. Tom sold the fagots, and -mounting upon Balaam, rode him home. As Isaac could get plenty of fagots -and chips, he found it a profitable trade to send them for daily sale -upon Balaam’s back. Having a little garden, which, from the barrenness -of the soil, yielded him nothing of value, he bethought him of loading -Balaam back from town with dung for manure. Though all he could bring at -once was contained in two small panniers, yet this in time amounted to -enough to mend the soil of his whole garden, so that he grew very good -cabbages and potatoes, to the great relief of his family. Isaac being -now sensible of the value of his ass, began to treat him with more -attention. He got a small stack of rushy hay for his winter fodder, and -with his own hands built him a little shed of boughs and mud, in order -to shelter him from the bad weather. He would not suffer any of his -family to use Balaam ill, and after his daily journeys he was allowed to -ramble at pleasure. He was now and then cleaned and dressed, and upon -the whole made a reputable figure. Isaac took in more land from the -waste, so that by degrees he became a little farmer, and kept a horse -and cart, a cow, and two or three pigs. This made him quite a rich man, -but he had always the gratitude to impute his prosperity to the good -services of Balaam, the groom’s present; while the Squire cursed Young -Peer as the cause of his ruin, and many a time wished that his lordship -had kept his dainty gift to himself. - - - - - THE CRUCIFORM-FLOWERED PLANTS. - - _Tutor_—_George_—_Harry._ - - -_George._ How rich yon field looks with its yellow flowers! I wonder -what they can be? - -_Tutor._ Suppose you go and see if you can find it out; and bring a -stalk of the flowers with you. - -_Geo._ (_Returning_). I know now—they are turnips. - -_Tut._ I thought you could make it out when you came near them. These -turnips are left to seed, which is the reason why you see them run to -flower. Commonly they are pulled up sooner. - -_Harry._ I should not have thought a turnip had so sweet a flower. - -_Geo._ I think I have smelt others like them. Pray, sir, what class of -plants do they belong to? - -_Tut._ To a very numerous one, with which it is worth your while to get -acquainted. Let us sit down and examine them. The petal, you observe, -consists of four flat leaves set opposite to each other, or crosswise. -From this circumstance the flowers have been called _cruciform_. As most -plants with flowers of this kind bear their seeds in pods, they have -likewise been called the _siliquose_ plants, _siliqua_ being the Latin -for a pod. - -_Geo._ But the papilionaceous flowers bear pods, too. - -_Tut._ True; and therefore the name is not a good one. Now pull off the -petals one by one. You see they are fastened by long claws within the -flower cup. Now count the chives. - -_Har._ There are six. - -_Geo._ But they are not all of the same length—two are much shorter than -the rest. - -_Tut._ Well observed. It is from this that Linnæus has formed a -particular class for the whole tribe, which he calls _tetradynamia_, a -word implying _four powers_, or the _power of four_, as if the four -longer chives were more perfect and efficacious than the two shorter; -which, however, we do not know to be the case. This superior length of -four chives is conspicuous in most plants of this tribe, but not in all. -They have, however, other resemblances which are sufficient to -constitute them a natural family; and accordingly all botanists have -made them such. - -The flowers, as I have said, have in all of them four petals placed -crosswise. The calyx also consists of four oblong and hollow leaves. -There is a single pistil, standing upon a seed-bud, which, turns either -into a long pod, or a short round one called a pouch; and hence are -formed the two great branches of the family, the podded and the pouched. -The seed-vessel has two valves, or external openings, with a partition -between. The seeds are small and roundish, attached alternately to both -sutures or joinings of the valves. Do you observe all these -circumstances? - -_Geo. and Har._ We do. - -_Tut._ You shall examine them more minutely in a larger plant of the -kind. Further, almost all these plants have somewhat of a biting taste, -and also a disagreeable smell in their leaves, especially when decayed. -A turnip-field, you know, smells but indifferently; and cabbage, which -is one of this class, is apt to be remarkably offensive. - -_Har._ Yes, there is nothing worse than rotten cabbage-leaves. - -_Geo._ And the very water in which they are boiled is enough to scent a -whole house. - -_Tut._ The flowers, however, of almost all the family are fragrant, and -some remarkably so. What do you think of wall-flowers, and stocks? - -_Har._ What, are they of this kind? - -_Tut._ Yes—and so is candy-tuft, and rocket. - -_Har._ Then they are not to be despised. - -_Tut._ No—and especially as not one of the whole class, I believe, is -poisonous; but, on the contrary, many of them afford good food for man -and beast. Shall I tell you about the principal of them? - -_Geo._ Pray do, sir. - -_Tut._ The pungency of taste which so many of them possess has caused -them to be used for salad herbs. Thus we have cress, water-cress, and -mustard; to which might be added many more which grow wild, as -lady-smock, wild-rocket, hedge-mustard, and jack-by-the-hedge, or -sauce-alone. Mustard, you know, is also greatly used for its seeds, the -powder or flower of which, made into a sort of paste with salt and -water, is eaten with many kinds of meat. Rape-seeds are very similar to -them, and from both an oil is pressed out, of the mild or tasteless -kind, as it is likewise from cole-seed, another product of this class. -Scurvy-grass, which is a pungent plant of this family, growing by the -seaside, has obtained its name from being a remedy for the scurvy. Then -there is horseradish, with the root of which I am sure you are well -acquainted, as a companion to roast beef. Common radish, too, is a plant -of this kind, which has a good deal of pungency. One sort of it has a -root like a turnip, which brings it near in quality to the turnip -itself. This last plant, though affording a sweet and mild nutriment, -has naturally a degree of pungency and rankness. - -_Geo._ That, I suppose, is the reason why turnipy milk and butter have -such a strong taste? - -_Tut._ It is. - -_Har._ Then why do they feed cows with it? - -_Tut._ In this case as in many others, quality is sacrificed to -quantity. But the better use of the turnip to the farmer is to fatten -sheep and cattle. By its assistance he is enabled to keep many more of -these animals than he could find grass or hay for; and the culture of -turnips prepares his land for grain as well, or better, than could be -done by letting it lie quite fallow. Turnip husbandry, as it is called, -is one of the capital modern improvements of agriculture. - -_Geo._ I think I have heard that Norfolk is famous for it. - -_Tut._ It is so. That county abounds in light sandy lands, which are -peculiarly suitable to turnips. But they are now grown in many parts of -England besides. Well—but we must say something more about cabbage, an -article of food of very long standing. The original species of this is a -seaside plant, but cultivation has produced a great number of varieties -well known in our gardens, as white and red cabbage, kale, colewort, -brocoli, borecole, and cauliflower. - -_Har._ But the flower of cauliflower does not seem at all like that of -cabbage or turnip. - -_Tut._ The white head, called its flower, is not properly so, but -consists of a cluster of imperfect buds. If they are left to grow for -seed, they throw out some spikes of yellow flowers like common cabbage. -Brocoli heads are of the same kind. As to the head of white or red -cabbage, it consists of a vast number of leaves closing round each -other, by which the innermost are prevented from expanding, and remain -white on account of the exclusion of the light and air. This part, you -know, is most valued for food. In some countries they cut cabbage-heads -into quarters, and make them undergo a kind of acid fermentation; after -which they are salted and preserved for winter food, under the name of -sour-krout. - -_Geo._ Cattle, too, are sometimes fed with cabbage, I believe. - -_Tut._ Yes, and large fields of them are cultivated for that purpose. -They succeed best in stiff clayey soils, where they sometimes grow to an -enormous bigness. They are given to milch kine as well as to fattening -cattle. - -_Geo._ Do not they give a bad taste to the milk? - -_Tut._ They are apt to do so unless great care is taken to pick off all -the decayed leaves. - -Coleworts, which are a smaller sort of cabbage, are sometimes grown for -feeding sheep and cattle. I think I have now mentioned most of the -useful plants of this family, which you see are numerous and important. -They both yield beef and mutton, and the sauce to them. But many of the -species are troublesome weeds. You see how yonder corn is overrun with -yellow flowers. - -_Geo._ Yes: they are as thick as if they had been sown. - -_Tut._ They are of this family, and called charlock, or wild mustard, or -corn kale, which, indeed, are not all exactly the same things, though -nearly resembling. These produce such plenty of seeds, that it is very -difficult to clear a field of them, if once they are suffered to grow -till the seeds ripen. An extremely common weed in gardens and by -roadsides is shepherd’s-purse, which is a very good specimen of the -pouch-bearing plants of this tribe, its seed-vessels being exactly the -figure of a heart. Lady-smock is often so abundant a weed in wet meadows -as to make them all over white with their flowers. Some call this plant -cuckoo-flower, because its flowering is about the same time with the -first appearance of that bird in spring. - -_Geo._ I remember some pretty lines in a song about spring, in which -lady-smock is mentioned:— - - “When daisies pied, and violets blue, - And lady-smocks all silver white, - And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, - Do paint the meadows with delight.” - -_Tut._ They are Shakspeare’s. You see he gives the name of cuckoo-bud to -some other flower, a yellow one, which appears at the same season. But -still earlier than this time, walls and hedge-banks are enlivened by a -very small white flower, called whitlow-grass, which is one of the -tribe. - -_Har._ Is it easy to distinguish the plants of this family from one -another? - -_Tut._ Not very easy; for the general similarity of the flowers is so -great, that little distinction can be drawn from them. The marks of the -species are chiefly taken from the form and manner of growth of the -seed-vessel, and we will examine some of them by the descriptions in a -book of botany. There is one very remarkable seed-vessel, which probably -you have observed in the garden. It is a perfectly round large flat -pouch, which after it has shed its seed, remains on the stalk and looks -likes a thin white bladder. The plant bearing it is commonly called -honesty. - -_Har._ O, I know it very well! It is put into winter flower-pots. - -_Tut._ True. So much, then, for the tetradynamous or cruciform-flowered -plants. You cannot well mistake them for any other class, if you remark -the six chives, four of them, generally, but not always, longer than the -two others; the single pistil changing either into a long pod or a round -pouch containing the seeds; the four opposite petals of the flower, and -four leaves of the calyx. You may safely make a salad of the young -leaves wherever you find them: the worst they can do to you is to bite -your tongue. - - - - - THE NATIVE VILLAGE.—A DRAMA. - - - Scene—_A scattered Village almost hidden with trees_. - - _Enter_ HARFORD _and_ BEAUMONT. - -_Harford._ There is the place! This is the green on which I played many -a day with my companions; there are the tall trees that I have so often -climbed for birds’-nests; and that is the pond where I used to sail my -walnut-shell boats. What a crowd of mixed sensations rush on my mind! -What pleasures, and what regret! Yes, there is somewhat in our native -soil that affects the mind in a manner different from every other scene -in nature. - -_Beaumont._ With you it must be merely the _place_; for I think you can -have no attachments of friendship or affection in it, considering your -long absence, and the removal of all your family. - -_Harf._ No, I have no family connexions, and indeed can scarcely be said -ever to have had any; for, as you know, I was almost utterly neglected -after the death of my father and mother, and while all my elder brothers -and sisters were dispersed to one part or another, and the little -remaining property was disposed of, I was left with the poor people who -nursed me, to be brought up just as they thought proper; and the little -pension that was paid for me entirely ceased after a few years. - -_Beau._ Then how were you afterward supported? - -_Harf._ The honest couple who had the care of me continued to treat me -with the greatest kindness; and poor as they were, not only maintained -me as a child of their own, but did all in their power to procure me -advantages more suited to my birth than my deserted situation. With the -assistance of the worthy clergyman of the parish, they put me to a -day-school in the village, clothed me decently, and being themselves -sober, religious persons, took care to keep me from vice. The -obligations I am under to them, will, I hope, never be effaced from my -memory, and it is on their account alone that I have undertaken this -journey. - -_Beau._ How long did you continue with them? - -_Harf._ Till I was thirteen. I then felt an irresistible desire to fight -for my country; and learning by accident that a distant relation of our -family was a captain of a man-of-war, I took leave of my worthy -benefactors, and set off to the seaport where he lay, the good people -furnishing me in the best manner they were able with necessaries for the -journey. I shall never forget the tenderness with which they parted with -me. It was, if possible, beyond that of the kindest parents. You know my -subsequent adventures, from the time of my becoming a midshipman, to my -present state of first-lieutenant of the Britannia. Though it is now -fifteen years since my departure, I feel my affection for these good -folks stronger than ever, and could not be easy without taking the first -opportunity of seeing them. - -_Beau._ It is a great chance if they are both living. - -_Harf._ I happened to hear by a young man of the village, not long -since, that they were; but I believe much reduced in their -circumstances. - -_Beau._ Whereabouts did they live? - -_Harf._ Just at the turning of this corner. But what’s this?—I can’t -find the house—yet I am sure I have not forgot the situation. Surely it -must be pulled down! Oh! my dear old friends, what can have become of -you? - -_Beau._ You had best ask that little girl. - -_Harf._ Hark ye, my dear! do you know one John Beech, of this place? - -_Girl._ What, old John Beech? O yes, very well, and Mary Beech, too. - -_Harf._ Where do they live? - -_Girl._ A little farther on in the lane. - -_Harf._ Did they not once live hereabouts? - -_Girl._ Yes, till Farmer Tything pulled the house down to make his -hop-garden. - -_Harf._ Come with me to show me the place, and I’ll give you a penny. - -_Girl._ Yes, that I will. (_They walk on._) There—that low thatched -house—and there’s Mary spinning at the door. - -_Harf._ There, my dear (_gives money, and the girl goes away_). How my -heart beats! Surely that cannot be my nurse! Yes, I recollect her now; -but how very old and sickly she looks! - -_Beau._ Fifteen years in her life, with care and hardship, must go a -great way in breaking her down. - -_Harf._ (_going to the cottage-door_). Good morning, good woman; can you -give my companion and me something to drink? We are very thirsty with -walking this hot day. - -_Mary Beech._ I have nothing better than water, sir; but if you please -to accept of that, I will bring you some. - -_Beau._ Thank you—we will trouble you for some. - -_Mary._ Will you please to walk in out of the sun, gentlemen; ours is a -very poor house, indeed; but I will find you a seat to sit down on, -while I draw the water. - -_Harf._ (_to Beau._). The same good creature as ever! Let us go in. - - -Scene II.—_The inside of the cottage. An old man sitting by the hearth._ - -_Beau._ We have made bold, friend, to trouble your wife for a little -water. - -_John._ Sit down—sit down—gentlemen. I would get up to give you my -chair, but I have the misfortune to be lame, and am almost blind too. - -_Harf._ Lame and blind! Oh Beaumont! (_aside_). - -_John._ Ay, sir, old age will come on; and, God knows, we have very -little means to fence against it. - -_Beau._ What, have you nothing but your labour to subsist on? - -_John._ We made that do, sir, as long as we could; but now I am hardly -capable of doing anything, and my poor wife can earn very little by -spinning, so we have been forced at last to apply to the parish. - -_Harf._ To the parish! Well I hope they consider the services of your -better days, and provide for you comfortably. - -_John._ Alas, sir; I am not much given to complain; but what can two -shillings a week do in these hard times? - -_Harf._ Little enough, indeed! And is that all they allow you? - -_John._ It is, sir; and we are not to have that much longer, for they -say we must come into the workhouse. - -_Mary_ (_entering with the water_). Here, gentlemen, the jug is clean, -if you can drink out of it. - -_Harf._ The workhouse, do you say? - -_Mary._ Yes, gentlemen; that makes my poor husband so uneasy—that we -should come in our old days to die in a workhouse. We have lived better, -I assure you—but we were turned out of our little farm by the great -farmer near the church; and since then we have grown poorer and poorer, -and weaker and weaker, so that we have nothing to help ourselves with. - -_John_ (_sobbing_). To die in a parish workhouse—I can hardly bear the -thought of it! But God knows best, and we must submit! - -_Harf._ But, my good people, have you no children to assist you? - -_John._ Our children, sir, are all dead except one that is settled a -long way off, and as poor as we are. - -_Beau._ But surely, my friends, such decent people as you seem to be, -must have somebody to protect you. - -_Mary._ No, sir; we know nobody but our neighbours, and they think the -workhouse good enough for the poor. - -_Harf._ Pray, was there not a family of Harfords once in this village? - -_John._ Yes, sir, a long while ago—but they are all dead and gone, or -else far enough from this place. - -_Mary._ Ay, sir, the youngest of them, and the finest child among them, -that I’ll say for him, was nursed in our house when we lived on the old -spot near the green. He was with us till he was thirteen, and a -sweet-behaved boy he was; I loved him as well as ever I did any of my -own children. - -_Harf._ What became of him? - -_John._ Why, sir, he was a fine bold-spirited boy, though the best -tempered creature in the world—so last war he would be a sailor, and -fight the French and Spaniards, and away he went, nobody could stop him, -and we have never heard a word of him since. - -_Mary._ Ay, he is dead or killed, I warrant—for if he was alive, I am -sure nothing would keep him from coming to see his poor daddy and mamma -as he used to call us. Many a night have I lain awake thinking of him! - -_Harf._ (_to Beau._). I can hold no longer. - -_Beau._ (_to him_). Restrain yourself awhile. Well, my friends, in -return for your kindness, I will tell you some news that will please -you. This same Harford, Edward Harford.... - -_Mary._ Ay, that was his name—my dear Ned!—What of him, sir, is he -living? - -_John._ Let the gentlemen speak, my dear. - -_Beau._ Ned Harford is now alive and well, and a lieutenant in his -majesty’s navy, and as brave an officer as any in the service. - -_John._ I hope you do not jest with us, sir? - -_Beau._ I do not, upon my honour. - -_Mary._ Oh, thank God—thank God—if I could but see him! - -_John._ Ay, I wish for nothing more before I die. - -_Harf._ Here he is—here he is! My dearest, best benefactors! Here I am, -to pay some of the great debt of kindness I owe you. (_Clasps Mary round -the neck, and kisses her._) - -_Mary._ What—this gentleman my Ned! Ay, it is, it is—I see it, I see it! - -_John._ Oh, my old eyes!—but I know his voice now. (_Stretches out his -hand, which Harford grasps._) - -_Harf._ My good old man! Oh that you could see me as clearly as I do -you! - -_John._ Enough—enough—it is you, and I am contented. - -_Mary._ O, happy day! O, happy day! - -_Harf._ Did you think I could ever forget you? - -_John._ Oh, no; I knew you better; but how long it is since we parted! - -_Mary._ Fifteen years come Whitsuntide. - -_Harf._ The first time I set foot in England all this long interval was -three weeks ago. - -_John._ How good you were to come to us so soon! - -_Mary._ What a tall strong man you are grown! but you have the same -sweet smile as ever. - -_John._ I wish I could see him plain—but what signifies! he’s here, and -I hold him by the hand. Where’s the other good gentleman? - -_Beau._ Here—very happy to see such worthy people made so. - -_Harf._ He has been my dearest friend for a great many years, and I am -beholden to him almost as much as to you two. - -_Mary._ Has he? God bless him and reward him! - -_Harf._ I am grieved to think what you must have suffered from hardship -and poverty. But that is all at an end—no workhouse now. - -_John._ God bless you! then I shall be happy still. But we must not be -burdensome to you. - -_Harf._ Don’t talk of that. As long as I have a shilling, it is my duty -to give you sixpence of it. Did you not take care of me when all the -world forsook me, and treated me as your own child when I had no other -parent; and shall I ever forsake you in your old age! Oh never—never! - -_Mary._ Ay, you had always a kind heart of your own. I always used to -think our dear Ned would some time or other prove a blessing to us. - -_Harf._ You must leave this poor hut, that is not fit to keep out the -weather, and we must get you a snug cottage in this village or some -other. - -_John._ Pray, my dear sir, let us die in this town, as we have always -lived in it. And as to a house, I believe that where old Richard -Carpenter used to live in is empty, if it would not be too good for us. - -_Harf._ What, the white cottage on the green? I remember it; it is just -the thing. You shall remove there this very week. - -_Mary._ This is beyond all my hopes and wishes! - -_Harf._ There you shall have a little close to keep a cow—and a girl to -milk her, and take care of you both—and a garden well stocked with herbs -and roots—and a little yard for pigs and poultry; and some good new -furniture for your house. - -_John._ O, too much—too much! - -_Mary._ What makes me cry so, when so many good things are coming to us? - -_Harf._ Who is the landlord of this house? - -_John._ Our next neighbour, Mr. Wheatfield. - -_Harf._ I’ll go and speak about it directly and then come to you again. -Come, Beaumont. God bless you both! - -_John._ God in heaven bless you! - -_Mary._ O, happy day. O, happy day! - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XXIV. -] - - - - - PERSEVERANCE AGAINST FORTUNE.—A STORY. - - -Theodore was a boy of lively parts and engaging manners; but he had the -failing of being extremely impatient in his temper and inclined to -extremes. He was ardent in all his pursuits, but could bear no -disappointment; and if the least thing went wrong, he threw up what he -was about in a pet, and could not be prevailed upon to resume it. His -father, Mr. Carleton, had given him a bed in the garden, which he had -cultivated with great delight. The borders were set with double daisies -of different colours, next to which was a row of auriculas and -polyanthuses. Beyond were stocks and other taller flowers and shrubs; -and a beautiful damask rose graced the centre. This rose was just -budding, and Theodore watched its daily progress with great interest. -One unfortunate day, the door of the garden being left open, a drove of -pigs entered, and began to riot on the herbs and flowers. An alarm being -sounded, Theodore and the servant-boy rushed upon them, smacking their -whips. The whole herd, in affright, took their course across Theodore’s -flower-bed, on which some of them had before been grazing. Stocks, -daisies, and auriculas were all trampled down or torn up; and, what was -worst of all, a large old sow ran directly over the beautiful rose-tree, -and broke off its stem level with the ground. When Theodore came up and -beheld all the mischief, and especially his favourite rose strewed on -the soil, rage and grief choked his utterance. After standing a while -the picture of despair, he snatched up a spade that stood near, and with -furious haste dug over the whole bed, and whelmed all the relics of his -flowers deep under the soil. This exertion being ended, he burst into -tears, and silently left the garden. - -His father, who had beheld the scene at a distance, though somewhat -diverted at the boy’s childish violence, yet began seriously to reflect -on the future consequences of such a temper, if suffered to grow up -without restraint. He said nothing to him at the time, but in the -afternoon he took a walk with him into a neighbouring parish. There was -a large wild common, and at the skirts of it a neat farmhouse with -fields lying round it, all well fenced, and cultivated in the best -manner. The air was sweetened with the bean-flower and clover. An -orchard of fine young fruit-trees lay behind the house and before it a -little garden, gay with all the flowers of the season. A stand of -beehives was on the southern side, sheltered by a thick hedge of -honeysuckle and sweet-brier. The farmyard was stocked with pigs and -poultry. A herd of cows with full udders was just coming home to be -milked. Everything wore the aspect of plenty and good management. The -charms of the scene struck Theodore very forcibly, and he expressed his -pleasure in the warmest terms. “This place,” said his father, “belongs -to a man who is the greatest example I know of patient fortitude bearing -up against misfortune; and all that you see is the reward of his own -perseverance. I am a little acquainted with him; and we will go in and -beg a draught of milk, and try if we can prevail upon him to tell us his -story.” Theodore willingly accompanied his father. They were received by -the farmer with cordial frankness. After they were seated, “Mr. -Hardman,” says Mr. Carleton, “I have often heard part of your -adventures, but never had a regular account of the whole. If you will -favour me and my little boy with the story of them, we shall think -ourselves much obliged to you.”—“Lacka-day! sir,” said he, “there’s -little in them worth telling of, as far as I know. I have had my ups and -downs in the world, to be sure, but so have many men besides. However, -if you wish to hear about them, they are at your service; and I can’t -say but it gives me pleasure sometimes to talk over old matters, and -think how much better things have turned out than might have been -expected.”—“Now I am of opinion,” said Mr. Carleton, “that from your -spirit and perseverance a good conclusion might always have been -expected.”—“You are pleased to compliment, sir,” replied the farmer; -“but I will begin without more words:— - -“You may perhaps have heard that my father was a man of good estate. He -thought of nothing, poor man! but how to spend it; and he had the -uncommon luck to spend it twice over. For when he was obliged to sell it -the first time, it was bought in by a relation, who left it him by his -will. But my poor father was not a man to take warning. He fell to -living as he had done before, and just made his estate and his life hold -out together. He died at the age of five-and-forty, and left his family -beggars. I believe he would not have taken to drinking, as he did, had -it not been for his impatient temper, which made him fret and vex -himself for every trifle, and then he had nothing for it but to drown -his care in liquor. - -“It was my lot to be taken by my mother’s brother, who was master of a -merchant-ship. I served him as an apprentice several years, and -underwent a good deal of the usual hardship of a sailor’s life. He had -just made me his mate in a voyage up the Mediterranean, when we had the -misfortune to be wrecked on the coast of Morocco. The ship struck at -some distance from shore, and we lay a long stormy night with the waves -dashing over us, expecting every moment to perish. My uncle and several -of the crew died of fatigue and want, and by morning but four of us were -left alive. My companions were so disheartened, that they thought of -nothing but submitting to their fate. For my part I thought life still -worth struggling for; and the weather having become calmer, I persuaded -them to join me in making a kind of raft, by the help of which, with -much toil and danger, we reached the land. Here we were seized by the -barbarous inhabitants, and carried up the country as slaves to the -emperor We were employed about some public buildings, made to work very -hard with the whip at our backs, and allowed nothing but water and a -kind of pulse. I have heard persons talk as if there was little in being -a slave but the name; but they who have been slaves themselves I am sure -will never make light of slavery in others. A ransom was set on our -heads, but so high, that it seemed impossible for poor friendless -creatures like us ever to pay it. The thought of perpetual servitude, -together with the hard treatment we met with, quite overcame my poor -companions. They drooped and died one after another. I still thought it -not impossible to mend my condition, and perhaps to recover my freedom. -We worked about twelve hours in the day, and had one holyday in the -week. I employed my leisure time in learning to make mats and -flag-baskets, in which I soon became so expert as to have a good many -for sale, and thereby got a little money to purchase better food, and -several small conveniences. We were afterward set to work in the -emperor’s gardens; and here I showed so much good will and attention, -that I got into favour with the overseer. He had a large garden of his -own; and he made interest for me to be suffered to work for him alone, -on the condition of paying a man to do my duty. I soon became so useful -to him, that he treated me more like a hired servant than a slave, and -gave me regular wages. I learned the language of the country, and I -might have passed my time comfortably enough could I have accommodated -myself to their manners and religion, and forgotten my native land. I -saved all I could in order to purchase my freedom; but the ransom was so -high, that I had little prospect of being able to do it for some years -to come. A circumstance, however, happened which brought it about at -once. Some villains one night laid a plot to murder my master and -plunder his house. I slept in a little shed in the garden where the -tools lay; and being awaked by a noise, I saw four men break through the -fence, and walk up an alley toward the house. I crept out with a spade -in my hand, and silently followed them. They made a hole with -instruments in the house-wall big enough for a man to enter at. Two of -them had got in, and the third was beginning to enter, when I rushed -forward, and with a blow of my spade clove the scull of one of the -robbers, and gave the other such a stroke on the shoulder as disabled -him. I then made a loud outcry to alarm the family. My master and his -son, who lay in the house, got up, and having let me in, we secured the -two others, after a sharp conflict, in which I received a severe wound -with a dagger. My master, who looked upon me as his preserver, had all -possible care taken of me, and as soon as I was cured made me a present -of my liberty. He would fain have kept me with him, but my mind was so -much bent on returning to my native country, that I immediately set out -to the nearest seaport, and took my passage in a vessel going to -Gibraltar. - -“From this place I returned in the first ship for England. As soon as we -arrived in the Downs, and I was rejoicing at the sight of the white -cliffs, a man-of-war’s boat came on board, and pressed into the king’s -service all of us who were seamen. I could not but think it hard that -this should be my welcome at home after a long slavery, but there was no -remedy. I resolved to do my duty in my station, and leave the rest to -Providence. I was abroad during the remainder of the war, and saw many a -stout fellow sink under disease and despondence. My knowledge of -seamanship got me promoted to the post of a petty officer, and at the -peace I was paid off, and received a pretty sum for wages and -prize-money. With this I set off for London. I had experienced too much -distress from want to be inclined to squander away my money, so I put it -into a banker’s hands, and began to look out for some new way of life. - -“Unfortunately, there were some things of which I had no more experience -than a child, and the tricks of London were among these. An -advertisement offering extraordinary advantages to a partner in a -commercial concern who could bring a small capital, tempted me to make -inquiry about the matter; and I was soon cajoled by a plausible artful -fellow to venture my whole stock in it. The business was a manufacture, -about which I knew nothing at all; but as I was not afraid of my labour, -I set about working as they directed me, with great diligence, and -thought all was going on prosperously. One morning, on coming to the -office, I found my partners decamped; and the same day I was arrested -for a considerable sum due by the partnership. It was in vain for me to -think of getting bail, so I was obliged to go to prison. Here I should -have been half starved, but for my Moorish trade of matmaking, by the -help of which I bettered my condition for some months; when the -creditors, finding that nothing could be got out of me, suffered me to -be set at liberty. - -“I was now in the wide world without a farthing or a friend, but I, -thank God, had limbs and health left. - -“I did not choose to trust the sea again, but preferred my other new -trade of gardening; so I applied to a nurseryman near town, and was -received as a day-labourer. I set myself cheerfully at work, taking care -to be in the grounds the first man in the morning, and the last at -night. I acquainted my employer with all the practices I had observed in -Morocco, and got him, in return, to instruct me in his own. In time, I -came to be considered as a skilful workman, and was advanced to higher -wages. My affairs were in a flourishing state. I was well fed, and -comfortably lodged, and saved money into the bargain. About this time I -fell in company with a young woman at service, very notable and well -behaved, who seemed well qualified for a wife to a working-man. I -ventured to make an offer to her, which proved not disagreeable; and -after we had calculated a little how we were to live, we married. I took -a cottage with an acre or two of land to it, and my wife’s saving -furnished our house, and bought a cow. All my leisure time I spent upon -my piece of ground, which I made very productive, and the profits of my -cow, with my wages, supported us very well. No mortal, I think, could be -happier than I was after a hard day’s work, by my own fireside, with my -wife beside me, and our little infant on my knee. - -“After this way of life had lasted two or three years, a gentleman who -had dealt largely with my master for young plants, asked him if he could -recommend an honest industrious man for a tenant, upon some land that he -had lately taken in from the sea. My master, willing to do me a -kindness, mentioned me. I was tempted by the proposal, and going down to -view the premises, I took a farm upon a lease at a low rent, and removed -my family and goods to it, one hundred and fifty miles from London. -There was ground enough for money, but much was left to be done for it -in draining, manuring, and fencing. Then it required more stock than I -was able to furnish; so, though unwilling, I was obliged to borrow some -money of my landlord, who let me have it at a moderate interest. I began -with a good heart, and worked late and early to put things into the best -condition. My first misfortune was that the place proved unhealthy to -us. I fell into a lingering ague, which pulled me down much, and -hindered my business. My wife got a slow fever, and so did our eldest -child (we had now two.) The poor child died; and what with grief and -illness, my wife had much ado to recover. Then the rot got among my -sheep, and carried off the best part of my stock. I bore up against -distress as well as I could; and by the kindness of my landlord, was -enabled to bring things tolerably about again. We regained our health, -and began to be seasoned to the climate. As we were cheering ourselves -with the prospect of better times, a dreadful storm arose—it was one -night in February—I shall never forget it—and drove the spring tide with -such fury against our sea-banks, that they gave way. The water rushed in -with such force, that all was presently a sea. Two hours before daylight -I was awakened by the noise of the waves dashing against our house, and -bursting in at the door. My wife and I and the two children (the younger -but four weeks old) slept on a ground floor. We had just time to carry -the children up stairs, before all was afloat in the room. When day -appeared, we could see nothing from the windows but water. All the -outhouses, ricks, and utensils were swept away, and all the cattle and -sheep drowned. The sea kept rising, and the force of the current bore so -hard against our house, that we thought every moment it must fall. We -clasped our babies to our breasts, and expected nothing but present -death. At length, we spied a boat coming to us. With a good deal of -difficulty it got under our window, and took us in with a servant-maid -and boy. A few clothes was all the property we saved; and we had not -left the house half an hour, before it fell, and in a minute nothing was -to be seen of it. Not only the farmhouse, but the farm itself was gone. - -“I was now again a ruined man, and, what was worse, I had three partners -in my ruin. My wife and I looked at one another, and then at our little -ones, and wept. Neither of us had a word of comfort to say. At last, -thought I, this country is not Morocco, however. Here are good souls -that will pity our case, and perhaps relieve us. Then I have a -character, and a pair of hands. Things are bad but they might have been -worse. I took my wife by the hand, and knelt down. She did the same. I -thanked God for his mercy in saving our lives, and prayed that he would -continue to protect us. We rose up with lightened hearts, and were able -to talk calmly about our condition. It was my desire to return to my -former master, the nurseryman; but how to convey my family so far -without money was the difficulty. Indeed I was much worse than nothing, -for I owed a good deal to my landlord. He came down upon the news of the -misfortune, and though his own losses were heavy, he not only forgave my -debt and released me from all obligations, but made me a small present. -Some charitable neighbours did the like; but I was most of all affected -by the kindness of our late maid-servant, who insisted upon our -accepting of a crown which she had saved out of her wages. Poor soul! we -had always treated her like one of ourselves, and she felt for us like -one. - -“As soon as we had got some necessaries, and the weather was tolerable, -we set out on our long march. My wife carried her infant in her arms. I -took the bigger child on my back, and a bundle of clothes in my hand. We -could walk but a few miles a day, but we now and then got a lift in an -empty wagon or cart, which was a great help to us. One day we met with a -farmer returning with his team from market, who let me ride, and entered -into conversation with me. I told him of my adventures, by which he -seemed much interested; and learning that I was skilled in managing -trees, he acquainted me that a nobleman in his neighbourhood was making -great plantations, and would very likely be glad to engage me; and he -offered to carry us to the place. As all I was seeking was a living by -my labour, I thought the sooner I got it the better; so I thankfully -accepted his offer. He took us to the nobleman’s steward, and made known -our case. The steward wrote to my old master for a character; and -receiving a favourable one, he hired me as a principal manager of a new -plantation, and settled me and my family in a snug cottage near it. He -advanced us somewhat for furniture and present subsistence, and we had -once more a _home_. O sir! how many blessings are contained in that word -to those who have known the want of it! - -“I entered upon my new employment with as much satisfaction as if I was -taking possession of an estate. My wife had enough to do in taking care -of the house and children; so it lay with me to provide for all, and I -may say that I was not idle. Besides my weekly pay from the steward, I -contrived to make a little money at leisure times by pruning and -dressing gentlemen’s fruit-trees. I was allowed a piece of waste ground -behind the house for a garden, and I spent a good deal of labour in -bringing it into order. My old master sent me down for a present some -choice young trees and flower-roots, which I planted, and they throve -wonderfully. Things went on almost as well as I could desire. The -situation being dry and healthy, my wife recovered her lost bloom, and -the children sprung up like my plants. I began to hope that I was almost -out of the reach of further misfortune; but it was not so ordered. - -“I had been three years in this situation, and increased my family with -another child, when my lord died. He was succeeded by a very dissipated -young man, deep in debt, who presently put a stop to the planting and -improving of the estate, and sent orders to turn off all the workmen. -This was a great blow to me; however, I still hoped to be allowed to -keep my little house and garden, and I thought I could then maintain -myself as a nurseryman and gardener. But a new steward was sent down, -with directions to rack the tenants to the utmost. He asked me as much -rent for the place as if I had found the garden ready made to my hands; -and when I told him it was impossible for me to pay it, he gave me -notice to quit immediately. He would neither suffer me to take away my -trees and plants, nor allow me anything for them. His view, I found, was -to put in a favourite of his own, and set him up at my expense. I -remonstrated against this cruel injustice, but could obtain nothing but -hard words. As I saw it would be the ruin of me to be turned out in that -manner, I determined, rather hastily, to go up to London, and plead my -cause with my new lord. I took a sorrowful leave of my family, and -walking to the next market-town, I got a place on the outside of the -stage-coach. When we were within thirty or forty miles of London, the -coachman overturned the carriage, and I pitched directly on my head, and -was taken up senseless. Nobody knew anything about me; so I was carried -to the next village, where the overseer had me taken to the parish -workhouse. Here I lay a fortnight, much neglected, before I came to my -senses. As soon as I became sensible of my condition, I was almost -distracted in thinking of the distress of my poor wife, who was near -lying-in, must be under on my account, not hearing anything of me. I lay -another fortnight before I was fit to travel, for besides the hurt on my -head, I had a broken collarbone, and several bruises. - -“My money had somehow all got out of my pocket, and I had no other means -of getting away than by being passed to my own parish. I returned in sad -plight, indeed, and found my wife very ill in bed. My children were -crying about her, and almost starving. We should now have been quite -lost, had I not raised a little money by selling our furniture; for I -was yet unable to work. As soon as my wife was somewhat recovered, we -were forced to quit our house. I cried like a child on leaving my -blooming garden and flourishing plantations, and was almost tempted to -demolish them, rather than that another should unjustly reap the fruit -of my labours. But I checked myself and I am glad that I did. We took -lodgings in a neighbouring village, and I went round among the gentlemen -of the country to see if I could get a little employment. In the -meantime, the former steward came down to settle accounts with his -successor, and was much concerned to find me in such a situation. He was -a very able and honest man, and had been engaged by another nobleman to -superintend a large improvable estate, in a distant part of the kingdom. -He told me, if I would try my fortune with him once more he would -endeavour to procure me a new settlement. I had nothing to lose, and, -therefore, was willing enough to run any hazard, but I was destitute of -means to convey my family to such a distance. My good friend, who was -much provoked at the injustice of the new steward, said so much to him, -that he brought him to make me an allowance for my garden; and with that -I was enabled to make another removal. It was to the place I now -inhabit. - -“When I came here, sir, all this farm was a naked common like that you -crossed in coming. My lord got an enclosure-bill for his part of it, and -the steward divided it into different farms, and let it on improving -leases to several tenants. A dreary spot to be sure it looked at first, -enough to sink a man’s heart to sit down upon it. I had a little -unfinished cottage given me to live in; and as I had nothing to stock a -farm, I was for some years employed as head labourer and planter about -the new enclosures. By very hard working and saving, together with a -little help, I was at length enabled to take a small part of the ground -I now occupy. I had various discouragements, from bad seasons and other -accidents. One year the distemper carried off four out of seven cows -that I kept; another year I lost two of my best horses. A high wind once -almost entirely destroyed an orchard I had just planted, and blew down -my biggest barn. But I was too much used to misfortunes to be easily -disheartened, and my way always was to set about repairing them in the -best manner I could, and leave the rest to Heaven. This method seems to -have answered at last. I have now gone on many years in a course of -continued prosperity, adding field to field, increasing my stock, and -bringing up a numerous family with credit. My dear wife, who was my -faithful partner through so much distress, continues to share my -prosperous state; and few couples in the kingdom, I believe, have more -cause to be thankful for their lot. This, sir, is my history. You see it -contains nothing very extraordinary; but if it impresses on the mind of -this young gentleman the maxim that patience and perseverance will -scarcely fail of a good issue in the end, the time you have spent in -listening to it will not entirely be lost.” - -Mr. Carleton thanked the good farmer very heartily for the amusement and -instruction he had afforded them, and took leave with many expressions -of regard. Theodore and he walked home, talking by the way of what they -had heard. - -Next morning, Mr. C. looking out of the window, saw Theodore hard at -work in his garden. He was carefully disinterring his buried flowers, -trimming and cleaning them, and planting them anew. He had got the -gardener to cut a slip of the broken rose-tree, and set it in the middle -to give it a chance of growing. By noon everything was laid smooth and -neat, and the bed was well filled. All its splendour, indeed, was gone -for the present, but it seemed in a hopeful way to revive again. -Theodore looked with pleasure over his work; but his father felt more -pleasure in witnessing the first-fruits of Farmer Hardman’s story. - - - - - THE GOLDFINCH AND LINNET. - - - A gaudy goldfinch, pert and gay, - Hopping blythe from spray to spray, - Full of frolic, full of spring, - With head well plumed and burnished wing, - Spied a sober linnet-hen, - Sitting all alone, - And bowed and chirped, and bowed again; - And with familiar tone - He thus the dame addressed - As to her side he closely pressed:— - - “I hope, my dear, I don’t intrude, - By breaking on your solitude? - But it has always been my passion - To forward pleasant conversation; - And I should be a stupid bird - To pass the fair without a word; - I, who have been for ever noted - To be the sex’s most devoted. - Besides, a damsel unattended, - Left unnoticed and unfriended, - Appears (excuse me) so forlorn, - That I can scarce suppose, - To any she that e’er was born, - ‘Twould be the thing she chose. - How happy, then, I’m now at leisure - To wait upon a lady’s pleasure; - And all this morn have nought to do - But pay my duty, love, to you. - - “What, silent!—Ah, those looks demure, - And eyes of langour, make me sure - That in my random idle chatter - I quite mistook the matter! - It is not spleen or contemplation - That draws you to the cover; - But ‘tis some tender assignation; - Well!—who’s the favoured lover? - I met hard by, in quaker suit, - A youth sedately grave and mute; - And from the maxim, like to like, - Perhaps the _sober youth_ might strike: - Yes, yes, ‘tis he, I’ll lay my life, - Who hopes to get you for his wife. - - “But come, my dear, I know you’re wise, - Compare and judge, and use your eyes; - No female yet could e’er behold - The lustre of my red and gold, - My ivory bill and jetty crest, - But all was done, and I was blest. - Come, brighten up and act with spirit, - And take the fortune that you merit.” - - He ceased—_Linnetta_ thus replied, - With cool contempt and decent pride:— - “’Tis pity, sir, a youth so sweet, - In form and manners so complete, - Should do an humble maid the honour - To waste his precious time upon her. - A poor forsaken she, you know, - Can do no credit to a beau; - And worse would be the case - If meeting one whose faith was plighted, - He should incur the sad disgrace - Of being slighted. - - “Now, sir, the _sober-suited youth_. - Whom you were pleased to mention, - To those small merits, sense and truth, - And generous love, has some pretension; - And then, to give him all his due, - He sings, sir, full as well as you, - And sometimes can be silent too. - In short, my taste is so perverse, - And such my wayward fate, - That it would be my greatest curse - To have a _coxcomb_ to my mate.” - This said, away she scuds, - And leaves _Beau Goldfinch_ in the suds. - -[Illustration: - - The Wanderer’s Return, p. 304. - - EVENING XXV. -] - - - - - THE PRICE OF A VICTORY. - - -“Good news! great news! glorious news!” cried young Oswald, as he -entered his father’s house. “We have got a complete victory, and have -killed I don’t know how many thousands of the enemy; and we are to have -bonfires and illuminations!” - -“And so,” said his father, “you think that killing a great many -thousands of human creatures is a thing to be very glad about?” - -_Oswald._ No—I do not quite think so, neither: but surely it is right to -be glad that our country has gained a great advantage. - -_Father._ No doubt, it is right to wish well to our country, as far as -its prosperity can be promoted without injuring the rest of mankind. But -wars are very seldom to the real advantage of any nation; and when they -are ever so useful or necessary, so many dreadful evils attend them, -that a humane man will scarcely rejoice in them, if he considers at all -on the subject. - -_Os._ But if our enemies would do us a great deal of mischief, and we -prevent it by beating them, have we not a right to be glad of it? - -_Fa._ Alas! we are in general little judges which of the parties has the -most mischievous intentions. Commonly, they are both in the wrong, and -success will make both of them unjust and unreasonable. But putting this -out of the question, he who rejoices in the event of a battle, rejoices -in the misery of many thousands of his species; and the thought of that -should make him pause a little. Suppose a surgeon were to come with a -smiling countenance, and tell us triumphantly that he had cut off half a -dozen legs to day, what would you think of him? - -_Os._ I should think him very hard-hearted. - -_Fa._ And yet those operations are done for the benefit of the -sufferers, and by their own desire. But in a battle, the probability is, -that none of those engaged on either side have any interest at all in -the cause they are fighting for, and most of them come there because -they cannot help it. In this battle that you are so rejoiced about, -there have been ten thousand men killed on the spot, and nearly as many -wounded. - -_Os._ On both sides? - -_Fa._ Yes—but they are _men_ on both sides. Consider now, that the ten -thousand sent out of the world in this morning’s work, though they are -past feeling themselves, have left probably two persons each, on an -average, to lament their loss, parents, wives, or children. Here are -then twenty thousand people made unhappy, at one stroke on their -account. This, however, is hardly so dreadful to think of, as the -condition of the wounded. At the moment we are talking, eight or ten -thousand more are lying in agony, torn with shot, or gashed with cuts, -their wounds all festering, some hourly to die a most excruciating -death, others to linger in torture weeks and months, and many doomed to -drag on a miserable existence for the rest of their lives, with diseased -and mutilated bodies. - -_Os._ This is shocking to think of, indeed! - -_Fa._ When you light your candles, then, this evening, _think what they -cost_. - -_Os._ But everybody else is glad, and seems to think nothing of these -things. - -_Fa._ True—they do _not_ think of them. If they did, I cannot suppose -they would be so void of feeling as to enjoy themselves in merriment -when so many of their fellow-creatures are made miserable. Do you not -remember, when poor Dickens had his legs broken to pieces by a loaded -wagon, how all the town pitied him? - -_Os._ Yes, very well. I could not sleep the night after for thinking of -him. - -_Fa._ But here are thousands suffering as much as he, and we scarce -bestow a single thought on them. If any one of these poor creatures were -before our eyes, we should probably feel much more than we do now for -them altogether. Shall I tell you a story of a soldier’s fortune, that -came to my own knowledge? - -_Os._ Yes; pray, do. - -_Fa._ In the village where I went to school, there was an honest -industrious weaver and his wife, who had an only son, named Walter, just -come to man’s estate. Walter was a good and dutiful lad, and a clever -workman, so that he was a great help to his parents. One unlucky day, -having gone to the next market-town with some work, he met with a -companion, who took him to the alehouse and treated him. As he was -coming away, a recruiting sergeant entered the room, who seeing Walter -to be a likely young fellow, had a great mind to entrap him. He -persuaded him to sit down again and take a glass with him; and kept him -in talk with fine stories about a soldier’s life, till Walter got -fuddled before he was aware. The sergeant then clapped a shilling into -his hand to drink his majesty’s health, and told him he was enlisted. He -was kept there all night, and next morning was taken before a magistrate -to be sworn in. Walter had now become sober, and was very sorry for what -he had done: but he was told that he could not get off without paying a -guinea smart money. This he knew not how to raise; and being likewise -afraid and ashamed to face his friends, he took the oath and -bounty-money, and marched away with the sergeant, without ever returning -home. His poor father and mother, when they heard of the affair, were -almost heart-broken; and a young woman in the village, who was his -sweetheart, had like to have gone distracted. Walter sent them a line -from the first stage, to bid them farewell, and comfort them. He joined -his regiment, which soon embarked for Germany, where it continued till -the peace. Walter once or twice sent word home of his welfare, but for -the last year nothing was heard of him. - -_Os._ Where was he then? - -_Fa._ You shall hear. One summer’s evening, a man in an old red coat, -hobbling on crutches, was seen to enter the village. His countenance was -pale and sickly, his cheeks hollow, and his whole appearance bespoke -extreme wretchedness. Several people gathered round him, looking -earnestly in his face. Among these a young woman having gazed at him a -while, cried out, “My Walter!” and fainted away. Walter fell on the -ground beside her. His father and mother being fetched by some of the -spectators, came and took him in their arms, weeping bitterly. I saw the -whole scene, and shall never forget it. At length, the neighbours helped -them into the house, where Walter told them the following story:— - -“At the last great battle that our troops gained in Germany, I was among -the first engaged, and received a shot that broke my thigh. I fell, and -presently after our regiment was forced to retreat. A squadron of the -enemy’s horse came galloping down upon us. A trooper making a blow at me -with his sabre as I lay, I lifted up my arm to save my head, and got a -cut which divided all the sinews at the back of my wrist. Soon after the -enemy were driven back, and came across us again. A horse set his foot -on my side, and broke three of my ribs. The action was long and bloody, -and the wounded on both sides were left on the field all night. A -dreadful night it was to me you may think! I had fainted through loss of -blood, and when I recovered, I was tormented with thirst, and the cold -air made my wounds smart intolerably. About noon next day wagons came to -carry away those who remained alive; and I, with a number of others, was -put into one to be conveyed to the next town. The motion of the carriage -was terrible for my broken bones—every jolt went to my heart. We were -taken to an hospital, which was crammed as full as it could hold; and we -should all have been suffocated with the heat and stench, had not a -fever broke out, which soon thinned our numbers. I took it, and was -twice given over; however, I struggled through. But my wounds proved so -difficult to heal, that it was almost a twelvemonth before I could be -discharged. A great deal of the bone in my thigh came away in splinters, -and left the limb crooked and useless as you see. I entirely lost the -use of three fingers of my right hand; and my broken ribs made me spit -blood a long time, and have left a cough and difficulty of breathing, -which I believe will bring me to my grave. I was sent home, and -discharged from the army, and I have begged my way hither as well as I -could. I am told that the peace has left the affairs of my country just -as they were before; but who will restore me my health and limbs? I am -put on the list for a Chelsea pensioner, which will support me, if I -live to receive it, without being a burden to my friends. That is all -that remains for Walter now.” - -_Os._ Poor Walter! What became of him afterward? - -_Father._ The wound in his thigh broke out afresh, and discharged more -splinters after a great deal of pain and fever. As winter came on, his -cough increased. He wasted to a skeleton, and died the next spring. The -young woman, his sweetheart, sat up with him every night to the last; -and soon after his death, she fell into a consumption, and followed him. -The old people, deprived of the stay and comfort of their age, fell into -despair and poverty, and were taken into the workhouse, where they ended -their days. - -This was the history of _Walter the soldier_. It has been that of -thousands more; and will be that of many a poor fellow, over whose fate -you are now rejoicing. Such is the _price of a victory_! - - - - - GOOD COMPANY. - - -“Be sure, Frederick, always keep _good company_,” was the final -admonition of Mr. Lofty, on dismissing his son to the University. - -“I entreat you, Henry, always to choose _good company_,” said Mr. Manly, -on parting with his son to an apprenticeship in a neighbouring town. - -But it was impossible for two people to mean more differently by the -same words. - -In Mr. Lofty’s idea, _good_ company was that of persons superior to -ourselves in rank and fortune. By this alone he estimated it: and the -degrees of comparison, better and best, were made exactly to correspond -to such a scale. Thus, if an esquire was _good_ company, a baronet was -_better_, and a lord _best of all_, provided that he was not a _poor_ -lord, for in that case, a rich gentleman might be at least as good. For -as, according to Mr. Lofty’s maxim, the great purpose for which -companions were to be chosen was to advance a young man in the world by -their credit and interest, those were to be preferred who afforded the -best prospects in this respect. - -Mr. Manly, on the other hand, understood by _good_ company, that which -was improving to the morals and understanding; and by the _best_, that -which, to a high degree of these qualities, added true politeness of -manners. As superior advantages in education to a certain point -accompany superiority of condition, he wished his son to prefer as -companions those whose situation in life had afforded them the -opportunity of being well educated; but he was far from desiring him to -shun connexions with worth and talents, wherever he should find them. - -Mr. Lofty had an utter aversion to _low company_, by which he meant -inferiors, people of no fashion and figure, shabby fellows whom nobody -knows. - -Mr. Manly equally disliked _low company_, understanding by it persons of -mean habits and vulgar conversation. - -A great part of Mr. Manly’s _good_ company was Mr. Lofty’s _low_ -company; and not a few of Mr. Lofty’s very _best_ company were Mr. -Manly’s very _worst_. - -Each of the sons understood his father’s meaning, and followed his -advice. - -Frederick, from the time of his entrance at the University, commenced -what is called a _tuft-hunter_, from the tuft in the cap worn by young -noblemen. He took pains to insinuate himself into the good graces of all -the young men of high fashion in his college, and became a constant -companion in their schemes of frolic and dissipation. They treated him -with an insolent familiarity, often bordering upon contempt; but -following another maxim of his father, “one must stoop to rise,” he took -it all in good part. He totally neglected study as unnecessary, and -indeed inconsistent with his plan. He spent a great deal of money, with -which his father, finding that it went in _good company_, at first -supplied him freely. In time, however, his expenses amounted to so much, -that Mr. Lofty, who kept good company too, found it difficult to answer -his demands. A considerable sum that he lost at play with one of his -noble friends increased the difficulty. If it were not paid, the -disgrace of not having discharged a _debt of honour_ would lose him all -the favour he had acquired; yet the money could not be raised without -greatly embarrassing his father’s affairs. - -In the midst of this perplexity, Mr. Lofty died, leaving behind him a -large family, and very little property. Frederick came up to town, and -soon dissipated in _good company_ the scanty portion that came to his -share. Having neither industry, knowledge, nor reputation, he was then -obliged to become an humble dependant on the great, flattering all their -follies, and ministering to their vices, treated by them with mortifying -neglect, and equally despised and detested by the rest of the world. - -Henry, in the meantime, entered with spirit into the business of his new -profession, and employed his leisure in cultivating an acquaintance with -a few select friends. These were partly young men in a situation similar -to his own, partly persons already settled in life, but all -distinguished by propriety of conduct and improved understandings. From -all of them he learned something valuable, but he was more particularly -indebted to two of them, who were in a station of life inferior to that -of the rest. One was a watchmaker, an excellent mechanic and tolerable -mathematician, and well acquainted with the construction and use of all -the instruments employed in experimental philosophy. The other was a -young druggist, who had a good knowledge of chymistry, and frequently -employed himself in chymical operations and experiments. Both of them -were men of very decent manners, and took a pleasure in communicating -their knowledge to such as showed a taste for similar studies. Henry -frequently visited them, and derived much useful information from their -instructions, for which he ever expressed great thankfulness. These -various occupations and good examples effectually preserved him from the -errors of youth, and he passed his time with credit and satisfaction. He -had the same misfortune with Frederick, just as he was ready to come out -into the world, of losing his father, upon whom the support of the -family chiefly depended; but in the character he had established, and -the knowledge he had acquired, he found an effectual resource. One of -his young friends proposed to him a partnership in a manufactory he had -just set up at considerable expense, requiring for his share only the -exertion of his talents and industry. Henry accepted the offer, and made -such good use of the skill in mechanics and chymistry he had acquired, -that he introduced many improvements into the manufactory, and rendered -it a very profitable concern. He lived prosperous and independent, and -retained in manhood all the friendships of his youth. - - - - - THE WANDERER’S RETURN. - - -It was a delightful evening about the end of August. The sun, setting in -a pure sky, illuminated the tops of the western hills, and tipped the -opposite trees with a yellow lustre. - -A traveller, with sunburnt cheeks and dusty feet, strong and active, -having a knapsack at his back, had gained the summit of a steep ascent, -and stood gazing on the plain below. - -This was a wide tract of champaign country, checkered with villages, -whose towers and spires peeped above the trees in which they were -embosomed. The space between them was chiefly arable land, from which -the last products of the harvest were busily carrying away. - -A rivulet wound through the plain, its course marked with gray willows. -On its banks were verdant meadows, covered with lowing herds, moving -slowly to the milkmaids, who came tripping along with pails on their -heads. A thick wood clothed the side of a gentle eminence rising from -the water, crowned with the ruins of an ancient castle. - -Edward (that was the traveller’s name) dropped on one knee, and clasping -his hands, exclaimed, “Welcome, welcome, my dear native land. Many a -sweet spot have I seen since I left thee, but none so sweet as thou! -Never has thy dear image been out of my memory; and now with what -transport do I retrace all thy charms! O, receive me again, never more -to quit thee!” So saying, he threw himself on the turf; and having -kissed it, rose and proceeded on his journey. - -As he descended into the plain, he overtook a little group of children, -merrily walking along the path, and stopping now and then to gather -berries in the hedge. - -“Where are you going, my dears?” said Edward. - -“We are going home,” they all replied. - -“And where is that?” - -“Why, to Summerton, that town there among the trees, just before us. -Don’t you see it?” - -“I see it well,” answered Edward, the tear standing in his eye. - -“And what is your name—and yours—and yours?” - -The little innocents told their names. Edward’s heart leaped at the -well-known sounds. - -“And what is _your_ name, my dear?” said he to a pretty girl, somewhat -older than the rest, who hung back shyly, and held the hand of a ruddy, -white-headed boy, just breeched. - -“It is Rose Walsingham, and this is my younger brother, Roger.” - -“Walsingham!” Edward clasped the girl round the neck, and surprised her -with two or three very close kisses. He then lifted up little Roger, and -almost devoured him. Roger seemed as if he wanted to be set down again, -but Edward told him he would carry him home. - -“And can you show me the house you live at, Rose?” said Edward. - -“Yes—it is just there, beside the pond, with the great barn before it, -and the orchard behind.” - -“And will you take me home with you, Rose?” - -“If you please,” answered Rose, hesitatingly. - -They walked on; Edward said but little, for his heart was full, but he -frequently kissed little Roger. - -Coming at length to a stile from which a path led across a little close, -“This is the way to our house,” said Rose. - -The other children parted. Edward set down Roger, and got over the -stile. He still, however, kept hold of the boy’s hand. He trembled, and -looked wildly around him. - -When they approached the house, an old mastiff came running to meet the -children. He looked up at Edward rather sourly, and gave a little growl; -when all at once his countenance changed; he leaped upon him, licked his -hand, wagged his tail, murmured in a soft voice, and seemed quite -overcome with joy. Edward stooped down, patted his head, and cried, -“Poor Captain, what! are you alive, yet?” Rose was surprised that the -stranger and their dog should know one another. - -They all entered the house together. A good-looking middle-aged woman -was busied in preparing articles of cookery, assisted by her grown-up -daughter. She spoke to the children as they came in, and casting a look -of some surprise on Edward, asked him what his business was. - -Edward was some time silent; at length, with a faltering voice, he -cried, “Have you forgot me, mother?” - -“Edward! my son Edward!” exclaimed the good woman. And they were -instantly locked in each other’s arms. - -“My brother Edward!” said Molly; and took her turn for an embrace, as -soon as her mother gave her room. - -“Are you my brother?” said Rose. - -“That I am,” replied Edward, with another kiss. Little Roger looked hard -at him, but said nothing. - -News of Edward’s arrival soon flew across the yard, and in came from the -barn his father, his next brother, Thomas, and the third, William. The -father fell on his neck, and sobbed out his welcome and blessing. Edward -had not hands enough for them all to shake. - -An aged, white-headed labourer came in, and held out his shrivelled -hand. Edward gave it a hearty squeeze. “God bless you,” said old Isaac; -“this is the best day I have seen this many a year.” - -“And where have you been this long while?” cried the father. “Eight -years and more,” added the mother. - -His elder brother took off his knapsack; and Molly drew him a chair. -Edward seated himself, and they all gathered round him; the old dog got -within the circle and lay at his feet. - -“O, how glad I am to see you all again!” were Edward’s first words. “How -well you look, mother! but father grows thinner. As for the rest, I -should have known none of you, unless it had been Thomas and old Isaac.” - -“What a sunburnt face you have got!—but you look brave and hearty,” -cried his mother. - -“Ay, mother, I have been enough in the sun, I assure you. From seventeen -to five-and-twenty I have been a wanderer upon the face of the earth, -and I have seen more in that time than most men in the course of their -lives. - -“Our young landlord, you know, took such a liking to me at school, that -he would have me go with him on his travels. We went through most of the -countries of Europe, and at last to Naples, where my poor master took a -fever and died. I never knew what grief was till then; and I believe the -thoughts of leaving me in a strange country went as much to his heart as -his illness. An intimate acquaintance of his, a rich young West Indian, -seeing my distress, engaged me to go with him in a voyage he was about -to make to Jamaica. We were too short a time in England before we -sailed, for me to come and see you first, but I wrote you a letter from -the Downs.” - -“We never received it,” said his father. - -“That was a pity,” returned Edward; “for you must have concluded I was -either dead or had forgotten you. Well—we arrived safe in the West -Indies, and there I stayed till I had buried that master, too; for young -men die fast in that country. I was very well treated, but I could never -like the place; and yet Jamaica is a very fine island, and has many good -people in it. But for me, used to see freemen work cheerfully along with -their masters—to behold nothing but droves of black slaves in the -fields, toiling in the burning sun, under the constant dread of the lash -of hard-hearted task-masters—it was what I could not bring myself to -bear; and though I might have been made an overseer of a plantation, I -chose rather to live in a town, and follow some domestic occupation. I -could soon have got rich there; but I fell into a bad state of health, -and people were dying all round me of the yellow fever; so I collected -my little property, and though a war had broken out, I ventured to -embark with it for England. - -“The ship was taken, and carried into the Havana, and I lost my all and -my liberty besides. However, I had the good fortune to ingratiate myself -with a Spanish merchant whom I had known at Jamaica, and he took me with -him to the continent of South America. I visited great part of this -country, once possessed by flourishing and independent nations, but now -groaning under the severe yoke of their haughty conquerers. I saw those -famous gold and silver mines, where the poor natives worked naked, for -ever shut out from the light of day, in order that the wealth of their -unhappy land may go to spread luxury and corruption throughout the -remotest regions of Europe. - -“I accompanied my master across the great southern ocean, a voyage of -some months, without the sight of anything but water and sky. We came to -the rich city of Manilla, the capital of the Spanish settlements in -those parts. There I had my liberty restored, along with a handsome -reward for my services. I got thence to China; and from China to the -English settlements in the East Indies, where the sight of my -countrymen, and the sounds of my native tongue, made me fancy myself -almost at home again, though still separated by half the globe. - -“Here I saw a delightful country, swarming with industrious inhabitants, -some cultivating the land, others employed in manufactures, but of so -gentle and effeminate a disposition, that they have always fallen under -the yoke of their invaders. Here how was I forced to blush for my -countrymen, whose avarice and rapacity so often have laid waste this -fair land, and brought on it all the horrors of famine and desolation! I -have seen human creatures quarrelling like dogs for bare bones thrown -upon a dunghill. I have seen fathers selling their families for a little -rice, and mothers entreating strangers to take their children for -slaves, that they might not die of hunger. In the midst of such scenes I -saw pomp and luxury of which our country affords no examples. - -“Having remained here a considerable time, I gladly at length set my -face homeward, and joined a company who undertook the long and perilous -journey to Europe over land. We crossed vast tracts both desert and -cultivated; sandy plains parched with heat and drought, and infested -with bands of ferocious plunderers. I have seen a well of muddy water -more valued than ten camel-loads of treasure; and a few half-naked -horsemen strike more terror than a king with all his guards. At length, -after numberless hardships and dangers, we arrived at civilized Europe, -and forgot all we had suffered. As I came nearer my native land, I grew -more and more impatient to reach it; and when I had set foot on it, I -was still more restless till I could see again my beloved home. - -“Here I am at last—happy in bringing back a sound constitution and a -clear conscience. I have also brought enough of the relics of my honest -gains to furnish a little farm in the neighbourhood, where I mean to sit -down and spend my days in the midst of those whom I love better than all -the world besides.” - -When Edward had finished, kisses and kind shakes of the hand were again -repeated, and his mother brought out a large slice of harvest-cake, with -a bottle of her nicest currant-wine, to refresh him after his day’s -march. “You are come,” said his father, “at a lucky time, for this is -our harvest-supper. We shall have some of our neighbours to make merry -with us, who will be almost as glad to see you as we are—for you were -always a favourite among them.” - -It was not long before the visiters arrived. The young folks ran out to -meet them, crying, “Our Edward’s come back—our Edward’s come home! Here -he is—this is he;” and so without ceremony they introduced them. - -“Welcome!—welcome!—God bless you!” sounded on all sides. Edward knew all -the elderly ones at first sight, but the young people puzzled him for -awhile. At length he recollected this to have been his schoolfellow, and -that his companion in driving plough; and he was not long in finding out -his favourite and playfellow Sally, of the next farmhouse, whom he left -a romping girl of fifteen, and now saw a blooming full-formed young -woman of three-and-twenty. He contrived in the evening to get next her: -and though she was somewhat reserved at first, they had pretty well -renewed their intimacy before the company broke up. - -“Health to Edward, and a happy settlement among us!” was the parting -toast. When all were retired, the _Returned Wanderer_ went to rest in -the very room in which he was born, having first paid fervent thanks to -Heaven for preserving him to enjoy a blessing the dearest to his heart. - -[Illustration: - - The Landlord’s Visit, p. 314 - - EVENING XXVI. -] - - - - - DIFFERENCE AND AGREEMENT OR, SUNDAY MORNING. - - -It was Sunday morning. All the bells were ringing for church, and the -streets were filled with people moving in all directions. - -Here, numbers of well-dressed persons, and a long train of charity -children, were thronging in at the wide doors of a large handsome -church. There, a smaller number, almost equally gay in dress, were -entering an elegant meetinghouse. Up one alley, a Roman Catholic -congregation was turning into their retired chapel, every one crossing -himself with a finger dipped in holy water as he went in. The opposite -side of the street was covered with a train of Quakers, distinguished by -their plain and neat attire and sedate aspect, who walked without -ceremony into a room as plain as themselves, and took their seats, the -men on one side, and the women on the other, in silence. A spacious -building was filled with an overflowing crowd of Methodists, most of -them meanly habited, but decent and serious in demeanour; while a small -society of Baptists in the neighbourhood quietly occupied their humble -place of assembly. - -Presently, the different services began. The church resounded with the -solemn organ, and with the indistinct murmurs of a large body of people -following the minister in responsive prayers. From the meeting were -heard the low psalm, and the single voice of the leader of their -devotions. The Roman Catholic chapel was enlivened by strains of music, -the tinkling of a small bell, and a perpetual change of service and -ceremonial. A profound silence and unvarying look and posture announced -the self-recollection and mental devotion of the Quakers. - -Mr. Ambrose led his son Edwin round all these different assemblies as a -spectator. Edwin viewed everything with great attention, and was often -impatient to inquire of his father the meaning of what he saw; but Mr. -Ambrose would not suffer him to disturb any of the congregation even by -a whisper. When they had gone through the whole, Edwin found a greater -number of questions to put to his father, who explained everything put -to him in the best manner he could. At length says Edwin:— - -“But why cannot all these people agree to go to the same place, and -worship God the same way?” - -“And why should they agree?” replied his father. “Don’t you see that -people differ in a hundred other things? Do they all dress alike, and -eat and drink alike, and keep the same hours, and use the same -diversions?” - -“Ay—but those are things in which they have a right to do as they -please.” - -“And they have a right, too, to worship God as they please. It is their -own business, and concerns none but themselves.” - -“But has not God ordered particular ways of worshipping him?” - -“He has directed the mind and spirit with which he is to be worshipped, -but not the particular form or manner. That is left for every one to -choose, according as suits his temper and opinions. All these people -like their own way best, and why should they leave it for the choice of -another? Religion is one of the things in which _mankind were made to -differ_.” - -The several congregations now began to be dismissed, and the street was -again overspread with persons of all the different sects, going -promiscuously to their respective homes. It chanced that a poor man fell -down in the street in a fit of apoplexy, and lay for dead. His wife and -children stood round him crying and lamenting in the bitterest distress. -The beholders immediately flocked round, and with looks and expressions -of the warmest compassion, gave their help. A Churchman raised the man -from the ground by lifting him under the arms, while a Dissenter held -his head, and wiped his face with his handkerchief. A Roman Catholic -lady took out her smelling-bottle, and assiduously applied it to his -nose. A Methodist ran for a doctor. A Quaker supported and comforted the -woman, and a Baptist took care of the children. - -Edwin and his father were among the spectators. “Here,” said Mr. -Ambrose, “is a thing in _which mankind were made to agree_.” - - - - - THE LANDLORD’S VISIT.—A DRAMA. - - - Scene—_A room in a farmhouse_. BETTY, _the farmer’s wife_; FANNY, _a -young woman grown up_; _children of various ages differently employed_. - - _Enter_ LANDLORD. - -_Landlord._ Good morning to you, Betty. - -_Betty._ Ah!—is it your honour? How do you do, sir? how are madam and -all the good family? - -_Land._ Very well, thank you; and how are you, and all yours? - -_Bet._ Thank your honour—all pretty well. Will you please to sit down? -Ours is but a little crowded place, but there is a clean corner. Set out -the chair for his honour, Mary. - -_Land._ I think everything is very clean. What, John’s in the field, I -suppose? - -_Bet._ Yes, sir, with his two eldest sons, sowing and harrowing. - -_Land._ Well, and here are two, three, four, six; all the rest of your -stock, I suppose.—All as busy as bees! - -_Bet._ Ay, your honour! These are not times to be idle in. John and I -have always worked hard, and we bring up our children to work too. -There’s none of them, except the youngest, but can do something. - -_Land._ You do very rightly. With industry and sobriety there is no fear -of their getting a living, come what may. I wish many gentlemen’s -children had as good a chance. - -_Bet._ Lord! sir, if they have fortunes ready got for them, what need -they care? - -_Land._ But fortunes are easier to spend than to get; and when they are -at the bottom of the purse, what must they do to fill it again? - -_Bet._ Nay, that’s true, sir; and we have reason enough to be thankful, -that we are able and willing to work, and have a good landlord to live -under. - -_Land._ Good tenants deserve good landlords; and I have been long -acquainted with your value. Come, little folks, I have brought something -for you. - - [_Takes out cakes._ - -_Bet._ Why don’t you thank his honour? - -_Land._ I did not think you had a daughter so old as that young woman. - -_Bet._ No more I have, sir. She is not my own daughter, though she is as -good as one to me. - -_Land._ Some relation, then, I suppose? - -_Bet._ No, sir, none at all. - -_Land._ Who is she, then? - -_Bet._ (_whispering_). When she is gone out, I will tell your -honour.—(_aloud._) Go, Fanny, and take some milk to the young calf in -the stable. - - [_Exit_ Fanny. - -_Land._ A pretty modest-looking young woman, on my word! - -_Bet._ Ay, sir—and as good as she is pretty. You must know, sir, that -this young woman is a stranger from a great way off. She came here quite -by accident, and has lived with us above a twelvemonth. I’ll tell your -honour all about it if you choose. - -_Land._ Pray do—I am curious to hear it. But first favour me with a -draught of your whey. - -_Bet._ I beg your pardon, sir, for not offering it. Run, Mary, and fetch -his honour some fresh whey in a clean basin. - - [Mary _goes_. - -_Land._ Now, pray, begin your story. - -_Bet._ Well, sir—As our John was coming from work one evening, he saw at -some distance on the road a carrier’s wagon overturned. He ran up to -help, and found a poor old gentlewoman lying on the back much hurt, and -this girl sitting beside her, crying. My good man, after he had helped -in setting the wagon to rights, went to them, and with a good deal of -difficulty got the gentlewoman into the wagon again, and walked by the -side of it to our house. He called me out and we got something -comfortable for her; but she was so ill that she could not bear to be -carried farther. So after consulting a while, we took her into the -house, and put her to bed. Her head was sadly hurt, and she seemed to -grow worse instead of better. We got a doctor to her, and did our best -to nurse her, but all would not do, and we soon found she was likely to -die. Poor Fanny, her grand-daughter, never left her day or night; and it -would have gone to your honour’s heart, to have heard the pitiful moan -she made over her. She was the only friend she had in the world, she -said; and what would become of her if she were to lose her? Fanny’s -father and mother were both dead, and she was going with her grandmother -into the north, where the old gentlewoman came from, to live cheap, and -to try to find out some relations. Well—to make my story short, in a few -days the poor woman died. There was a little more money about her than -would serve to pay her doctor and bury her. Fanny was in sad trouble, -indeed. I thought she would never have left her grandmother’s grave. She -cried and wrung her hands most bitterly. But I tire your honour. - -_Land._ O no! I am much interested in your story. - -_Bet._ We comforted her as well as we could; but all her cry was, “What -will become of me? Where must I go? Who will take care of me?” So after -a while, said I to John, “Poor creature! my heart grieves for her. -Perhaps she would like to stay with us—though she seems to have been -brought up in a way of living different from ours, too; but what can she -do, left to herself in the wide world!” So my husband agreed that I -should ask her. When I mentioned it to her, poor thing! how her -countenance altered! “O,” said she, “I wish for nothing so much as to -stay and live with you! I am afraid I can do but little to serve you, -but indeed I will learn to do my best.” Said I: “Do no more than you -like; you are welcome to stay and partake with us as long as you -please.” Well, sir! she stayed with us; and set about learning to do all -kind of our work with such good-will, and so handily, that she soon -became my best helper. And she is so sweet-tempered, and so fond of us -and the children, that I love her as well as if she was my own child. -She has been well brought up, I am sure. She can read, and write, and -work with her needle, a great deal better than we can, and when work is -over, she teaches the children. Then she is extraordinarily -well-behaved, so as to be admired by all that see her.—So your honour -has now the story of our Fanny. - -_Land._ I thank you heartily for it, my good Betty! It does much credit -both to you and Fanny. But pray, what is her surname? - -_Bet._ It is—let me see—I think it is Welford. - -_Land._ Welford! that is a name I am acquainted with. I should be glad -to talk with her a little. - -_Bet._ I will call her in then. - - [_Enter_ Fanny. - -_Land._ Come hither, young woman; I have heard your story, and been much -interested by it. You are an orphan, I find. - -_Fanny._ Yes, sir; a poor orphan. - -_Land._ Your name is Welford? - -_Fan._ It is, sir. - -_Land._ Where did your parents live? - -_Fan._ In London, sir; but they died when I was very young, and I went -to my grandmother’s in Surrey. - -_Land._ Was she your father’s mother? You will excuse my questions. I do -not ask from idle curiosity. - -_Fan._ She was, sir; and had been long a widow. - -_Land._ Do you know what her maiden name was? - -_Fan._ It was Borrowdale, sir. - -_Land._ Borrowdale!—And pray, whither were you going when the -unfortunate accident happened? - -_Fan._ To Kendal in Westmoreland, sir, near which my grandmother was -born. - -_Land._ Ah! ‘tis the very same—every circumstance corresponds! My dear -Fanny (_taking her hand_), you have found a relation when you little -thought of it. I am your kinsman. My mother was a Borrowdale, of -Westmoreland, and half-sister to your grandmother. I have heard of all -your parentage; and I remember the death of your poor father, who was a -very honest ingenious artist: and of your mother soon after, of a broken -heart. I could never discover what family they left, nor what was become -of my kinswoman. But I rejoice I have found you out in this -extraordinary manner. You must come and live with me. My wife and -daughters will be very glad to receive one whose conduct has done her so -much credit. - -_Fan._ I am much obliged to you, sir, for your kindness; but I am too -mean a person to live as a relation in a family like yours. - -_Land._ O no! you will not find us of that sort who despise worthy -people for being low in the world; and your language and actions show -that you have been well brought up. - -_Fan._ My poor grandmother, sir, was so kind as to give me all the -education in her power; and if I have not somewhat benefited by her -example and instructions, it must have been my own fault. - -_Land._ You speak very well, and I feel more attached to you, the more I -hear you.—Well, you must prepare to come home with me. I will take care -to make proper acknowledgments to the good people here who have been so -kind to you. - -_Bet._ My dear Fanny, I am heartily glad of your good fortune, but we -shall all be sorry to part with you. - -_Fan._ I am sure, my dear friend and mistress, I shall be sorry too. You -received me when I had no other friend in the world, and you treated me -like your own child. I can never forget what I owe you. - -_Enter_ John, _and his eldest son_ Thomas. - -_John._ Is your honour here? - -_Land._ Yes, John; and I have found something worth coming for. - -_John._ What is that, sir? - -_Land._ A relation, John. This young woman whom you have so kindly -entertained, is my kinswoman. - -_John._ What—our Fanny? - -_Thomas._ Fanny! - -_Land._ Yes, indeed. And, after thanking you for your kindness to her -and her poor grandmother, I mean to take her home for a companion to my -wife and daughters. - -_John._ This is wonderful news, indeed! Well, Fanny, I am very glad you -have got such a home to go to—you are worthy of it—but we shall miss you -much here. - -_Bet._ So I have been telling her. - -_Thom._ (_aside to_ Fanny). What, will you leave us, Fanny? Must we -part? - -_Fan._ (_aside to him_). What can I do, Thomas? - -_Land._ There seems some unwillingness to part, I see, on more sides -than one. - -_Bet._ Indeed, sir, I believe there is. We have lived very happily -together. - -_Thom._ (_aside to Fanny_). I see we must part with you, but I -hope—Surely you won’t quite forget us? - -_Fan._ (_to him_). You distress me, Thomas. Forget you! O no! - -_Land._ Come, I see there is something between the young folks that -ought to be spoken about plainly. Do you explain it, Betty. - -_Bet._ Why, your honour knows, we could not tell that Fanny was your -relation. So, as my son Thomas and she seemed to take a liking to one -another, and she was such a clever girl, we did not object to their -thinking about making a match of it, as soon as he should be settled in -a farm. - -_John._ But that must be over now. - -_Thom._ Why so, father? - -_John._ Why; you can’t think of his honour’s kinswoman. - -_Land._ Come, Fanny, do you decide this affair. - -_Fan._ Sir, Thomas offered me his service when he thought me a poor -friendless girl, and I might think myself favoured by his notice. He -gained my good will, which no change of circumstances can make me -withdraw. It is my determination to join my lot with his, be it what it -may. - -_Thom._ My dearest Fanny! - - [_Taking her hand._ - -_Land._ You act nobly, my dear girl, and make me proud of my relation. -You shall have my free consent, and something handsome into the bargain. - -_Bet._ Heaven bless your honour! I know it would have been a -heartbreaking to my poor boy to have parted with her. Dear Fanny! - - [_Kisses her._ - -_Land._ I have a farm just now vacant. Thomas shall take it, and Fanny’s -portion shall stock it for him. - -_Thom._ I humbly thank your honour. - -_John._ I thank you too, sir, for us all. - -_Fan._ Sir, since you have been so indulgent in this matter, give me -leave to request you to be satisfied with my paying my duty to the -ladies, without going to live in a way so different from what I have -been used to, and must live in hereafter. I think I can be nowhere -better than with my friends and future parents here. - -_Land._ Your request, Fanny, has so much propriety and good sense in it, -that I cannot refuse it. However, you must suffer us to improve our -acquaintance. I assure you it will give me particular pleasure. - -_Fan._ Sir, you will always command my most grateful obedience. - -_Land._ Well—let Thomas bring you to my house this afternoon, and I will -introduce you to your relations, and we will talk over matters. -Farewell, my dear! Nay, I must have a kiss. - -_Fan._ I will wait on you, sir. - - [_Exit Landlord._ - -_Bet._ My dear Fanny—daughter I may now call you—you cannot think how -much I feel obliged to you. - -_Thom._ But who is so much obliged as I am? - -_Fan._ Do you not all deserve everything from me? - -_John._ Well, who could have thought when I went to help up the wagon, -that it would have brought so much good luck to us? - -_Bet._ A good deed is never lost they say. - -_Fan._ It shall be the business of my life to prove that this has not -been lost. - - - - - ON EMBLEMS. - - -“Pray, papa,” said Cecilia, “what is an _emblem_? I have met with the -word in my lesson to-day, and I do not quite understand it.” - -“An emblem, my dear,” replied he, “is a visible image of an invisible -thing.” - -_Cecilia._ A visible image of—I can hardly comprehend— - -_Pa._ Well, I will explain it more at length. There are certain notions -that we form in our minds without the help of our eyes or any of our -senses. Thus, Virtue, Vice, Honour, Disgrace, Time, Death, and the like, -are not sensible objects, but ideas of the understanding. - -_Cec._ Yes—We cannot feel them or see them, but we can think about them. - -_Pa._ True. Now it sometimes happens that we wish to represent one of -these in a visible form; that is, to offer something to the sight that -shall raise a similar notion in the minds of the beholders. In order to -do this, we must take some action or circumstance belonging to it, -capable of being expressed by painting or sculpture, and this is called -a _type_ or _emblem_. - -_Cec._ But how can this be done? - -_Pa._ I will tell you by an example. You know the sessions-house, where -trials are held. It would be easy to write over the door in order to -distinguish it, “This is the sessions-house;” but it is a more ingenious -and elegant way of pointing it out, to place upon the building a figure -representing the purpose for which it was erected, namely, to distribute -_justice_. For this end the notion of justice is to be _personified_, -that is, changed from an idea of the understanding into one of the -sight. A human figure is therefore made, distinguished by tokens which -bear a relation to the character of that virtue. Justice carefully -_weighs_ both sides of a cause; she is therefore represented as holding -a _pair of scales_. It is her office to _punish_ crimes; she therefore -bears a _sword_. This is then an _emblematical figure_, and the sword -and scales are _emblems_. - -_Cec._ I understand this very well. But why is she blindfolded? - -_Pa._ To denote her impartiality—that she decides only from the merits -of the case, and not from a view of the parties. - -_Cec._ How can she weigh anything, though, when her eyes are blinded? - -_Pa._ Well objected. These are two inconsistent emblems; each proper in -itself, but when used together, making a contradictory action. An artist -of judgment will therefore drop one of them; and accordingly the best -modern figures of Justice have the balance and sword, without the -bandage over the eyes. - -_Cec._ Is there not the same fault in making Cupid blindfolded, and yet -putting a bow and arrow into his hands? - -_Pa._ There is. It is a gross absurdity, and not countenanced by the -ancient descriptions of Cupid, who is represented as the surest of all -archers. - -_Cec._ I have a figure of _Death_ in my fable-book. I suppose that is -emblematical? - -_Pa._ Certainly, or you could not know that it meant Death. How is it -represented? - -_Cec._ He is nothing but bones, and he holds a scythe in one hand, and -an hour-glass in the other. - -_Pa._ Well—how do you interpret these emblems? - -_Cec._ I suppose he is all bones, because nothing but bones are left -after a dead body has lain long in the grave. - -_Pa._ True. This, however, is not so properly an emblem, as the real and -visible effect of death. But the scythe? - -_Cec._ Is not that because death mows down everything? - -_Pa._ It is. No instrument could so properly represent the wide-wasting -sway of death, which sweeps down the race of animals like flowers -falling under the hands of the mower. It is a simile used in the -Scriptures. - -_Cec._ The hour-glass, I suppose, is to show people their time is come. - -_Pa._ Right. In the hour-glass that Death holds, all the sand is run out -from the upper to the lower part. Have you never observed upon a -monument an old figure, with wings, and a scythe, and with his head bald -all but a single lock before? - -_Cec._ O yes;—and I have been told it is _Time_. - -_Pa._ Well—and what do you make of it? Why is he old? - -_Cec._ O! because he has lasted a long while. - -_Pa._ And why has he wings? - -_Cec._ Because Time is swift, and flies away. - -_Pa._ What does his scythe mean? - -_Cec._ I suppose it is because he destroys and cuts down everything, -like Death. - -_Pa._ True. I think, however, a weapon rather slower in operation, as a -pick-axe, would have been more suitable to the gradual action of time. -But what is his single lock of hair for? - -_Cec._ I have been thinking, and cannot make it out. - -_Pa._ I thought that would puzzle you. It relates to time as giving -_opportunity_ for doing anything. It is to be seized as it presents -itself, or it will escape, and cannot be recovered. Thus the proverb -says, “Take Time by the forelock.” Well—now you understand what emblems -are. - -_Cec._ Yes, I think I do. I suppose the painted sugar-loaves over the -grocer’s shop, and the mortar over the apothecary’s, are emblems, too? - -_Pa._ Not so properly. They are only the pictures of things which are -themselves the objects of sight, as the real sugar-loaf in the shop of -the grocer, and the real mortar in that of the apothecary. However, an -implement belonging to a particular rank or profession is commonly used -as an emblem to point out the man exercising that rank or profession. -Thus, a crown is considered as an emblem of a king; a sword, or spear, -of a soldier; an anchor, of a sailor; and the like. - -_Cec._ I remember Captain Heartwell, when he came to see us, had the -figure of an anchor on all his buttons. - -_Pa._ He had. That was the emblem or badge of his belonging to the navy. - -_Cec._ But you told me that an emblem was a visible sign of an invisible -thing; yet a sea-captain is not an invisible thing. - -_Pa._ He is not invisible as a man, but his profession is invisible. - -_Cec._ I do not well understand that. - -_Pa._ Profession is a _quality_, belonging equally to a number of -individuals, however different they may be in external form and -appearance. It may be added or taken away without any visible change. -Thus, if Captain Heartwell were to give up his commission, he would -appear to you the same man as before. It is plain, therefore, that what -in that case he had lost, namely, his profession, was a thing invisible. -It is one of those ideas of the understanding which I before mentioned -to you as different from a sensible idea. - -_Cec._ I comprehend it now. - -_Pa._ I have got here a few emblematical pictures. Suppose you try -whether you can find out their meaning. - -_Cec._ O yes—I shall like that very well. - -_Pa._ Here is a man standing on the summit of a steep cliff, and going -to ascend a ladder which he has planted against a cloud. - -_Cec._ Let me see!—that must be _Ambition_, I think. - -_Pa._ How do you explain it? - -_Cec._ He is got very high already, but he wants to be still higher; so -he ventures up the ladder, though it is only supported by a cloud, and -hangs over a precipice. - -_Pa._ Very right. Here is now another man, hood-winked, who is crossing -a raging torrent upon stepping-stones. - -_Cec._ Then he will certainly fall in. I suppose he is one that runs -into danger without considering whither he is going? - -_Pa._ Yes; and you may call him _Fool-hardiness_. Do you see this hand -coming out of a black cloud, and putting an extinguisher upon a lamp? - -_Cec._ I do. If that lamp be the lamp of life, the hand that -extinguishes it must be _Death_. - -_Pa._ Very just. Here is an old, half-ruined building, supported by -props; and the figure of Time is sawing through one of the props. - -_Cec._ That must be _Old Age_, surely. - -_Pa._ It is. The next is a man leaning upon a breaking crutch. - -_Cec._ I don’t well know what to make of that. - -_Pa._ It is intended for _Instability_; however, it might also stand for -_False Confidence_. Here is a man poring over a sundial with a candle in -his hand. - -_Cec._ I am at a loss for that, too. - -_Pa._ Consider—a sundial is only made to tell the hour by the light of -the sun. - -_Cec._ Then this man must know nothing about it. - -_Pa._ True; and his name is therefore _Ignorance_. Here is a -walking-stick, the lower part of which is set in the water, and it -appears crooked. What does that denote? - -_Cec._ Is the stick really crooked? - -_Pa._ No; but it is the property of water to give that appearance. - -_Cec._ Then it must signify _Deception_. - -_Pa._ It does. I dare say you will at once know this fellow who is -running as fast as his legs will carry him, and looking back at his -shadow. - -_Cec._ He must be _Fear_ or _Terror_, I fancy. - -_Pa._ Yes; you may call him which you please. But who is this sower, -that scatters seeds in the ground? - -_Cec._ Let me consider. I think there is a parable in the Bible about -seed sown, and it therefore signifies something like _Instruction_. - -_Pa._ True; but it may also represent _Hope_, for no one sows without -hoping to reap the fruit. What do you think of this candle held before a -mirror, in which its figure is exactly reflected? - -_Cec._ I do not know what it means. - -_Pa._ It represents _Truth_; the essence of which consists in the -fidelity with which objects are received and reflected back by our -minds. The object is here a luminous one, to show the clearness and -brightness of Truth. Here is next an upright column, the perfect -straightness of which is shown by a plumb-line hanging from its summit, -and exactly parallel to the side of the column. - -_Cec._ I suppose that must represent _Uprightness_. - -_Pa._ Yes—or in other words, _Rectitude_. The strength and stability of -the pillar alone denote the security produced by this virtue. You see -here a woman disentangling and reeling off a very perplexed skein of -thread. - -_Cec._ She must have a great deal of patience. - -_Pa._ True. She is _Patience_ herself. The brooding hen, sitting beside -her, is another emblem of the same quality that aids the interpretation. -Who do you think this pleasing female is, that looks with such kindness -upon the drooping plant she is watering? - -_Cec._ That must be _Charity_, I believe. - -_Pa._ It is; or you may call her _Benignity_, which is nearly the same -thing. Here is a lady sitting demurely, with one finger on her lip, -while she holds a bridle in her other hand. - -_Cec._ The finger on the lip, I suppose, denotes Silence. The bridle -must mean confinement. I should almost fancy her to be a schoolmistress. - -_Pa._ Ha! ha! I hope, indeed, many schoolmistresses are endued with her -spirit, for she is _Prudence_ or _Discretion_. Well—we are now got to -the end of our pictures, and upon the whole you have interpreted them -very prettily. - -_Cec._ But I have one question to ask you, papa. In these pictures and -others that I have seen of the same sort, almost all the _good_ -qualities are represented in the form of _women_. What is the reason of -that? - -_Pa._ It is certainly a compliment, my dear, either to your sex’s person -or mind. The inventor either chose the figure of a female to clothe each -agreeable quality in, because he thought that the most agreeable form, -and therefore best suited it; or he meant to imply that the female -character is really the most virtuous and amiable. I rather believe that -the first was his intention, but I shall not object to your taking it in -the light of the second. - -_Cec._ But is it true—is it true? - -_Pa._ Why, I can give you very good authority for the preference of the -female sex, in a moral view. One Ledyard, a great traveller, who had -walked through almost all the countries of Europe, and at last died in -an expedition to explore the internal parts of Africa, gave a most -decisive and pleasing testimony in favour of the superior character of -women, whether savage or civilized. I was so much pleased with it, that -I put great part of it into verse; and if it will not make you vain, I -will give you a copy of my lines. - -_Cec._ O, pray, do! - -_Pa._ Here they are. Read them. - - - - - LEDYARD’S PRAISE OF WOMEN. - - - Through many a land and clime a ranger - With toilsome steps, I’ve held my way, - A lonely, unprotected stranger, - To all the stranger’s ills a prey. - - While steering thus my course precarious, - My fortune still had been to find - Men’s hearts and dispositions various, - But gentle Woman ever kind. - - Alive to every tender feeling, - To deeds of mercy ever prone, - The wounds of pain and sorrow healing - With soft compassion’s sweetest tone. - - No proud delay, no dark suspicion, - Stints the free bounty of their heart; - They turn not from the sad petition, - But cheerful aid at once impart. - - Formed in benevolence of nature, - Obliging, modest, gay, and mild, - Woman’s the same endearing creature - In courtly town and savage wild. - - When parched with thirst, with hunger wasted, - Her friendly hand refreshment gave, - How sweet the coarsest food has tasted! - What cordial in the simple wave! - - Her courteous looks, her words caressing, - Shed comfort on the fainting soul: - Woman’s the stranger’s general blessing, - From sultry India to the Pole. - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XXVII. -] - - - - - GENEROUS REVENGE. - - -At the period when the republic of Genoa was divided between the -factions of the nobles and the people, Uberto, a man of low origin, but -of an elevated mind and superior talents, and enriched by commerce, -having raised himself to be the head of a popular party, maintained for -a considerable time a democratic form of government. - -The nobles, at length, uniting all their efforts, succeeded in -subverting this state of things, and regained their former supremacy. -They used their victory with considerable rigour; and in particular -having imprisoned Uberto, proceeded against him as a traitor, and -thought they displayed sufficient lenity in passing a sentence upon him -of perpetual banishment, and the confiscation of all his property. -Adorno, who was then possessed of the first magistracy, a man haughty in -temper, and proud of ancient nobility, though otherwise not void of -generous sentiments, in pronouncing this sentence on Uberto, aggravated -its severity by the insolent terms in which he conveyed it. “You,” said -he,—“you, the son of a base mechanic, who have dared to trample upon the -nobles of Genoa—you, by their clemency, are only doomed to shrink again -into the nothingness whence you sprung.” - -Uberto received his condemnation with respectful submission to the -court; yet stung by the manner in which it was expressed, he could not -forbear saying to Adorno, that “perhaps he might hereafter find cause to -repent the language he had used to a man capable of sentiments as -elevated as his own.” He then made his obeisance and retired; and after -taking leave of his friends, embarked in a vessel bound for Naples, and -quitted his native country without a tear. - -He collected some debts due to him in the Neapolitan dominions, and with -the wreck of his fortune went to settle on one of the islands in the -Archipelago belonging to the state of Venice. Here his industry and -capacity in mercantile pursuits raised him, in a course of years, to -greater wealth than he had possessed in his most prosperous days at -Genoa; and his reputation for honour and generosity equalled his -fortune. - -Among other places which he frequently visited as a merchant, was the -city of Tunis, at that time in friendship with the Venetians, though -hostile to most of the other Italian states, and especially to Genoa. As -Uberto was on a visit to one of the first men of that place at his -country-house, he saw a young Christian slave at work in irons, whose -appearance excited his attention. The youth seemed oppressed with -labour, to which his delicate frame had not been accustomed, and while -he leaned at intervals upon the instrument with which he was working, a -sigh burst from his full heart, and a tear stole down his cheek. Uberto -eyed him with tender compassion, and addressed him in Italian. The youth -eagerly caught the sounds of his native tongue, and replying to his -inquiries, informed him he was a Genoese. “And what is your name, young -man?” said Uberto. “You need not be afraid of confessing to _me_ your -birth and condition.” - -“Alas!” he answered, “I fear my captors already suspect enough to demand -a large ransom. My father is indeed one of the first men in Genoa. His -name is Adorno, and I am his only son.”—“Adorno!” Uberto checked himself -from uttering more aloud, but to himself he cried, “Thank Heaven! then I -shall be nobly revenged.” - -He took leave of the youth, and immediately went to inquire after the -corsair captain who claimed a right in young Adorno, and having found -him, demanded the price of his ransom. He learned that he was considered -as a captive of value, and that less than two thousand crowns would not -be accepted. Uberto paid the sum; and causing his servant to follow him -with a horse and a complete suit of handsome apparel, he returned to the -youth, who was working as before, and told him he was free. With his own -hands he took off his fetters, and helped him to change his dress, and -mount on horseback. The youth was tempted to think it all a dream, and -the flutter of emotion almost deprived him of the power of returning -thanks to his generous benefactor. He was soon, however, convinced of -the reality of his good fortune, by sharing the lodging and table of -Uberto. - -After a stay of some days at Tunis to despatch the remainder of his -business, Uberto departed homeward accompanied by young Adorno, who by -his pleasing manners had highly ingratiated himself with him. Uberto -kept him some time at his house, treating him with all the respect and -affection he could have shown for the son of his dearest friend. At -length, having a safe opportunity of sending him to Genoa, he gave him a -faithful servant for a conductor, fitted him out with every convenience, -slipped a purse of gold into one hand, and a letter into the other, and -thus addressed him:— - -“My dear youth, I could with much pleasure detain you longer in my -humble mansion, but I feel your impatience to revisit your friends, and -I am sensible that it would be cruelty to deprive them longer than -necessary of the joy they will receive in recovering you. Deign to -accept this provision for your voyage, and deliver this letter to your -father. _He_ probably may recollect something of me, though you are too -young to do so. Farewell; I shall not soon forget you, and I hope you -will not forget me.” Adorno poured out the effusions of a grateful and -affectionate heart, and they parted with mutual tears and embraces. - -The young man had a prosperous voyage home; and the transport with which -he was again beheld by his almost heart-broken parents may more easily -be conceived than described. After learning that he had been a captive -in Tunis, (for it was supposed that the ship in which he sailed had -foundered at sea,) “And to whom,” said old Adorno, “am I indebted for -the inestimable benefit of restoring you to my arms?”—“This letter,” -said his son, “will inform you.” He opened it, and read as follows:— - - “That son of a vile mechanic, who told you that one day you might - repent the scorn with which you treated him, has the satisfaction - of seeing his prediction accomplished. For know, proud noble! that - the deliverer of your only son from slavery is - - “_The banished_ UBERTO.” - -Adorno dropped the letter and covered his face with his hand, while his -son was displaying in the warmest language of gratitude the virtues of -Uberto, and the truly paternal kindness he had experienced from him. As -the debt could not be cancelled, Adorno resolved if possible to repay -it. He made such powerful intercessions with the other nobles, that the -sentence pronounced on Uberto was reversed, and full permission given -him to return to Genoa. In apprizing him of this event, Adorno expressed -his sense of the obligations he lay under to him, acknowledged the -genuine nobleness of his character, and requested his friendship. Uberto -returned to his country, and closed his days in peace, with the -universal esteem of his fellow-citizens. - - - - - THE POWER OF HABIT. - - -William was one day reading in a book of travels to his father, when he -came to the following relation:— - -“The Andes in South America are the highest ridge of mountains in the -known world. There is a road over them, on which, about halfway between -the summit and the foot, is a house of entertainment, where it is common -for travellers in their ascent and descent to meet. The difference of -their feelings upon the same spot is very remarkable. Those who are -descending the mountain are melting with heat, so that they can scarcely -bear any clothes upon them; while those who are ascending shiver with -cold, and wrap themselves up in the warmest garments they have.” - -“How strange this is!” cried William; “What can be the reason of it?” - -“It is,” replied his father, “a striking instance of the _power of -habit_ over the body. The cold is so intense on the top of these -mountains, that it is as much as travellers can do to keep themselves -from being frozen to death. Their bodies, therefore, become so -habituated to the sensation of cold, that every diminution of it as they -descend seems to them a degree of actual heat; and when they are got -halfway down, they feel as if they were quite in a sultry climate. On -the other hand the valleys at the foot of the mountains are so -excessively hot, that the body becomes relaxed, and sensible to the -slightest degree of cold; so that when a traveller ascends from them -toward the hills, the middle regions appear quite inclement from their -coldness.” - -“And does the same thing,” rejoined William, “always happen in crossing -high mountains?” - -“It does,” returned his father, “in a degree proportioned to their -height, and the time taken in crossing them. Indeed, a short time is -sufficient to produce similar effects. Let one boy have been playing at -rolling snowballs, and another have been roasting himself before a great -fire, and let them meet in the porch of the house;—if you ask them how -they feel, I will answer for it you will find them as different in their -accounts as the travellers on the Andes. But this is only one example of -the operation of a universal principle belonging to human nature: for -the power of habit is the same thing whatever be the circumstance which -calls it forth, whether relating to the mind or the body. - -“You may consider the story you have been reading as a sort of simile or -parable. The central station on the mountain may be compared to _middle -life_. With what different feelings is this regarded by those who bask -in the sunshine of opulence, and those who shrink under the cold blast -of penury! - -“Suppose the wealthy duke, our neighbour, were suddenly obliged to -descend to our level, and live as we do—to part with all his carriages, -sell his coach-horses, and hunters, quit his noble seat with its fine -park and gardens, dismiss all his train of servants except two or three, -and take a house like ours; what a dreadful fall it would seem to him! -how wretched it would probably make him, and how much would he be pitied -by the world! - -“On the other hand, suppose the labourer who lives in the next cottage -were unexpectedly to fall heir to an estate of a few hundreds a year, -and in consequence to get around him all the comforts and conveniences -that we possess—a commodious house to inhabit, good clothes to wear, -plenty of wholesome food and firing, servants to do all the drudgery of -the family and the like;—how all his acquaintance would congratulate -him, and what a paradise would he seem to himself to be got into! Yet -he, and the duke, and ourselves, are equally _men_, made liable by -nature to the same desires and necessities, and perhaps all equally -strong in constitution, and equally capable of supporting hardships. Is -not this fully as wonderful a difference in feeling as that on crossing -the Andes?” - -“Indeed it is,” said William. - -“And the cause of it must be exactly the same—the influence of habit.” - -“I think so.” - -“Of what importance then must it be toward a happy life, to regulate our -habits so, that in the possible changes of this world we may be more -likely to be gainers than losers!” - -“But how can this be done? Would it be right for the duke to live like -us, or us like the labourer?” - -“Certainly not. But to apply the case to persons of our middle -condition, I would have us use our advantages in such a frugal manner, -as to make them as little as possible essential to our happiness, should -fortune sink us to a lower station. For as to the chance of rising to a -higher, there is no need to prepare our habits for that—we should -readily enough accommodate our feelings to such a change. To be pleased -and satisfied with simple food, to accustom ourselves not to shrink from -the inclemencies of the seasons—to avoid indolence, and take delight in -some useful employment of the mind or body, to do as much as we can for -ourselves, and not expect to be waited upon on every small -occasion—these are the habits which will make us in some measure -independent of fortune, and secure us a moderate degree of enjoyment -under every change short of absolute want. I will tell you a story to -this purpose. - -“A London merchant had two sons, James and Richard. James, from a boy, -accustomed himself to every indulgence in his power, and when he grew -up, was quite a fine gentleman. He dressed expensively, frequented -public diversions, kept his hunter at a livery stable, and was a member -of several convivial clubs. At home, it was almost a footman’s sole -business to wait on him. He would have thought it greatly beneath him to -buckle his own shoes; and if he wanted anything at the other end of the -room, he would ring the bell, and bring the servant up two pair of -stairs, rather than rise from his chair to fetch it. He did a little -business in the counting-house on forenoons, but devoted all his time -after dinner to indolence and amusement. - -“Richard was a different character. He was plain in his appearance, and -domestic in his way of life. He gave as little trouble as possible, and -would have been ashamed to ask assistance in doing what he could easily -do for himself. He was assiduous in business, and employed his leisure -hours chiefly in reading and acquiring useful knowledge. - -“Both were still young and unsettled when their father died, leaving -behind him a very trifling property. As the young men had not capital -sufficient to follow the same line of mercantile business in which he -had been engaged, they were obliged to look out for a new plan of -maintenance, and a great reduction of expense was the first thing -requisite. This was a severe stroke to James, who found himself at once -cut off from all the pleasures and indulgences to which he was so -habituated, that he thought life of no value without them. He grew -melancholy and dejected, hazarded all his little property in lottery -tickets, and was quite beggared. Still, unable to think of retrieving -himself by industry and frugality, he accepted a commission in a -new-raised regiment ordered for the West Indies, where, soon after his -arrival, he caught a fever and died. - -“Richard, in the meantime, whose comforts were little impaired by his -change of situation, preserved his cheerfulness, and found no difficulty -in accommodating himself to his fortune. He engaged himself as a clerk -in a house his father had been connected with, and lived as frugally as -possible upon his salary. It furnished him with decent board, lodging, -and clothing, which was all he required, and his hours of leisure were -nearly as many as before. A book or a sober friend always sufficed to -procure him an agreeable evening. He gradually rose in the confidence of -his employers, who increased from time to time his salary and -emoluments. Every increase was a source of gratification to him, because -he was able to enjoy pleasures which, however, habit had not made -necessary to his comfort. In process of time he was enabled to settle -for himself, and passed through life in the enjoyment of that modest -competence which best suited his disposition.” - - - - - THE COST OF A WAR. - - -“You may remember, Oswald,” said Mr. B. to his son, “that I gave you -some time ago a notion of _the price of a victory_ to the poor souls -engaged in it.” - -“I shall not soon forget it, I assure you, sir,” replied Oswald. - -_Father._ Very well; I mean now to give you some idea _of the cost of a -war_ to the people among whom it is carried on. This may serve to abate -something of the admiration with which historians are to apt to inspire -us for great warriors and conquerors. You have heard, I doubt not, of -Louis the Fourteenth, king of France? - -_Oswald._ Oh, yes! - -_Fa._ He was entitled by his subjects _Louis le Grand_, and was compared -by them to the Cesars and Alexanders of antiquity; and with some justice -as to the extent of his power, and the use he made of it. He was the -most potent prince of his time; commanded mighty and victorious armies; -and enlarged the limits of his hereditary dominions. Louis was not -naturally a hard-hearted man; but having been taught from his cradle -that everything ought to give way to the interests of his glory, and -that this glory consisted in domineering over his neighbours, and making -conquests, he grew to be insensible to all the miseries brought on his -own and other people, in pursuit of this noble design, as he thought it. -Moreover, he was plunged in dissolute pleasures, and the delights of -pomp and splendour, from his youth; and he was ever surrounded by a -tribe of abject flatterers, who made him believe that he had a full -right, in all cases to do as he pleased. Conquest abroad and pleasure at -home, were therefore the chief business of his life. - -One evening, his minister, Louvois, came to him and said, “Sire, it is -absolutely necessary to make a desert of the _Palatinate_.” - -This is a country in Germany, on the banks of the Rhine, one of the most -populous and best-cultivated districts in that empire, filled with towns -and villages, and industrious inhabitants. - -“I should be sorry to do it,” replied the king, “for you know how much -odium we acquired throughout Europe when a part of it was laid waste -sometime ago, under Marshal Turenne.” - -“It cannot be helped, sire,” returned Louvois. “All the damage he did -has been repaired, and the country is as flourishing as ever. If we -leave it in its present state it will afford quarters to your majesty’s -enemies, and endanger your conquests. It must be entirely ruined—the -good of the service will not permit it to be otherwise.” - -“Well, then,” answered Louis, “if it must be so, you are to give orders -accordingly.” So saying, he left the cabinet, and went to assist a -magnificent festival given in honour of his favourite mistress by a -prince of the blood. - -The pitiless Louvois lost no time; but despatched a courier that very -night, with positive orders to the French generals in the Palatinate to -carry fire and desolation through the whole country—not to leave a house -or a tree standing—and to expel all the inhabitants. - -It was the midst of a rigorous winter. - -_Os._ O horrible! but surely the generals would not obey such orders? - -_Fa._ What, a general disobey the commands of his sovereign!—That would -be contrary to every maxim of the _trade_. Right and wrong are no -considerations to a military man. He is only to do as he is bid. The -French generals who were upon the spot, and must see with their own eyes -all that was done, probably felt somewhat like men on the occasion; but -the sacrifice to their duty as soldiers was so much the greater. The -commands were peremptory, and they were obeyed to a tittle. Towns and -villages were burnt to the ground; vineyards and orchards were cut down -and rooted up; sheep and cattle were killed; all the fair works of ages -were destroyed in a moment; and the smiling face of culture was turned -to a dreary waste. - -The poor inhabitants were driven from their warm and comfortable -habitations into the open fields, to confront all the inclemencies of -the season. Their furniture was burnt or pillaged, and nothing was left -them but the clothes on their backs, and the few necessaries they could -carry with them. The roads were covered with trembling fugitives, going -they knew not whither, shivering with cold and pinched with hunger. Here -an old man, dropping with fatigue, lay down to die—there a woman with a -new-born infant sunk perishing on the snow, while her husband hung over -them in all the horror of despair. - -_Os._ O, what a scene! Poor creatures! What became of them at last? - -_Fa._ Such of them as did not perish on the road got to the neighbouring -towns, where they were received with all the hospitality that such -calamitous times would afford; but they were beggared for life. -Meantime, their country for many a league round displayed no other sight -than that of black smoking ruins in the midst of silence and desolation. - -_Os._ I hope, however, that such things do not often happen in war. - -_Fa._ Not often, perhaps, to the same extent: but in some degree they -must take place in every war. A village which would afford a favourable -post to the enemy is always burnt without hesitation. A country which -can no longer be maintained, is cleared of all its provision and forage -before it is abandoned, lest the enemy should have the advantage of -them; and the poor inhabitants are left to subsist as they can. Crops of -corn are trampled down by armies in their march, or devoured while green -as fodder for their horses. Pillage, robbery and murder, are always -going on in the outskirts of the best-disciplined camp. Then consider -what must happen in every siege. On the first approach of the enemy, all -the buildings in the suburbs of a town are demolished, and all the trees -in gardens and public walks are cut down, lest they should afford -shelter to the besiegers. As the siege goes on, bombs, hot balls, and -cannon-shot, are continually flying about; by which the greatest part of -a town is ruined or laid in ashes, and many of the innocent people -killed or maimed. If the resistance is obstinate, famine and pestilence -are sure to take place; and if the garrison holds out to the last, and -the town is taken by storm, it is generally given up to be pillaged by -the enraged and licentious soldiery. - -It would be easy to bring too many examples of cruelty exercised upon a -conquered country, even in very late times, when war is said to be -carried on with so much humanity; but, indeed, how can it be otherwise? -The art of war is essentially that of destruction, and it is impossible -there should be a mild and merciful way of murdering and ruining one’s -fellow-creatures. Soldiers, as men, are often humane; but war must ever -be cruel. Though Homer has filled his Iliad with the exploits of -fighting heroes, yet he makes Jupiter address Mars, the god of War, in -terms of the utmost abhorrence:— - - “Of all the gods who tread the spangled skies, - Thou most unjust, most odious in our eyes; - In human discord is thy dire delight, - The waste of slaughter, and the rage of fight: - No bound, no law, thy fiery temper quells.”—POPE. - -_Os._ Surely, as war is so bad a thing, there might be some way of -preventing it. - -_Fa._ Alas! I fear mankind have been too long accustomed to it, and it -is too agreeable to their bad passions, easily to be laid aside, -whatever miseries it may bring upon them. But, in the meantime, let us -correct our own ideas of the matter, and no longer lavish admiration -upon such a pest of the human race as a _Conqueror_, how brilliant -soever his qualities may be; nor ever think that a profession which -binds a man to be the servile instrument of cruelty and injustice is an -_honourable_ calling. - -[Illustration: - - The Gain of a Loss, p. 344. - - EVENING XXVIII. -] - - - - - GREAT MEN. - - -“I will show you a _great man_,” said Mr. C. one day to his son, at the -time the duke of Bridgewater’s canal was making. He accordingly took him -to a place where several workmen were employed in raising a prodigious -mound, on the top of which the canal was to be carried across a deep -valley. In the midst of them was a very plain-dressed man, awkward in -his gestures, uncouth in his appearance, and rather heavy in his -countenance—in short, a mere countryman like the rest. He had a plan in -his hand and was giving directions to the people around him, and -surveying the whole labour with profound attention. “This, Arthur,” said -Mr. C., “is the _great Mr. Brindley_.” - -“What,” cried Arthur in surprise, “is that a _great man_?” - -_Mr. C._ Yes, a very great man. Why are you surprised? - -_Ar._ I don’t know, but I should have expected a great man to have -looked very differently. - -_Mr. C._ It matters little how a man looks, if he can perform great -things. That person, without any advantages of education, has become, by -the force of his own genius, the first engineer of the age. He is doing -things that were never done or even thought of in this country before. -He pierces hills, makes bridges over valleys, and aqueducts across -navigable rivers, and, in short, is likely to change the whole face of -the country, and to introduce improvements the value of which cannot be -calculated. When at a loss how to bring about any of his designs, he -does not go to other people for assistance, but he consults the -wonderful faculties of his own mind, and finds a way to overcome his -difficulties. He looks like a rustic it is true, but he has a soul of -the first order, such as is not granted to one out of millions of the -human race. - -_Ar._ But are all men of extraordinary abilities properly _great men_? - -_Mr. C._ The word has been variously used; but I would call every one a -great man _who does great things by means of his own powers_. Great -abilities are often employed about trifles, or indolently wasted without -any considerable exertion at all. To make a great man, the object -pursued should be large and important, and vigour and perseverance -should be employed in the pursuit. - -_Ar._ All the great men I remember to have read about were kings, or -generals, or prime ministers, or in some high station or other. - -_Mr. C._ It is natural they should stand foremost in the list of great -men, because the sphere in which they act is an extensive one, and what -they do has a powerful influence over numbers of mankind. Yet those that -invent useful arts, or discover important truths which may promote the -comfort and happiness of unborn generations in the most distant parts of -the world, act a still more important part; and their claim to merit is -generally more undoubted than that of the former, because what they do -is more certainly their own. - -In order to estimate the real share a man in a high station has had in -the great events which have been attributed to him, strip him in your -imagination of all the external advantages of rank and power, and see -what a figure he would have made without them; or fancy a common man put -in his place, and judge whether affairs would have gone on in the same -track. Augustus Cesar, and Louis XIV. of France, have both been called -great princes; but deprive them of their crown, and they will both -dwindle into obscure and trivial characters. But no change of -circumstances could reduce Alfred the Great to the level of a common -man. The two former could sink into their graves, and yield their power -to a successor, and scarcely be missed; but Alfred’s death changed the -fate of his kingdom. Thus with Epaminondas fell all the glory and -greatness of the Theban state. He first raised it to consequence, and it -could not survive him. - -_Ar._ Was not Czar Peter a great man? - -_Mr. C._ I am not sure he deserves that title. Being a despotic prince, -at the head of a vast empire, he could put into execution whatever plans -he was led to adopt, and these plans in general were grand and -beneficial to his country. But the means he used were such as the master -of the lives and fortunes of millions could easily employ, and there was -more of brutal force than of skill and judgment in the manner in which -he pursued his designs. Still he was an _extraordinary_ man; and the -resolution of leaving his throne, in order to acquire in foreign -countries the knowledge necessary to rescue his own from barbarism, was -a feature of greatness. A truly great prince, however, would have -employed himself better than in learning to build boats at Saardam. - -_Ar._ What was Alexander the Great? - -_Mr. C._ A great conqueror, but not a great man. It was easy for him, -with the well-disciplined army of Greeks which he received from his -father Philip, to overrun the unwarlike kingdoms of Asia, and defeat the -Great King, as the king of Persia was called: but though he showed some -marks of an elevated mind, he seems to have possessed few qualities -which could have raised him to distinction had he been born in an humble -station. Compare his fugitive grandeur, supported by able ministers and -generals, to the power which his tutor the great Aristotle, merely -through the force of his own genius, exercised over men’s minds -throughout the most civilized part of the world for two thousand years -after his death. Compare also the part which has been acted in the world -by the Spanish monarchs, the masters of immense possessions in Europe -and America, to that by Christopher Columbus, the Genoese navigator, who -could have it inscribed on his tombstones that he _gave_ a new world to -the kingdom of Castile and Aragon. These comparisons will teach you to -distinguish between greatness of character and greatness of station, -which are too often confounded. He who governs a great country may in -one sense be called a great king; but this is no more than an -appellation belonging to rank, like that of the Great Mogul, or the -Grand Seignor, and infers no more personal grandeur than the title of -Mr. Such-a-one, the Great Grocer, or Great Brewer. - -_Ar._ Must not great men be good men, too? - -_Mr. C._ If that man is great who does great things, it will not follow -that goodness must necessarily be one of his qualities, since that -chiefly refers to the end and intentions of actions. Julius Cesar, and -Cromwell, for example, were men capable of the greatest exploits; but -directing them, not to the public good, but to the purposes of their own -ambition, in pursuit of which they violated all the duties of morality, -they have obtained the title of _great bad men_. A person, however, -cannot be great at all without possessing many virtues. He must be firm, -steady, and diligent, superior to difficulties and dangers, and equally -superior to the allurements of ease and pleasure. For want of these -moral qualities, many persons of exalted minds and great talents have -failed to deserve the title of great men. It is in vain that the French -poets and historians have decorated Henry the Fourth with the name of -Great; his facility of disposition and uncontrollable love of pleasure -have caused him to forfeit his claim to it in the estimation of -impartial judges. As power is essential to greatness, a man cannot be -great without _power over himself_, which is the highest kind of power. - -_Ar._ After all, is it not better to be a good man than a great one? - -_Mr. C._ There is more merit in being a good man, because it is what we -make ourselves, whereas the talents that produce greatness are the gift -of nature; though they may be improved by our own efforts, they cannot -be acquired. But if goodness is the proper object of our love and -esteem, greatness deserves our high admiration and respect. This Mr. -Brindley before us is by all accounts a worthy man, but it is not for -this reason I have brought you to see him. I wish you to look upon him -as one of those sublime and uncommon objects of nature which fill the -mind with a certain awe and astonishment. Next to being great oneself, -it is desirable to have a true relish for greatness. - - - - - THE FOUR SISTERS. - - -I am one of four sisters; and having some reason to think myself not -well used either by them or by the world, I beg leave to lay before you -a sketch of our history and characters. You will not wonder there should -be frequent bickerings among us, when I tell you that in our infancy we -were continually fighting; and so great was the noise, and din, and -confusion, in our continual struggles to get uppermost, that it was -impossible for anybody to live among us in such a scene of tumult and -disorder. These brawls, however, by a powerful interposition, were put -an end to; our proper place was assigned to each of us, and we had -strict orders not to encroach on the limits of each other’s property, -but to join our common offices for the good of the whole family. - -My first sister (I call her the first, because we have generally allowed -her the precedence in rank) is, I must acknowledge, of a very active, -sprightly disposition; quick and lively, and has more brilliancy than -any of us; but she is hot: everything serves for fuel to her fury when -it is once raised to a certain degree, and she is so mischievous -whenever she gets the upper hand, that notwithstanding her aspiring -disposition, if I may freely speak my mind, she is calculated to make a -good servant, but a very bad mistress. - -I am almost ashamed to mention that, notwithstanding her seeming -delicacy, she has a most voracious appetite, and devours everything that -comes in her way; though, like other eager thin people, she does no -credit to her keeping. Many a time she has consumed the product of my -barns and storehouses, but it is all lost upon her. She has even been -known to get into an oil-shop or tallow-chandler’s, when everybody was -asleep, and lick up with the utmost greediness whatever she found there. -Indeed, all prudent people are aware of her tricks, and though she is -admitted into the best families, they take care to watch her very -narrowly. I should not forget to mention, that my sister was once in a -country where she was treated with uncommon respect; she was lodged in a -sumptuous building, and had a number of young women of the best families -to attend on her, and feed her, and watch over her health: in short, she -was looked upon as something more than a common mortal. But she always -behaved with great severity to her maids, and if any of them were -negligent of their duty, or made a slip in their own conduct, nothing -would serve her but burying the poor girls alive. I have myself had some -dark hints and intimations from the most respectable authority, that she -will some time or other make an end of me. You need not wonder, -therefore, if I am jealous of her motions. - -The next sister I shall mention to you has so far the appearance of -modesty and humility, that she generally seeks the lowest place. She is -indeed of a very yielding easy temper, generally cool, and often wears a -sweet placid smile upon her countenance; but she is easily ruffled, and -when worked up, as she often is, by another sister, whom I shall mention -to you by-and-by, she becomes a perfect fury. Indeed, she is so apt to -swell with sudden gusts of passion, that she is suspected at times to be -a little lunatic. Between her and my first-mentioned sister, there is a -more settled antipathy than between the Theban pair; and they never meet -without making efforts to destroy one another. With me she is always -ready to form the most intimate union, but it is not always to my -advantage. There goes a story in our family, that when we were all -young, she once attempted to drown me. She actually kept me under water -a considerable time, and though at length I got my head above water, my -constitution is generally thought to have been essentially injured by it -ever since. From that time she has made no such atrocious attempt, but -she is continually making encroachments upon my property, and even when -she appears most gentle, she is very insidious, and has such an -undermining way with her, that her insinuating arts are as much to be -dreaded as open violence. I might indeed remonstrate, but it is a known -part of her character, that nothing makes any lasting impression upon -her. - -As to my third sister, I have already mentioned the ill office she does -me with my last-mentioned one, who is entirely under her influence. She -is besides of a very uncertain, variable temper, sometimes hot, and -sometimes cold, nobody knows where to have her. Her lightness is ever -proverbial, and she has nothing to give those who live with her more -substantial than the smiles of courtiers. I must add, that she keeps in -her service three or four rough blustering bullies, with puffed cheeks, -who when they are let loose, think they have nothing to do but drive the -world before them. She sometimes joins with my first sister, and their -violence occasionally throws me into such a trembling, that, though -naturally of a firm constitution, I shake as if I was in an ague fit. - -As to myself, I am of a steady, solid temper; not shining, indeed, but -kind and liberal, quite a Lady Bountiful. Every one tastes of my -beneficence, and I am of so grateful a disposition, that I have been -known to return a hundred-fold for any present that has been made me. I -feed and clothe all my children, and afford a welcome home to the wretch -who has no other. I bear with unrepining patience all manner of ill -usage; I am trampled upon, I am torn and wounded with the most cutting -strokes; I am pillaged of the treasures hidden in my most secret -chambers; notwithstanding which I am always ready to return good for -evil, and am continually subservient to the pleasures or advantage of -others; yet so ungrateful is the world, that because I do not possess -all the airiness and activity of my sisters, I am stigmatized as dull -and heavy. Every sordid, miserly fellow is called by way of derision one -of my children; and if a person on entering a room does but turn his -eyes upon me, he is thought stupid and mean, and not fit for good -company. I have the satisfaction, however, of finding that people always -incline towards me as they grow older; and that those who seemed proudly -to disdain any affinity with me, are content to sink at last into my -bosom. You will probably wish to have some account of my person. I am -not a regular beauty; some of my features are rather harsh and -prominent, when viewed separately; but my countenance has so much -variety of expression, and so many different aspects of elegance, that -those who study my face with attention find out continually new charms; -and it may be truly said of me, what Titus says of his mistress, and for -a much longer space:— - - “Pendant cinq ans entières tous les jours je la vois, - Et crois toujours la voir pour la première fois.” - - “For five whole years each day she meets my view, - Yet every day I seem to see her new.” - -Though I have been so long a mother, I have still a surprising air of -youth and freshness, which is assisted by all the advantages of -well-chosen ornament, for I dress well, and according to the season. - -This is what I have to say chiefly of myself and my sisters. To a person -of your sagacity it will be unnecessary for me to sign my name. Indeed, -one who becomes acquainted with any one of the family, cannot be at a -loss to discover the rest, notwithstanding the difference in our -features and characters. - - - - - THE GAIN OF A LOSS. - - -Philander possessed a considerable place about the court, which obliged -him to live in a style of show and expense. He kept high company, made -frequent entertainments, and brought up a family of several daughters in -all the luxurious elegance which his situation and prospects seemed to -justify. His wife had balls and routs at her own house, and frequented -all the places of fashionable amusement. After some years passed in this -manner, a sudden change of parties threw Philander out of his -employment, and at once ruined all his plans of future advancement. -Though his place had been lucrative, the expense it led him into more -than compensated the profits, so that, instead of saving anything, he -had involved himself considerably in debt. His creditors, on hearing of -the change in his affairs, became so importunate, that, in order to -satisfy them, he was compelled to sell a moderate paternal estate in a -remote county, reserving nothing out of it but one small farm. Philander -had strength of mind sufficient to enable him at once to decide on the -best plan to be followed in his present circumstances; instead, -therefore, of wasting his time and remaining property in fruitless -attempts to interest his town friends in his favour, he sold off his -fine furniture, and without delay carried down his whole family to the -little spot he could still call his own, where he commenced a life of -industry and strict frugality in the capacity of a small farmer. It was -long before the female part of his household could accommodate -themselves to a mode of living so new to them, and so destitute of all -that they had been accustomed to regard as essential to their very -existence. At length, however, mutual affection and natural good sense, -and above all, necessity, brought them to acquiesce tolerably in their -situation, and to engage in earnest in its duties. Occasional regrets, -however, could not but remain; and the silent sigh would tell whither -their thoughts were fled. - -Philander perceived it, but took care never to embitter their feelings -by harsh chidings or untimely admonitions. But on the anniversary of -their taking possession of the farmhouse, he assembled them under a -spreading tree that grew before their little garden, and while the -summer’s sun gilded all the objects around, he thus addressed them:— - -“My dear partners in every fortune, if the revolution of a year has had -the effect on your mind that it has on mine, I may congratulate you on -your condition. I am now able with a firm tone to ask myself, what have -I lost? and I feel so much more to be pleased with than to regret, that -the question gives me rather comfort than sorrow. Look at yon splendid -luminary, and tell me if its gradual appearance above the horizon on a -fine morning, shedding light and joy over the wide creation, be not a -grander as well as a more heart-cheering spectacle than that of the most -magnificent saloon, illuminated with dazzling lustres. Is not the spirit -of the wholesome breeze, fresh from the mountain, and perfumed with wild -flowers, infinitely more invigorating to the senses than the air of the -crowded drawing-room, loaded with scented powder and essences? Did we -relish so well the disguised dishes with which a French cook strove to -whet our sickly appetites, as we do our draught of new milk, our -homemade loaf, and the other articles of our simple fare? Was our sleep -so sweet after midnight suppers and the long vigils of cards, as it is -now, that early rising and the exercises of the day prepare us for -closing our eyes as soon as night has covered everything with her -friendly veil? Shall we complain that our clothes at present only answer -the purpose of keeping us warm, when we recollect all the care and pains -it cost us to keep pace with the fashion, and the mortification we -underwent at being outshone by our superiors in fortune? Did not the -vexation of insolent and unfaithful servants overbalance the trouble we -now find in waiting on ourselves? We may regret the loss of society; -but, alas! what was the society of a crowd of visiters who regarded us -merely as the keepers of a place of public resort, and whom we visited -with similar sensations? If we formerly could command leisure to -cultivate our minds and acquire polite accomplishments, did we, in -reality, apply much leisure to these purposes, and is not our time now -filled more to our satisfaction by employments of which we cannot doubt -the usefulness? not to say that the moral virtues we are now called upon -to exercise afford the truest cultivation to our minds. What, then, have -we lost? In improved health, the charms of a beautiful country, a decent -supply of all real wants, and the love and kind offices of each other, -do not we still possess enough for worldly happiness? We have lost, -indeed, a certain rank and station in life; but have we not acquired -another as truly respectable? We are debarred the prospects of future -advancement; but if our present condition is a good one, why need we -lament that it is likely to be lasting? The next anniversary will find -us more in harmony with our situation than even the present. Look -forward, then, cheerily. The storm is past. We have been shipwrecked, -but we have only exchanged a cumbrous vessel for a light pinnace, and we -are again on our course. Much of our cargo has been thrown overboard, -but no one loses what he does not miss.” - -Thus saying, Philander tenderly embraced his wife and daughters. The -tear stood in their eyes, but consolation beamed on their hearts. - - - - - WISE MEN. - - -“You may remember, Arthur,” said Mr. C. to his son, “that, sometime ago, -I endeavoured to give you a notion what a _great man_ was. Suppose we -now talk a little about _wise men_?” - -“With all my heart, sir,” replied Arthur. - -_Mr. C._ A wise man, then, is _he who pursues the best ends by the -properest means_. But as this definition may be rather too abstract to -give you a clear comprehension of the thing, I shall open it to you by -examples. What do you think is the best end a man can pursue in life? - -_Ar._ I suppose to make himself happy. - -_Mr. C._ True. And as we are so constituted that we cannot be happy -ourselves without making others happy, the best end of living is to -produce as much general happiness as lies in our power. - -_Ar._ But that is _goodness_, is it not? - -_Mr. C._ It is; and therefore wisdom includes goodness. The wise man -always intends what is good, and employs skill or judgment in attaining -it. If he were to pursue the best things weakly, he could not be wise; -any more than if he were to pursue bad or indifferent things -judiciously. One of the wisest men I know is our neighbour Mr. Freeland. - -_Ar._ What, the justice? - -_Mr. C._ Yes, few men have succeeded more perfectly in securing their -own happiness, and promoting that of those around them. Born to a -competent estate, he early settled upon it, and began to improve it. He -reduced all his expenses within his income, and indulged no tastes that -could lead him into excesses of any kind. At the same time he did not -refuse any proper and innocent pleasures that came in his way; and his -house has always been distinguished for decent cheerfulness and -hospitality. He applied himself with diligence to mending the morals and -improving the condition of his dependants. He studied attentively the -laws of his country, and qualified himself for administering justice -with skill and fidelity. No one discovers sooner where the right lies, -or takes surer means to enforce it. He is the person to whom the -neighbours of all degrees apply for counsel in their difficulties. His -conduct is always consistent and uniform—never violent, never rash, -never in extremes, but always deliberating before he acts, and then -acting with firmness and vigour. The peace and good order of the whole -neighbourhood materially depend upon him; and upon every emergency his -opinion is the first thing inquired after. He enjoys the respect of the -rich, the confidence of the poor, and the good-will of both. - -_Ar._ But I have heard some people reckon old Harpy as wise a man as he. - -_Mr. C._ It is a great abuse of words to call Harpy a wise man. He is of -another species—_a cunning man_—who is to a wise man what an ape is to a -human creature—a bad and contemptible resemblance. - -_Ar._ He is very clever, though; is he not? - -_Mr. C._ Harpy has a good natural understanding, a clear head, and a -cool temper; but his only end in life has been to raise a fortune by -base and dishonest means. Being thoroughly acquainted with all the -tricks and artifices of the law, he employed his knowledge to take undue -advantages of all who intrusted him with the management of their -affairs; and under colour of assisting them, he contrived to get -possession of all their property. Thus he has become extremely rich, -lives in a great house with a number of servants, is even visited by -persons of rank, yet is universally detested and despised, and has not a -friend in the world. He is conscious of this, and is wretched. Suspicion -and remorse continually prey upon his mind. Of all whom he has cheated, -he has deceived himself the most; and has proved himself as much a fool -in the end he has pursued, as a knave in the means. - -_Ar._ Are not men of great learning and knowledge wise men? - -_Mr. C._ They are so, if that knowledge and learning are employed to -make them happier and more useful. But it too often happens that their -speculations are of a kind neither beneficial to themselves nor to -others; and they often neglect to regulate their tempers while they -improve their understandings. Some men of great learning have been the -most arrogant and quarrelsome of mortals, and as foolish and absurd in -their conduct as the most untaught of their species. - -_Ar._ But are not a philosopher and a wise man the same thing? - -_Mr. C._ A philosopher is properly a _lover of wisdom_; and if he -searches after it with a right disposition, he will probably find it -oftener than other men. But he must practise as well as know, in order -to be truly wise. - -_Ar._ I have read of the seven wise men of Greece. What were they? - -_Mr. C._ They were men distinguished for their knowledge and talents, -and some of them for their virtue, too. But wiser than them all was -Socrates, whose chief praise it was that he turned philosophy from vain -and fruitless disputation to the regulation of life and manners, and -that he was himself a great example of the wisdom he taught. - -_Ar._ Have we had any person lately very remarkable for wisdom? - -_Mr. C._ In my opinion, few wiser men have ever existed than the late -Dr. Franklin, the American. From the low station of journeyman-printer -to the elevated one of ambassador plenipotentiary from his country to -the court of France, he always distinguished himself by sagacity in -discovering, and good sense in practising, what was most beneficial to -himself and others. He was a great natural philosopher, and made some -very brilliant discoveries; but it was ever his favourite purpose to -turn everything to use, and to extract some practical advantage from his -speculations. He thoroughly understood _common life_, and all that -conduces to its comfort; and he has left behind him treasures of -domestic wisdom, superior, perhaps, to any of the boasted maxims of -antiquity. He never let slip any opportunity of improving his knowledge, -whether of great things or of small; and was equally ready to converse -with a day-labourer and a prime-minister upon topics from which he might -derive instruction. He rose to wealth, but obtained it by honourable -means. He prolonged his life by temperance to a great age, and enjoyed -it to the last. Few men knew more than he, and none employed knowledge -to better purposes. - -_Ar._ A man, then, I suppose, cannot be wise without knowing a great -deal? - -_Mr. C._ If he knows everything belonging to his station, it is wisdom -enough; and a peasant may be as truly wise in his place as a statesman -or a legislator. You remember that fable of Gay, in which a shepherd -gives lessons of wisdom to a philosopher. - -_Ar._ O yes—it begins:— - - “Remote from cities lived a swain.” - -_Mr. C._ True. He is represented as drawing all his maxims of conduct -from observation of brute animals. And they, indeed, have universally -that character of wisdom, of pursuing the ends best suited to them by -the properest means. But this is owing to the impulse of unerring -instinct. Man has reason for his guide, and his wisdom can only be the -consequence of the right use of his reason. This will lead him to -virtue. Thus the fable we have been mentioning rightly concludes with— - - “’Thy fame is just,’ the sage replies; - ‘Thy _virtue_ proves thee _truly wise_.’” - -[Illustration: - - EVENING XXIX. -] - - - - - A FRIEND IN NEED. - - -George Cornish, a native of London, was brought up to the sea. After -making several voyages to the East Indies in the capacity of mate, he -obtained the command of a ship in the country-trade there, and passed -many years of his life in sailing from one port to another of the -Company’s different settlements, and residing at intervals on shore with -the superintendence of their commercial concerns. Having by these means -raised a moderate fortune, and being now beyond the meridian of life, he -felt a strong desire of returning to his native country, and seeing his -family and friends, concerning whom he had received no tidings for a -long time. He realized his property, settled his affairs, and taking his -passage for England, arrived in the Downs after an absence of sixteen -years. - -He immediately repaired to London, and went to the house of an only -brother whom he had left possessed of a genteel place in a public -office. He found that his brother was dead, and the family broken up; -and he was directed to the house of one of his nieces, who was married -and settled at a small distance from town. On making himself known, he -was received with great respect and affection by the married niece, and -a single sister who resided with her; to which good reception the idea -of his bringing back with him a large fortune did not a little -contribute. They pressed him in the most urgent manner to take up his -abode there, and omitted nothing that could testify their dutiful regard -to so near a relation. On his part, he was sincerely glad to see them, -and presented them with some valuable Indian commodities which he had -brought with him. They soon fell into conversation concerning the family -events that had taken place during his long absence. Mutual condolences -passed on the death of the father; the mother had been dead long before. -The captain, in the warmth of his heart, declared his intention of -befriending the survivors of the family, and his wishes of seeing the -second sister as comfortably settled in the world as the first seemed to -be. - -“But,” said he, “are you two the only ones left? What is become of my -little smiling playfellow Amelia? I remember her as if it were -yesterday, coming behind my chair, and giving me a sly pull, and then -running away that I might follow her for a kiss. I should be sorry if -anything had happened to her.”—“Alas! sir,” said the eldest niece, “she -has been the cause of an infinite deal of trouble to her friends! She -was always a giddy girl, and her misconduct has proved her ruin. It -would be happy if we could all forget her!”—“What, then,” said the -uncle, “has she dishonoured herself? Poor creature!”—“I cannot say,” -replied the niece, “that she has done so in the worst sense of the word; -but she has disgraced herself and her family by a hasty foolish match -with one beneath her, and it is ended, as might have been expected, in -poverty and wretchedness.”—“I am glad,” returned the captain, “that it -is no worse; for though I much disapprove of improper matches, yet young -girls may fall into still greater evils, and where there is no crime, -there can be no irreparable disgrace. But who was the man, and what did -my brother say to it?”—“Why, sir, I cannot say but it was partly my -father’s own fault; for he took a sort of liking to the young man, who -was a drawing-master employed in the family, and would not forbid him -the house, after we had informed him of the danger of an attachment -between Amelia and him. So when it was too late, he fell into a violent -passion about it, which had no other effect than to drive the girl -directly into her lover’s arms. They married, and soon fell into -difficulties. My father of course would do nothing for them; and when he -died, he not only disinherited her, but made us promise no longer to -look upon her as a sister.”—“And you _did_ make that promise?” said the -captain, in a tone of surprise and displeasure. “We could not disobey -our parent,” replied the other sister; “but we have several times sent -her relief in her necessities, though it was improper for us to see -her.”—“And pray, what has become of her at last—where is she -now?”—“Really, she and her husband have shifted their lodgings so often, -that it is sometime since we heard anything about them.”—“Sometime! how -long?”—“Perhaps half a year or more.”—“Poor outcast!” cried the captain, -in a sort of muttered half-voice; “_I_ have made no promise, however, to -renounce thee. Be pleased, madam,” he continued, addressing himself -gravely to the married niece, “to favour me with the last direction you -had to this unfortunate sister.” She blushed and looked confused; and at -length, after a good deal of searching, presented it to her uncle. “But, -my dear sir,” said she, “you will not think of leaving us to-day? My -servant shall make all the inquiries you choose, and save you the -trouble; and to-morrow you can ride to town, and do as you think -proper.”—“My good niece,” said the captain, “I am but an indifferent -sleeper, and I am afraid things would run in my head and keep me awake. -Besides, I am naturally impatient, and love to do my business myself. -You will excuse me.”—So saying, he took up his hat, and without much -ceremony, went out of the house, and took the road to town on foot, -leaving his two nieces somewhat disconcerted. - -When he arrived, he went without delay to the place mentioned, which was -a by-street near Soho. The people who kept the lodgings informed him, -that the persons he inquired after had left them several months, and -they did not know what was become of them. This threw the captain into -great perplexity; but while he was considering what he should do next, -the woman of the house recollected that Mr. Bland (that was the -drawing-master’s name) had been employed at a certain school, where -information about him might possibly be obtained. Captain Cornish -hastened away to the place, and was informed by the master of the school -that such a man had, indeed, been engaged there, but had ceased to -attend for some time past. “He was a very well-behaved, industrious -young man,” added the master, “but in distressed circumstances, which -prevented him from making that genteel appearance which we expect in all -who attend our school; so I was obliged to dismiss him. It was a great -force upon my _feelings_, I assure you, sir, to do so; but you know the -thing could not be helped.” The captain eyed him with indignant -contempt, and said, “I suppose, then, sir, your _feelings_ never -suffered you to inquire where this poor creature lodged, or what became -of him afterward?”—“As to that,” replied the master, “every man knows -his own business best, and my time is fully taken up with my own -concerns; but I believe I have a note of the lodgings he then -occupied—here it is.” The captain took it, and turning on his heel, -withdrew in silence. - -He posted away to the place, but there, too, had the mortification of -learning that he was too late. The people, however, told him that they -believed he might find the family he was seeking in a neighbouring -alley, at a lodging up three pair of stairs. The captain’s heart sunk -within him; however, taking a boy as a guide, he proceeded immediately -to the spot. On going up the narrow creaking staircase, he met a man -coming down with a bed on his shoulders. At the top of the landing stood -another with a bundle of blankets and sheets. A woman with a child in -her arms was expostulating with him, and he heard her exclaim, “Cruel! -not to leave me _one_ bed for myself and my poor children!”—“Stop,” said -the captain to the man, “set down those things.” The man hesitated. The -captain renewed his command in a peremptory tone, and then advanced -towards the woman. They looked earnestly at each other. Through her pale -and emaciated features he saw something of his little smiler; and at -length, in a faint voice, he addressed her, “Are you Amelia -Cornish?”—“That _was_ my name,” she replied. “I am your uncle,” he -cried, clasping her in his arms, and sobbing as if his heart would -break. “My uncle!” said she, and fainted. He was just able to set her -down on the only remaining chair, and take her child from her. Two other -young children came running up, and began to scream with terror. Amelia -recovered herself. “Oh, sir, what a situation you see me in!”—“A -situation, indeed!” said he. “Poor forsaken creature! but you have _one_ -friend left!” - -He then asked what was become of her husband? She told him, that having -fatigued himself with walking every day to a great distance for a little -employment that scarcely afforded them bread, he had fallen ill, and was -now in an hospital, and that after having been obliged to sell most of -their little furniture and clothes for present subsistence, their -landlord had just seized their only remaining bed for some arrears of -rent. The captain immediately discharged the debt, and causing the bed -to be brought up again, dismissed the man. He then entered into a -conversation with his niece about the events that had befallen her. -“Alas! sir,” said she, “I am sensible I was greatly to blame in -disobeying my father, and leaving his roof as I did; but perhaps -something might be alleged in my excuse—at least, years of calamity and -distress may be an expiation. As to my husband, however, he has never -given me the least cause of complaint—he has ever been kind and good, -and what we have suffered has been through misfortune, and not fault. To -be sure, when we married, we did not know how a family was to be -maintained. His was a poor employment, and sickness and other accidents -soon brought us to a state of poverty, from which we could never -retrieve ourselves. He, poor man! was never idle when he could help it, -and denied himself every indulgence in order to provide for the wants of -me and the children. I did my part too as well as I was able. But my -father’s unrelenting severity made me quite heart-broken; and though my -sisters two or three times gave us a little relief in our pressing -necessities—for nothing else could have made me ask in the manner I -did—yet they would never permit me to see them, and for some time past -have entirely abandoned us. I thought Heaven had abandoned us too. The -hour of extremest distress was come; but you have been sent for our -comfort.”—“And your comfort, please God! I will be,” cried the captain -with energy. “You are my own dear child, and your little ones shall be -mine too. Dry up your tears—better days I hope, are approaching.” - -Evening was now coming on, and it was too late to think of changing -lodgings. The captain procured a neighbour to go out for some provisions -and other necessaries, and then took his leave, with a promise of being -with his niece early the next morning. Indeed, as he proposed going to -pay a visit to her husband, she was far from wishing to detain him -longer. He went directly thence to the hospital, and having got access -to the apothecary, begged to be informed of the real state of his -patient, Bland. The apothecary told him that he laboured under a slow -fever, attended with extreme dejection of spirits, but that there were -no signs of urgent danger. “If you will allow me to see him,” said the -captain, “I believe I shall be able to administer a cordial more -effectual, perhaps, than all your medicines.” He was shown up to the -ward where the poor man lay, and, seated by his bedside, “Mr. Bland,” -said he, “I am a stranger to you, but I come to bring you some news of -your family.” The sick man roused himself, as it were, from a stupor, -and fixed his eyes in silence on the captain. He proceeded—“Perhaps you -may have heard of an uncle that your wife had in the East Indies—he is -come home, and—and—I am he.” Upon this he eagerly stretched out his -hand, and taking that of Bland, which was thrust out of the bedclothes -to meet it, gave it a cordial shake. The sick man’s eyes glistened—he -grasped the captain’s hand with all his remaining strength, and drawing -it to his mouth, kissed it with fervour. All he could say was, “God -bless you!—be kind to poor Amelia!”—“I will—I will,” cried the captain, -“I will be a father to you all. Cheer up—keep up your spirits—all will -be well.” He then, with a kind look and another shake of the hand, -wished him a good night, and left the poor man lightened at once of half -his disease. - -The captain went home to the coffee-house where he lodged, got a light -supper, and went early to bed. After meditating sometime with heartfelt -satisfaction on the work of the day, he fell into a sweet sleep, which -lasted till daybreak. The next morning early he rose and sallied forth -in search of furnished lodgings. After some inquiry, he met with a -commodious set, in a pleasant airy situation, for which he agreed. He -then drove to Amelia, and found her and her children neat and clean, and -as well dressed as their poor wardrobe would admit. He embraced them -with the utmost affection, and rejoiced Amelia’s heart with a favourable -account of her husband. He then told them to prepare for a ride with -him. The children were overjoyed at the proposal, and they accompanied -him down to the coach in high spirits. Amelia scarcely knew what to -think or expect. They drove first to a warehouse for ready-made linen, -where the captain made Amelia furnish herself with a complete set of -everything necessary for present use for the children and herself, not -forgetting some shirts for her husband. Thence they went to a clothes -shop, where the little boy was supplied with a jacket and trowsers, a -hat and great coat, and the girl with another great coat and a -bonnet—both were made as happy as happy could be. They were next all -furnished with new shoes. In short, they had not proceeded far, before -the mother and three children were all in complete new habiliments, -decent but not fine; while the old ones were all tied up in a great -bundle, and destined for some family still poorer than they had been. - -The captain then drove to the lodgings he had taken, and which he had -directed to be put in thorough order. He led Amelia upstairs, who knew -not whither she was going. He brought her into a handsome parlour, and -seated her in a chair. “This, my dear,” said he, “is your house. I hope -you will let me now and then come and see you in it?” Amelia turned pale -and could not speak. At length, a flood of tears came to her relief, and -she suddenly threw herself at her uncle’s feet, and poured out thanks -and blessings in a broken voice. He raised her, and kindly kissing her -and her children, slipped a purse of gold into her hand, and hurried -downstairs. - -He next went to the hospital, and found Mr. Bland sitting up in bed, and -taking some food with apparent pleasure. He sat down by him. “God bless -you! sir,” said Bland, “I see now it is all a reality, and not a dream. -Your figure has been haunting me all night, and I have scarcely been -able to satisfy myself whether I had really seen and spoke to you, or -whether it was a fit of delirium. Yet my spirits have been lightened, -and I have now been eating with a relish I have not experienced for many -days past. But may I ask how is my poor Amelia and my little -ones?”—“They are well and happy, my good friend;” said the captain, “and -I hope you will soon be so along with them.” The apothecary came up and -felt his patient’s pulse. “You are a lucky doctor, indeed, sir,” said he -to Captain Cornish, “you have cured the poor man of his fever. His pulse -is as calm as my own.” The captain consulted him about the safety of -removing him; and the apothecary thought that there would be no hazard -in doing it that very day. The captain waited the arrival of the -physician, who confirmed the same opinion. A sedan-chair was procured, -and full directions being obtained for the future treatment, with the -physician’s promise to look after him, the captain walked before the -chair, to the new lodgings. On the knock at the door, Amelia looked out -of the window, and seeing the chair, ran down, and met her uncle and -husband in the passage. The poor man, not knowing where he was, and -gazing wildly around him, was carried upstairs and placed upon a good -bed, while his wife and children assembled around it. A glass of wine -brought by the people of the house restored him to his recollection, -when a most tender scene ensued, which the uncle closed as soon as he -could, for fear of too much agitating the yet feeble organs of the sick -man. - -By Amelia’s constant attention, assisted by proper help, Mr. Bland -shortly recovered; and the whole family lost their sickly, emaciated -appearance, and became healthy and happy. The kind uncle was never long -absent from them, and was always received with looks of pleasure and -gratitude that penetrated his very soul. He obtained for Mr. Bland a -good situation in the exercise of his profession, and took Amelia and -her children into his special care. As to his other nieces, though he -did not entirely break off his connexion with them, but, on the -contrary, showed them occasional marks of the kindness of a relation, -yet he could never look upon them with true cordiality. And as they had -so well kept their promise to their father of never treating Amelia as a -sister, while in her afflicted state, he took care not to tempt them to -break it, now she was in a favoured and prosperous condition. - -[Illustration: - - A Secret Character Unveiled, p. 359. - - EVENING XXX. -] - - - - - EARTH AND HER CHILDREN. - - -In a certain district of the globe things one year went so ill, that -almost the whole race of living beings, animals and vegetables, carried -their lamentations and complaints to their common mother _the Earth_. - -First came _Man_. “O Earth,” said he, “how can you behold unmoved the -intolerable calamities of your favourite offspring! Heaven shuts up all -the sources of its benignity to us, and showers plagues and pestilence -on our heads—storms tear to pieces all the works of human labour—the -elements of fire and water seem let loose to devour us—and in the midst -of all these evils some demon possesses us with a rage of worrying and -destroying one another; so that the whole species seems doomed to -perish. O, intercede in our behalf, or else receive us again into your -maternal womb, and hide us from the sight of these accumulated -distresses!” - -The other animals then spoke by their deputies, the horse, the ox, and -the sheep. “O pity, mother Earth, those of your children that repose on -your breast, and derive their subsistence from your foodful bosom! We -are parched with drought, we are scorched by lightning, we are beaten by -pitiless tempests, salubrious vegetables refuse to nourish us, we -languish under disease, and the race of men treat us with unusual -rigour. Never, without speedy succour, can we survive to another year.” - -The vegetables next, those that form the verdant carpet of the earth, -that cover the waving fields of harvest, and that spread their lofty -branches in the air, sent forth their complaint:—“O, our general mother, -to whose breast we cleave, and whose vital juices we drain, have -compassion upon us! See, how we wither and droop under the baleful gales -that sweep over us—how we thirst in vain for the gentle dew of -Heaven—how immense tribes of noxious insects pierce and devour us—how -the famishing flocks and herds tear us up by the roots—and how men, -through mutual spite, lay waste and destroy us, while yet immature. -Already whole nations of us are desolated, and unless you save us, -another year will witness our total destruction.” - -“My children,” said Earth, “I have now existed some thousand years; and -scarcely one of them has passed in which similar complaints have not -risen from one quarter or another. Nevertheless, everything has remained -in nearly the same state, and no species of created beings has been -finally lost. The injuries of one year are repaired by the gifts of the -succeeding one. The growing vegetables may be blasted, but the seeds of -others lie secure in my bosom, ready to receive the vital influence of -more favourable seasons. Animals may be thinned by want and disease, but -a remnant is always left, in whom survives the principle of future -increase. As to man, who suffers not only from natural causes, but from -the effects of his own follies and vices, his miseries rouse within him -the latent powers of remedy, and bring him to his reason again; while -experience continually goes along with him to improve his means of -happiness, if he will but listen to its dictates. Have patience, then, -my children! You were born to suffer, as well as to enjoy, and you must -submit to your lot. But console yourselves with the thought that you -have a kind Master above, who created you for benevolent purposes, and -will not withhold his protection when you stand most in need of it.” - - - - - A SECRET CHARACTER UNVEILED. - - -At a small house in a court in London, there resided for many years, a -person beyond the middle age of life, whose family consisted of one male -and one female servant, both of long standing. He was of grave and -somewhat pensive aspect. His dress was perfectly plain and never varied. -He wore his own gray hair, and his general appearance resembled that of -a Quaker, though without the peculiarities of that sect. He was not -known to his neighbours but by sight. They frequently observed him go -out and come in, almost always on foot, even in the worst weather. He -did not appear to keep any company, and his mode of life seemed to be -very uniform. He paid ready money to the few tradespeople with whom he -dealt, and never made any one call a second time for dues and taxes. In -some charitable collections that were set on foot in the parish, he gave -as much as was expected from him, and no more. He returned the -salutation of the hat to those who gave it him, but never exceeded a -word or two in conversation with his neighbours. His religion and -political sentiments were entirely unknown. The general notion about him -was, either that he was a reduced gentleman, obliged to live privately, -or one concerned in some private money transactions, and bent upon -hoarding a fortune. His name, from the parish-books, appeared to be -_Mortimer_. - -After he had thus lived a long time, a train of accidental circumstances -occurred within a short space, which fully displayed his character. - -In a blind alley at some little distance, there lived a poor widow who -had several children, the eldest a beautiful girl of eighteen. The woman -was very industrious, and supported her family by taking in work in -which her children assisted. It happened that some of them, and at -length herself, fell ill of a fever, which continued so long as to -reduce them to great distress. She was obliged to part with many things -for a present subsistence; and, on their recovery, a half-year’s rent -being due which she was unable to pay, the landlord threatened to seize -the remainder of her goods, and turn her and her children into the -street. He intimated, however, that it might be in the power of the -eldest daughter to settle accounts with him in a less difficult manner; -but his hints were treated with virtuous disdain. The girl had a -faithful lover, a journeyman-carpenter, who, during the illness of the -family, contributed half his wages to their support, and now by promises -endeavoured to mollify the landlord, but in vain. He was coming -disconsolately one night after work to pay his usual visit to the -distressed family, when he observed Mr. Mortimer, whom he knew, having -worked at his house, stealing upstairs to the widow’s lodging. The -suspicion natural to a lover led him to follow. He saw him open the -door, and he entered unperceived after him. Mr. Mortimer walked into the -room where were all the poor family; the mother and eldest daughter -weeping over the rest. They showed much surprise at his approach, and -still more, when, going up to the widow, he put a purse of guineas into -her hand, and immediately turned about and went away. “What angel from -heaven,” cried the poor woman, “has brought me this? Run after him, -daughter, and thank him on your knees!” She ran, but he was got almost -down stairs. “I know him,” cried the journeyman-carpenter, making his -appearance, “’t is Mr. Mortimer.” - -In a chamber of a house in an obscure part of the town a gang of -clippers and coiners were detected by the officers of justice. A poor -lame fellow, who lived in the adjoining room, was brought along with the -rest for examination. “Well,” said one of the justices, “and who are -you?” - -“Please your worship, I am a poor man who have lost the use of my limbs -these seven years.” - -“And how have you been supported all that time?” - -“Why, sir, I might have starved long ago, as I have no settlement in -these parts, and the masters for whom I worked would do nothing for me, -but a very good gentleman has been so kind as to give me five shillings -a week for these six years.” - -“Ay! you were lucky, indeed, to light upon such a kind gentleman. Pray, -what is his name?” - -“I don’t know it, your worship.” - -“No!—that’s very strange, that you should not know the name of the -person who keeps you from starving. But where does he live?” - -“Indeed, sir, I don’t know that neither. I know nothing at all of him -but the good he does me.” - -“Why, how came you at first to be acquainted with him?” - -“I had just been turned out of the hospital incurable, and was thinking -that nothing remained for me but begging and starving in the streets, -when the gentleman came up to my poor lodging (God knows how he found -it) and gave me a guinea to buy some necessaries, and told me, if I -would do what little I could to maintain myself, he would take care that -I should not want. And ever since, either he or his man has brought me a -crown every week.” - -“This story, my friend, will hardly pass. But tell me what trade you -worked at before you lost the use of your limbs?” - -“Plating and gilding, your worship.” - -“O! ho! Then you understand working in metals! You must be kept till you -give a more probable account of yourself.” - -The poor man in vain protested that every word he had said was true, and -offered to bring proof of his honesty and sobriety from his neighbours; -he was ordered to a place of confinement till further examination. The -constable was taking him thither, when by good fortune he chanced to spy -his benefactor crossing the street just before him. He called aloud, and -requested him to stop; and then in a piteous tone relating his story, -entreated him to go back with them to the justice, and bear witness in -his behalf. This could not be refused. They were admitted into a crowded -hall, when the constable told the cause of his return. All eyes were -turned upon the gentleman, who was desired to give his name. “It is -Mortimer,” said he. He then, in a few words, mentioned, that having some -years ago come to the knowledge of the poor man’s character and -distress, he had since taken care of him. - -“’Tis enough, sir,” said a gentleman at the board; “I have the honour of -being a neighbour of yours, but I did not before know _what_ a neighbour -I had.” Mr. Mortimer bowed and retired. The poor fellow was discharged. - -Two maiden sisters, daughters of a very worthy tradesman, whom -misfortunes had reduced to poverty, and who died of a broken heart, were -for several years supported by an annuity of forty pounds each, which -came from an unknown quarter. The mode in which they received it was, -that twice a year, at night, a person knocked at the door of their -lodging, which was upon a second floor, and delivered into the hands of -one of them a parcel containing two twenty-pound bank-notes, with a -paper on which was written, “To be continued—no inquiry!” Though this -injunction prevented them from taking any steps to detect their -benefactor, yet many were the conjectures which, between themselves, -they made on this subject, but without attaining to the least -probability. One night, about the time that the above-related events -happened, the person, who came as usual to deliver the notes, on hastily -turning round to retire, fell from the top of the stairs to the bottom. -The lady shrieked out, and running down, found the man lying senseless -and bloody. Help was procured, and he was taken up to their lodging. A -surgeon was immediately sent for, who, by bleeding and other means, -restored him to his senses. As soon as the man recovered his speech, he -requested to be taken to his master’s. “Who is your master?” cried the -surgeon; “Mr. Mortimer, of —— Court.”—“What!” exclaimed the elder of the -ladies, “Mr. Mortimer, my poor father’s greatest creditor—is it he to -whom we have been so long indebted for everything?” The man laid his -finger on his lips, and she was silent, but not a word had escaped the -surgeon. The servant was sent away in a coach, the surgeon accompanying -him. They arrived at Mr. Mortimer’s, where, after the confusion -occasioned by the accident had subsided, the surgeon found that the face -of both master and man were familiar to him. “I am sure I am not -mistaken,” said he, “you are the gentleman who so charitably took care -of the poor fellow that had such a bad broken leg in this neighbourhood, -and paid me for my attendance.” Mr. Mortimer assented. “Here is a double -discovery,” said the surgeon to himself; and on taking his leave, -“Permit me to assure you, sir,” he cried, “that I venerate you beyond -any other human being!”—At the corner of the court where Mr. Mortimer -resided was a shoemaker’s shop, kept by a man who had a wife and five -children. He was one of the most industrious creatures breathing, and -with great exertions was just able to maintain decently his family, of -whom he was extremely fond. A younger brother of his had come up out of -the country, and obtained a place in a public office, for which it was -necessary to give security; and he had prevailed upon his brother to -enter into a joint bond with him for two hundred pounds. The brother -fell into vicious courses, and at length absconded with all the money he -was intrusted with. The shoemaker was now called upon to pay the -forfeiture of his bond, which, on account of bad debts, and having been -lately drained of all his ready money to pay for leather, he was unable -to do; and, in consequence, was sent to jail. The distress this brought -upon the family was aggravated by the condition of his wife, who was -near lying-in; and their mutual affection was turned into a source of -the bitterest grief. He had been about six weeks in prison, without any -prospect of release, all his friends and relations having been in vain -tried, when, one evening, the keeper who had treated him with much -compassion, came up to his room with pleasure in his countenance, and -said, “You are free.” The poor man could at first scarcely believe him, -but finding him persist in the truth of it, he almost fainted away -through surprise and joy. When he was sufficiently recovered to reflect -on the matter, he was quite bewildered in conjecturing how it had been -brought about. He could only learn, that a discharge of the debt bad -been sent to the jail, and all the fees and expenses there paid by a -person whose name was unknown, but whose face they were well acquainted -with, as he had several times been on the same errand there before. “O!” -cried the shoemaker, “that I could but know my benefactor!” He hastened -home, where his unexpected appearance almost overwhelmed his poor -family. On talking over the business with his wife, he learned that Mr. -Mortimer’s servant had a few days before been at the shop, and had been -very particular in inquiring the cause and place of his confinement. -This occasioned a strong suspicion, for Mr. Mortimer’s character now -came to be talked of; and soon after it was changed into certainty by a -visit from the keeper of the prison, who acquainted the shoemaker, that -they had now discovered who his benefactor and that of so many others -was; one of their people having chanced to be at the sessions-house when -Mr. Mortimer appeared there in behalf of the lame man taken up on -suspicion, and having recognised him to be the same person. The -shoemaker was overjoyed at this intelligence, but was still at a loss to -know in what manner he ought to express his gratitude. He was afraid of -offending, by doing it in a public manner, as it had evidently been Mr. -Mortimer’s intention to remain concealed; yet it was necessary that his -heart should have some vent for its emotions. He took his wife and -children, and went to Mr. Mortimer’s house, desiring to speak with him. -Being admitted into the study, the poor man began a speech which he had -prepared; but instead of going on, he burst into a fit of crying, fell -on his knees, seizing one hand of his benefactor, while his wife did the -same on the other side, and kissing them with the utmost fervency, both -in a broken voice implored endless blessings on his head. The children -fell on their knees, too, and held up their little hands. Mr. Mortimer -was moved and remained awhile silent; at length, recollecting himself, -“Too much! too much!” he cried, “Go home, go home, my good people! God -bless you all!” and thus dismissed them. - -An old clergyman from the country came up to town on business about this -time, and paid a visit to an intimate friend of the same profession. -After some mutual greetings and inquiries, “Ah! my good friend,” said -the country clergyman, “our parish has undergone a blessed alteration -since you knew it! The principal estate was sold some years ago to a -gentleman in London, who is one of those few that are never wearied in -well-doing. He built, in the first place, half a score neat cottages, -where all the industrious poor who are past labour are comfortably -maintained at his expense. He endowed a free school for all the children -of the parish without exception, where they are taught to read and -write, and some of the poorest are clothed. Every winter he orders the -baker to deliver twice a week a large loaf at the house of each cottager -during the hard weather. He has frequently remitted his rents to poor -tenants in bad seasons; and, in short, I should never have done were I -to enumerate all his deeds of charity. I myself have in various ways -been much indebted to him, and I am well informed that he contributes -largely to the support of an aged dissenting minister in the parish. But -what is singular, he is very shy of being seen, nor do we know anything -of his rank and profession, or his town residence; nay, I believe we -should not have learned his name, had not the purchase necessarily made -it public. It is Mortimer.” - -“Why,” said his friend, “I have a parishioner of that name; and from -what I have lately heard of him, I suspect him to be the man.” - -“Could not I get a sight of him?” replied the first. - -“Probably you may,” said the other; and presently, seeing him cross the -court, he pointed him out. - -“Ah! that is the blessed man!” exclaimed the old clergyman in a rapture. -And running out, he went up, grasped him eagerly by the hand, and poured -out the most affectionate wishes for his welfare. - -Mr. Mortimer now stood _completely detected_. - -The world, however, was not satisfied with the general knowledge of his -goodness and benevolence. Curiosity was at work to discover his -connexions, habits, property, employment; in short, the whole personal -history of the man. One only friend, to whom he intrusted all the -secrets of his heart and life, thought fit, after he was removed from -this mortal state, to gratify the world in this particular. - -Mr. Mortimer was a younger son of a respectable family in the country, -and came to London at an early age, to be educated for commercial life. -In this he succeeded so well, that after going through the different -stages of clerk, partner, and principal, he found himself possessed of a -considerable fortune. For sometime he made that use of his wealth which -persons who live within the bounds of what is called decency think -permitted to them. But the common pleasures of the world palled daily -more and more upon his taste. He found a void which could only be filled -by reading and contemplation. He grew fond of taking enlarged views of -mankind, their several conditions, characters, and destinations. He -compared the higher classes with the lower, the instructed with the -ignorant; above all, he examined _himself_, and inquired into the great -purpose for which he was brought into the world. In order to augment his -sphere of knowledge, he resolved to visit foreign countries; and having -no family encumbrances, he drew his affairs into a small compass, -relinquished business, and went abroad. During a course of some years, -he was a wanderer through most countries of Europe, travelling chiefly -on foot, avoiding common routes, and mingling with the mass of the -people. - -He saw, abroad as well as at home, a great deal of misery; he saw -wretchedness everywhere close in the train of splendour—indigence by the -side of prodigality—baseness under the foot of authority. He lamented -the evils of the world; but whatever might be their original source, he -saw that man had within himself the power of remedying many of them. In -exercising this power, all duty, all virtue seemed to consist. “This, -then,” said he, “must be the proper business of every man in this life. -It is then _mine_; and how shall I best perform it?” - -Full of these meditations, he returned; and convinced that the great -inequality of rank and property is one principal cause (though a -necessary one) of the ills of life, he resolved, as much as it lay in -his power, to counteract it. “How few things,” thought he, “are -necessary to my external comfort! Wholesome food, warm clothing, clean -lodging, a little waiting upon, and a few books. This is all that even -selfishness asks of me. Whose, then, is the superfluity?” - -That he might at once get rid of the craving and burdensome demands -which _opinion_ imposes, he took a house in a part of the town where his -name was unknown; and of all his former acquaintance, he only reserved -one or two congenial friends. He selected out of the number of his -former domestics one of each sex, steady and confidential, whose lives -he made as comfortable as his own. After all the expenses of his frugal, -but not scanty mode of living were discharged, there remained two thirds -of his income, which he never failed to bestow in secret charity. He -chose that his charities should be secret, not only as being utterly -averse to all ostentation, but also to avoid those importunities which -might lead his bounty to unworthy objects. He would himself know the -real circumstances of every case; and it was the chief employment of his -time, by hunting into obscure corners, and searching out the private -history of the indigent classes of the community, to obtain exact -information of the existence of misery, and the proper modes of -relieving it. He neglected no kinds of distress, but it was his great -delight to relieve virtuous poverty, and alleviate those keen wounds of -fortune which she inflicts on those who have once participated in some -share of her smiles. Hence the sums which he bestowed were often so -considerable as at once to retrieve the affairs of the sufferer, nor did -he think it right to withdraw his sustaining hand as long as its support -was needful. - -With respect to his opinions on other subjects, his enlarged -acquaintance with men and books effectually preserved him from bigotry. -He well knew in what points mankind agreed, and in what they differed, -and he attached much superior importance to the former. - -So he lived—so he died! injuring none—benefiting many—bearing with pious -resignation the evils that fell to his own lot—continually endeavouring -to alleviate those of others—and hoping to behold a state in which all -evil shall be abolished. - -[Illustration: - - Providence, or the Shipwreck, p. 377. - - EVENING XXXI. -] - - - - - A GLOBE-LECTURE. - - _Papa_—_Lucy_. - - -_Papa._ You may remember, Lucy, that I talked to you sometime ago about -the earth’s motion round the sun. - -_Lucy._ Yes, papa; and you said you would tell me another time something -about the other planets. - -_Pa._ I mean some day to take you to the lecture of an ingenious -philosopher, who has contrived a machine that will give you a better -notion of these things in an hour, than I could by mere talking in a -week. But it is now my intention to make you better acquainted with this -globe which we inhabit, and which, indeed, is the most important to us. -Cast your eyes upon this little ball. You see it is a representation of -the earth, being covered with a painted map of the world. This map is -crossed with lines in various directions; but all you have to observe -relative to what I am going to talk about, is the great line across the -middle called the _equator_ or _equinoctial line_, and the two points at -top and bottom called the _poles_, of which the uppermost is the -northern, the lowermost the southern. - -_Lu._ I see them. - -_Pa._ Now, the sun, which illuminates all the parts of this globe by -turns as they roll round before it, shines directly upon the equator, -but darts its rays aslant toward the poles; and this is the cause of the -great heat perceived in the middle regions of the earth, and of its -gradual diminution as you proceed from them on either side toward the -extremities. To use a familiar illustration, it is like a piece of meat -roasting before a fire, the middle part of which is liable to be -overdone, while the two ends are raw. - -_Lu._ I can comprehend that. - -_Pa._ From this simple circumstance some of the greatest differences on -the surface of the earth, with respect to man, other animals, and -vegetables, proceed; for heat is the great principle of life and -vegetation; and where it most prevails, provided it be accompanied with -due moisture, nature is most replenished with all sorts of living and -growing things. In general, then, the countries lying on each side about -the equator, and forming a broad belt round the globe, called the -_tropics_, or _torrid zone_, are rich and exuberant in their products to -a degree much superior to what we see in our climates. Trees and other -plants shoot to a vast size, and are clothed in perpetual verdure, and -loaded with flowers of the gayest colours and sweetest fragrance, -succeeded by fruits of high flavour or abundant nutriment. The insect -tribe is multiplied so as to fill all the air, and many of them astonish -by their size and extraordinary forms, and the splendour of their hues. -The ground is all alive with reptiles, some harmless, some armed with -deadly poisons. - -_Lu._ O, but I should not like that at all! - -_Pa._ The birds, however, decked in the gayest plumage conceivable, must -give unmixed delight; and a tropical forest, filled with parrots, -macaws, and peacocks, and enlivened with the gambols of monkeys and -other nimble quadrupeds, must be a very amusing spectacle. The largest -of quadrupeds, too, the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the hippopotamus, -are natives of these regions; and not only these sublime and harmless -animals, but the terrible lion, the cruel tiger, and all the most -ravenous beasts of prey, are here found in their greatest bulk and -fierceness. - -_Lu._ That would be worse than the insects and reptiles. - -_Pa._ The sea likewise is filled with inhabitants of an immense variety -of size and figure; not only fishes, but tortoises, and all the shelly -tribes. The shores are spread with shells of a beauty unknown to our -coasts; for it would seem as if the influence of the solar heat -penetrated into the farthest recesses of nature. - -_Lu._ How I should like to ramble on the seaside there! - -_Pa._ But the elements, too, are there upon a grand and terrific scale. -The sky either blazes with intolerable beams, or pours down rain in -irresistible torrents. The winds swell to furious hurricanes, which -often desolate the whole face of nature in a day. Earthquakes rock the -ground, and sometimes open it in chasms which swallow up entire cities. -Storms raise the waves of the ocean into mountains, and drive them in a -deluge to the land. - -_Lu._ Ah! that would spoil my shell-gathering. These countries may be -very fine, but I don’t like them. - -_Pa._ Well, then—we will turn from them to the _temperate_ regions. You -will observe, on looking at the map, that these chiefly lie on the -northern side of the tropics; for on the southern side the space is -almost wholly occupied by sea. Though geographers have drawn a boundary -line between the torrid and temperate zones, yet nature has made none; -and for a considerable space on the borders, the diminution of heat is -so gradual as to produce little difference in the appearance of nature. -But, in general, the temperate _zones_ or _belts_ form the most -desirable districts on the face of the earth. Their products are -extremely various, and abound in beauty and utility. Corn, wine, and -oil, are among their vegetable stores: the horse, the ox, and the sheep, -graze their verdant pastures. Their seasons have the pleasing -vicissitudes of summer and winter, spring and autumn. Though in some -parts they are subject to excess of heat, and in others of cold, yet -they deserve the general praise of a mild temperature compared to the -rest of the globe. - -_Lu._ They are the countries for me, then. - -_Pa._ You _do_ live in one of them, though our island is situated so far -to the north that it ranks rather among the cold countries than the warm -ones. However, we have the good fortune to be a long way removed from -those dreary and comfortless tracts of the globe which lie about the -poles, and are called the _frigid zones_. In these, the cheering -influence of the sun gradually becomes extinct, and perpetual frost and -snow take possession of the earth. Trees and plants diminish in number -and size, till at length no vegetables are found but some mosses and a -few stunted herbs. Land animals are reduced to three or four -species—raindeer, white bears, and arctic foxes. The sea, however, as -far as it remains free from ice, is all alive with aquatic birds, and -with the finny tribe. Enormous whales spout and gambol among the -floating ice-islands, and herds of seals pursue the shoals of smaller -fish, and harbour in the caverns of the rocky coasts. - -_Lu._ Then I suppose these creatures have not much to do with the sun? - -_Pa._ Nature has given them powers of enduring cold beyond those of many -other animals; and then the water is always warmer than the land in cold -climates; nay, at a certain depth, it is equally warm in all parts of -the globe. - -_Lu._ Well, but as I cannot go to the bottom of the sea, I desire to -have nothing to do with these dismal countries. But do any men live -there? - -_Pa._ It is one of the wonderful things belonging to man, that he is -capable of living in all parts of the globe where any other animals -live. And as nothing relative to this earth is so important to us as the -condition of human creatures in it, suppose we take a general survey of -the different races of men who inhabit all the tracts we have been -speaking of? - -_Lu._ Blacks, and whites, and all colours? - -_Pa._ Surely. If a black dog is as much a dog as a white one, why should -not a black man be as much a man? I know nothing that colour has to do -with mind. Well, then—to go back to the equator. The middle or tropical -girdle of the earth, which by the ancients was concluded to be -uninhabitable from its extreme heat, has been found by modern -discoveries to be as well filled with men as it is with other living -creatures. And no wonder; for life is maintained here at less cost than -elsewhere. Clothes and fuel are scarcely at all necessary. A shed of -bamboo covered with palm-leaves serves for a house; and food is almost -the spontaneous produce of nature. The bread-fruit, the cocoa, the -banana, and the plantain, offer their stores freely to the gatherer; and -if he takes the additional pains to plant a few yams, or sow a little -Indian corn, he is furnished with never-failing plenty. Hence the -inhabitants of many tropical countries live nearly in what is called a -state of nature, without care or labour, using the gifts of Providence -like the animals around them. The naked Indian, stretched at ease under -the shade of a lofty tree, passes his hours in indolent repose, unless -roused to temporary exertion by the passion of the chase, or the love of -dancing and other social sports. - -_Lu._ Well—that would be a charming life! - -_Pa._ So the poet Thomson seemed to think, when he burst into a -rapturous description of the beauties and pleasures afforded by these -favoured regions. Perhaps you can remember some of his lines? - -_Lu._ I will try. - - ——“Thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow - Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cooled, - Broad o’er my head the verdant cedar wave, - And high palmettoes lift their grateful shade. - O, stretched amid these orchards of the sun, - Give me to drain the cocoa’s milky bowl, - And from the palm to draw its freshening wine!” - -_Pa._ Delightful! Think, however, at what price they purchase this -indolent enjoyment of life. In the first place, all the work that is -done is thrown upon the women, who are always most tyrannized over, the -nearer a people approach to a state of nature. - -_Lu._ O, horrible! I am glad I do not live there. - -_Pa._ Then the mind not having that spur to exertion which necessity -alone can give, moulders in inaction, and becomes incapable of those -advances in knowledge and vigour which raise and dignify the human -character. - -_Lu._ But that is the same with lazy people everywhere. - -_Pa._ True. The excessive heat, however, of these countries seems of -itself to relax the mind, and unfit it for its noblest exertions. And I -question if a single instance could be produced of an original -inhabitant of the tropics, who had attained to eminence in the higher -walks of science. It is their general character to be gay, volatile, and -thoughtless, subject to violent passions, but commonly mild and gentle, -fond of society and amusements, ingenious in little arts, but incapable -of great or long-continued efforts. They form a large portion of the -human race, and probably not the least happy. You see what vast tracts -of land lie within this division; most of Africa and South America, all -the great islands of Asia and two of its large peninsulas. Of these the -Asiatic part is the most populous and civilized; indeed, many of its -nations are as far removed from a state of nature as we are, and their -constitutional indolence has been completely overcome by necessity. The -clothing of those who are in a civilized state is mostly made of cotton, -which is a natural product of those climates. Their food is chiefly of -the vegetable kind and besides the articles already mentioned, consists -much of rice. - -_Lu._ Are the people all black? - -_Pa._ Yes; entirely or nearly so. - -_Lu._ I suppose that is owing to the heat of the sun. - -_Pa._ Undoubtedly; for we find all the shades from jet black to tawny, -and at length white, as we proceed from the equator toward the poles. -The African negroes, however, from their curled woolly hair and their -flat features, have been supposed an originally distinct race of -mankind. The East Indian blacks, though under an equally hot climate, -have long flowing hair, and features not different from their fairer -neighbours. Almost all these nations are subject to despotic -governments. In religion they are mostly pagans, with a mixture of -Mohammedans. - -_Lu._ I think we have had enough about these people. - -_Pa._ Well, then—look again on the globe to the northern side of the -tropics, and see what a tour we shall take among the inhabitants of the -north temperate zone. Here are all the most famous places on the earth; -rich, populous countries, renowned at different periods for arts and -arms. Here is the greatest part of Asia, a little of Africa, all Europe, -and North America. - -_Lu._ I suppose, however, there must be great differences both in the -climate and the way of life, in so many countries? - -_Pa._ Extremely great. The southern parts partake a good deal of the -character of the tropical regions. The heat is still excessive, and -renders exertion painful; whence the people have in general been -reckoned soft, effeminate, and voluptuous. Let us, however, look at them -a little closer. Here is the mighty empire of China, swarming with -people to such a degree, that, notwithstanding its size and fertility, -the inhabitants are obliged to exert the greatest industry to procure -the necessaries of life. Nearly in a line with it are the Mogul’s -Empire, the kingdom of Persia, and the Turkish dominions in Asia; all -warm climates abounding in products of use and beauty, and inhabited by -numerous and civilized people. Here stretches out the great peninsula of -Arabia, for the most part a dry and desert land, overspread with burning -sands, only to be crossed by the patient camel. Wild and ferocious -tribes of men wander over it, chiefly supported by their herds and -flocks, and by the trade of robbery, which they exercise on all -travellers that fall in their way. A tract somewhat similar, though in a -colder climate, is the vast country of Tartary, stretching like a belt -from east to west across the middle of Asia; over the immense plains and -deserts of which, a number of independent tribes continually roam, -fixing their moveable habitations in one part or another, according as -they afford pasturage to their herds of cattle and horses. These men -have for many ages lived in the same simple state, unacquainted as well -with the arts as the vices of civilized nations. - -_Lu._ Well. I think it must be a very pleasant life to ramble about from -place to place, and change one’s abode according to the season. - -_Pa._ The Tartars think so; for the worst wish they can find for man, is -that he may live in a house and work like a Russian. Now look at Europe. -See what a small figure it makes on the surface of the globe as to size; -and yet it has for many ages held the first place in knowledge, -activity, civilization, and all the qualities that elevate man among his -fellows. For this it is much indebted to that temperature of climate -which calls forth all the faculties of man in order to render life -comfortable, yet affords enough of the beauties of nature to warm the -heart and exalt the imagination. Men here earn their bread with the -sweat of their brow. Nature does not drop her fruits into their mouths, -but offers them as the price of labour. Human wants are many. Clothes, -food, lodging, are all objects of much care and contrivance, but the -human powers fully exerted are equal to the demand; and nowhere are -enjoyments so various and multiplied. What the land does not yield -itself, its inhabitants by their active industry procure from the -remotest parts of the globe. When we drink tea, we sweeten the infusion -of a Chinese herb with the juice of a West Indian cane; and your common -dress is composed of materials collected from the equator to the frigid -zone. Europeans render all countries and climates familiar to them; and -everywhere they assume a superiority over the less enlightened or less -industrious natives. - -_Lu._ Then Europe for me, after all! But is not America as good? - -_Pa._ That part of North America which has been settled by Europeans, is -only another Europe in manners and civilization. But the original -inhabitants of that extensive country were bold and hardy barbarians, -and many of them continue so to this day. So much for the temperate -zone, which contains the prime of mankind. They differ extremely, -however, in government, laws, customs, and religions. The Christian -religion has the credit of reckoning among its votaries all the -civilized people of Europe and America. The Mahometan possesses all the -nearer parts of Asia, and the north of Africa, but China, Japan, and -most of the circumjacent countries, profess different forms of paganism. -The East, in general, is enslaved to despotism; but the nobler West -enjoys in most of its states more or less of freedom. - -As to the frigid zone, its few inhabitants can but just sustain a life -little better than that of the brutes. Their faculties are benumbed by -the climate. Their chief employment is the fishery or the chase, by -which they procure their food. The tending of herds of raindeer in some -parts varies their occupations and diet. They pass their long winters in -holes dug underground, where they doze out most of their time in stupid -repose. - -_Lu._ I wonder any people should stay in such miserable places! - -_Pa._ Yet none of the inhabitants of the globe seem more attached to -their country and way of life. Nor do they, indeed, want powers to -render their situation tolerably comfortable. Their canoes, and fishing, -and hunting tackle, are made with great ingenuity; and their clothing is -admirably adapted to fence against the rigours of cold. They are not -without some amusements to cheer the gloom of their condition: but they -are abjectly superstitious, and given to fear and melancholy. - -_Lu._ If I had my choice, I would rather go to a warmer than a colder -country. - -_Pa._ Perhaps the warmer countries are pleasanter; but there are few -advantages which are not balanced by some inconveniences; and it is the -truest wisdom to be contented with our lot, and endeavour to make the -best of it. One great lesson, however, I wish you to derive from this -_globe-lecture_. You see that no part of the world is void of our human -brethren, who, amid all the diversities of character and condition, are -yet all _men_, filling the station in which their Creator has placed -them. We are too apt to look at the differences of mankind, and to -undervalue all those who do not agree with us in matters that we think -of high importance. But who are we—and what cause have we to think -ourselves right, and all others wrong? Can we imagine that hundreds of -millions of our species in other parts of the world are left destitute -of what is essential to their well-being, while a favoured few like -ourselves are the only ones who possess it? Having all a common nature, -we must necessarily agree in more things than we differ in. The road to -virtue and happiness is alike open to all. The mode of pursuit is -various: the end is the same. - - - - - ENVY AND EMULATION. - - -At one of the celebrated schools of painting in Italy, a young man named -Guidotto produced a piece so excellent, that it was the admiration of -the masters in the art, who all declared it to be their opinion that he -could not fail of rising to the summit of his profession, should he -proceed as he had begun. - -This performance was looked upon with very different eyes by two of his -fellow-scholars. Brunello, the elder of them, who had himself acquired -some reputation in his studies, was mortified in the highest degree at -this superiority of Guidotto; and regarding all the honour his rival had -acquired as so much taken from himself, he conceived the most rancorous -dislike of him, and longed for nothing so much as to see him lose the -credit he had gained. Afraid openly to decry the merit of a work which -had obtained the approbation of the best judges, he threw out secret -insinuations that Guidotto had been assisted in it by one or other of -his masters; and he affected to represent it as a sort of lucky hit, -which the reputed author would never equal. - -Not so Lorenzo. Though a very young proficient in the art, he -comprehended in its full extent the excellence of Guidotto’s -performance, and became one of the sincerest of his admirers. Fired with -the praises he saw him receive on all sides, he ardently longed one day -to deserve the like. He placed him before his eyes as a fair model, -which it was his highest ambition to arrive at equalling—for, as to -excelling him, he could not as yet conceive the possibility of it. He -never spoke of him but with rapture, and could not bear to hear the -detractions of Brunello. - -But Lorenzo did not content himself with words. He entered with his -whole soul into the career of improvement—was first and last of all the -scholars in the designing-room—and devoted to practice at home those -hours which the other youths passed in amusement. It was long before he -could please himself with any of the attempts, and he was continually -repeating over them, “Alas! how far distant is this from Guidotto’s!” At -length, however, he had the satisfaction of becoming sensible of -progress; and having received considerable applause on account of one of -his performances, he ventured to say to himself, “And why may not I too -become a Guidotto?” - -Meanwhile, Guidotto continued to bear away the palm from all -competitors. Brunello struggled awhile to contest with him, but at -length gave up the point, and consoled himself under his inferiority by -ill-natured sarcasm and petulant criticism. Lorenzo worked away in -silence, and it was long before his modesty would suffer him to place -any piece of his in view at the same time with one of Guidotto’s. - -There was a certain day in the year in which it was customary for all -the scholars to exhibit their best performance in a public hall, where -their merit was solemnly judged by a number of select examiners, and a -prize of value was awarded to the most excellent. Guidotto had prepared -for this anniversary a piece which was to excel all he had before -executed. He had just finished it on the evening before the exhibition, -and nothing remained but to heighten the colouring by means of a -transparent varnish. The malignant Brunello contrived artfully to convey -into the vial containing this varnish some drops of a caustic -preparation, the effect of which would be entirely to destroy the beauty -and splendour of the piece. Guidotto laid it on by candlelight, and then -with great satisfaction hung up his picture in the public room against -the morrow. - -Lorenzo, too, with beating heart, had prepared himself for the day. With -vast application he had finished a piece which he humbly hoped might -appear not greatly inferior to some of Guidotto’s earlier performances. - -The important day was now arrived. The company assembled, and were -introduced into the great room, where the light had just been fully -admitted by drawing up a curtain. All went up with raised expectations -to Guidotto’s picture, when, behold! instead of the brilliant beauty -they had conceived, there was nothing but a dead surface of confused and -blotched colours. “Surely,” they cried, “this cannot be Guidotto’s!” The -unfortunate youth himself came up, and in beholding the dismal change of -his favourite piece, burst out into an agony of grief, and exclaimed -that he was betrayed and undone. The vile Brunello in a corner was -enjoying his distress. But Lorenzo was little less affected than -Guidotto himself. “Trick! knavery!” he cried. “Indeed, gentlemen, this -is not Guidotto’s work: I saw it when only half finished, and it was a -most charming performance. Look at the outline, and judge what it must -have been before it was so basely injured.” - -The spectators were all struck with Lorenzo’s generous warmth, and -sympathized in the disgrace of Guidotto; but it was impossible to -adjudge the prize to his picture, in the state in which they beheld it. -They examined all the others attentively, and that of Lorenzo, till then -an unknown artist to them, gained a great majority of suffrages. The -prize was therefore awarded to him; but Lorenzo, on receiving it, went -up to Guidotto, and presenting it to him, said, “Take what merit would -undoubtedly have acquired for you, had not the basest malice and envy -defrauded you of it. To me it is honour enough to be accounted your -second. If hereafter I may aspire to equal you, it shall be by means of -fair competition, not by the aid of treachery.” - -Lorenzo’s nobleness of conduct excited the warmest encomiums among the -judges, who at length determined, that for this time there should be two -equal prizes distributed; for that if Guidotto had deserved the prize of -painting, Lorenzo was entitled to that of virtue. - - - - - PROVIDENCE; OR, THE SHIPWRECK. - - -It was a dreadful storm. The wind blowing full on the seashore, rolled -tremendous waves on the beach, while the half-sunk rocks at the entrance -of the bay were enveloped in a mist of white foam. A ship appeared in -the offing, driving impetuously under her bare poles to land; now -tilting aloft on the surging waves, now plunging into the intervening -hollows. Presently, she rushed among the rocks, and there struck, the -billows beating over her deck, and climbing up her shattered rigging. -“Mercy! mercy!” exclaimed an ancient solitary, as he viewed from the -cliff the dismal scene. It was in vain. The ship fell on her side and -was seen no more. - -Soon, however, a small, dark object appeared coming from the rocks -toward the shore; at first, dimly descried through the foam, then quite -plain as it rode on the summit of a wave, then for a time totally lost. -It approached, and showed itself to be a boat with men in it rowing for -their lives. The solitary hastened down to the beach, and in all the -agonizing vicissitudes of hope and fear watched its advance. At length, -after the most imminent hazards, the boat was thrown violently on the -shore, and the dripping, half-dead mariners crawled out on dry land. - -“Heaven be praised!” cried the solitary, “what a providential escape!” -And he led the poor men to his cell, where, kindling a good fire, and -bringing out his little store of provisions, he restored them to health -and spirits. “And are you six men the only ones saved?”—“That we are,” -answered one of them. “Threescore and fifteen men, women, and children, -were in the ship when she struck. You may think what a clamour and -confusion there were: women clinging to their husbands’ necks, and -children hanging about their clothes, all shrieking, crying, and -praying! There was no time to be lost. We got out the small-boat in a -twinkling—jumped in, without staying for our captain, who was fool -enough to be minding the passengers—cut the rope, and pushed away just -time enough to be clear of the ship as she went down; and here we are, -all alive and merry!” An oath concluded his speech. The solitary was -shocked, and could not help secretly wishing that it had pleased -Providence to have saved some of the innocent passengers, rather than -these reprobates. - -The sailors having got what they could, departed, scarcely thanking -their benefactor, and marched up the country. Night came on. They -descried a light at some distance, and made up to it. It proceeded from -the window of a good-looking house, surrounded with a farmyard and -garden. They knocked at the door, and in a supplicating tone made known -their distress, and begged relief. They were admitted, and treated with -compassion and hospitality. In the house were the mistress, her -children, and women-servants, an old man and a boy: the master was -abroad. The sailors, sitting round the kitchen fire, whispered to each -other that here was an opportunity of making a booty that would amply -compensate for the loss of clothes and wages. They settled their plan; -and on the old man’s coming with logs to the fire, one of them broke his -scull with the poker, and laid him dead. Another took up a knife which -had been brought with the loaf and cheese, and running after the boy, -who was making his escape out of the house, stabbed him to the heart. -The rest locked the doors, and after tying all the women and children, -began to ransack the house. One of the children continuing to make loud -exclamations, a fellow went and strangled it. They had nearly finished -packing up such of the most valuable things as they could carry off, -when the master of the house came home. He was a smuggler as well as a -farmer, and had just returned from an expedition, leaving his companions -with their goods at a neighbouring public-house. Surprised at finding -the doors locked, and seeing lights moving about in the chambers, he -suspected something amiss; and upon listening, he heard strange voices, -and saw some of the sailors through the windows. He hastened back to his -companions, and brought them with him just as the robbers opened the -door, and were coming out with their pillage, having first set fire to -the house, in order to conceal what they had done. The smuggler and his -friends let fly their blunderbusses in the midst of them, and then -rushing forward, seized the survivors, and secured them. Perceiving -flames in the house, they ran and extinguished them. The villains were -next day led to prison amid the curses of the neighbourhood. - -The good solitary, on hearing of the event, at first exclaimed, “What a -wonderful interference of Providence, to punish guilt, and protect -innocence!” Pausing awhile, he added, “Yet had Providence thought fit to -have drowned these sailors in their passage from the ship, where they -left so many better people to perish, the lives of three innocent -persons would have been saved, and these wretches would have died -without such accumulated guilt and ignominy. On the other hand, had the -master of the house been at home, instead of following a lawless and -desperate trade, he would perhaps have perished with all his family, and -the villains have escaped with their booty. What am I to think of all -this?” Thus pensive and perplexed he laid him down to rest, and after -some time spent in gloomy reflections, fell asleep. - -In his dream he fancied himself seated on the top of a high mountain, -where he was accosted by a venerable figure in a long white garment, who -asked him the cause of the melancholy expressed on his countenance. “It -is,” said he, “because I am unable to reconcile the decrees of -Providence with my ideas of wisdom and justice.”—“That,” replied the -stranger, “is probably because thy notions of Providence are narrow and -erroneous. Thou seekest it in _particular events_, and dost not raise -thy survey to the _great whole_. Every occurrence in the universe is -_providential_, because it is the consequence of those laws which divine -wisdom has established as most productive of the general good. But to -select individual facts as more directed by the hand of Providence than -others, because we think we see a particular good purpose answered by -them, is an infallible inlet to error and superstition. Follow me to the -edge of the cliff.” He seemed to follow. - -“Now look down,” said the stranger, “and tell me what thou seest.” “I -see,” replied the solitary, “a hawk darting amid a flock of small birds, -one of which he has caught, while the others escape.”—“And canst thou -think,” rejoined the stranger, “that the single bird made a prey of by -the hawk lies under any particular doom of Providence, or that those who -fly away are more the objects of divine favour than it? Hawks by nature -were made to feed upon living prey, and were endowed with strength and -swiftness to enable them to overtake and master it. Thus life is -sacrificed to the support of life. But to this destruction limits are -set. The small birds are much more numerous and prolific than the birds -of prey; and though they cannot resist his force, they have dexterity -and nimbleness of flight sufficient in general to elude his pursuit. It -is in this _balance_ that the wisdom of Providence is seen; and what can -be a greater proof of it, than that both species, the destroyer and his -prey, have subsisted together from their first creation? Now, look -again, and tell me what thou seest.” - -“I see,” said the solitary, “a thick black cloud gathering in the sky. I -hear the thunder rolling from side to side of the vault of heaven. I -behold the red lightning darting from the bosom of darkness. Now it has -fallen on a stately tree and shattered it to pieces, striking to the -ground an ox sheltered at its foot. Now it falls again in the midst of a -flock of timorous sheep, and several of them are left on the plain;—and -see! the shepherd himself lies extended by their side. Now it strikes a -lofty spire, and at the same time sets in a blaze an humble cottage -beneath. It is an awful and terrible sight!” - -“It is so,” returned the stranger, “but what dost thou conclude from it? -Dost thou not know, that from the genial heat which gives life to plants -and animals, and ripens the fruits of the earth, proceeds this -electrical fire, which ascending to the clouds, and charging them beyond -what they are able to contain, is launched again in burning bolts to the -earth? Must it leave its direct course to strike the tree rather than -the dome of worship, or to spend its fury on the herd rather than the -herdsman! Millions and millions of living creatures have owed their -birth to this active element; and shall we think it strange if a few -meet their deaths from it? Thus the mountain torrent that rushes down to -fertilize the plain, in its course may sweep away the works of human -industry, and man himself with them; but could its benefits be purchased -at another price?” - -“All this,” said the solitary, “I tolerably comprehend; but may I -presume to ask whence have proceeded the _moral evils_ of the painful -scenes of yesterday? What good end is answered by making man the scourge -of man, and preserving the guilty at the cost of the innocent?” - -“That, too,” replied the venerable stranger, “is a consequence of the -same wise laws of Providence. If it was right to make man a creature of -habit, and render those things easy to him with which he is most -familiar, the sailor, of course, must be better able to shift for -himself in a shipwreck than the passenger; while that self-love, which -is essential to the preservation of life must, in general, cause him to -consult his own safety before that of others. The same force of habit in -a way of life full of peril and hardship, must conduce to form a rough, -bold, and unfeeling character. This, under the direction of principle, -will make a brave man; without it, a robber and a murderer. In the -latter case, human laws step in to remove the evil which they have not -been able to prevent. Wickedness meets with the fate which sooner or -later always awaits it; and innocence, though it occasionally suffers, -is proved in the end to be the surest path to happiness.” - -“But,” resumed the solitary, “can it be said that the lot of innocence -is _always_ preferable to that of guilt in this world?” - -“If it cannot,” replied the other, “thinkest thou that the Almighty is -unable to make retribution in a future world? Dismiss, then, from thy -mind the care of _single events_, secure that the _great whole_ is -ordered for the best. Expect not a particular interposition of Heaven, -because such an interposition would seem to thee seasonable. Thou, -perhaps, wouldest stop the vast machine of the universe to save a fly -from being crushed under its wheels. But innumerable flies and men are -crushed every day, yet the grand motion goes on, and will go on, to -fulfil the benevolent intentions of its Author.” - -He ceased, and sleep on a sudden left the eyelids of the solitary. He -looked abroad from his cell, and beheld all nature smiling around him. -The rising sun shone in a clear sky. Birds were sporting in the air, and -fish glancing on the surface of the waters. Fleets were pursuing their -steady course, gently wafted by the pleasant breeze. Light fleecy clouds -were sailing over the blue expanse of heaven. His soul sympathized with -the scene, and peace and joy filled his bosom. - - - - - EPILOGUE. - - - And now, so many _Evenings_ past, - Our _Budget_’s fairly out at last; - Exhausted all its various store, - Nor like to be replenished more. - Then, youthful friends, farewell! my heart - Shall speak a blessing as we part. - May Wisdom’s seeds in every mind - Fit soil and careful culture find; - Each generous plant with vigour shoot. - And kindly ripen into fruit! - Hope of the world, the _rising race_ - May Heaven with fostering love embrace, - And turning to a whiter page, - Commence with them a _better age_! - An age of light and joy, which we, - Alas! in promise only see. - - J. A. - - - THE END - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES - - - 1. Corrected and to any on p. 216. - 2. Corrected beating to heating on p. 223. - 3. Corrected my to by on p. 237. - 4. Added missing word I on p. 241. - 5. Corrected and to an on p. 308. - 6. Corrected “a ways” to “always” on p. 346. - 7. Removed unnecessary word “a” on p. 348. - 8. Silently corrected typographical errors. - 9. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. -10. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Evening at Home, by -John Aikin and Mrs. L. E. Barbauld - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVENING AT HOME *** - -***** This file should be named 53323-0.txt or 53323-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/3/2/53323/ - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |